DHRUPAD 15 (this bowl)
This bowl
this bowl
nothing is lost
this breath
this breath
nothing is lost
they move through the mist
like music through the rivers
like longing lovers wanting more
and more
and to be filled and to sleep.
This bowl full and full
and empty and empty
this rain this golden view this
mist grey and dark and silent in the
rivers way
the rivers way and the mist
like doors and music and footsteps
quiet padding on this breath
gone his voice
gone his smile
gone this word gone.
This bowl holds everything
love and tears
love and tears this bowl
this heart this land this mist this mountain
this song this singing this loving this holding
this heart this bowl this silence this empty
gone gone this path this river this
gone gone this path, the bowl this river.
And they walk up mountain mists
as if
as if wading through streams,
gone gone
the dead singing and glorious,
the swinging singing star eyed dead gone gone
Shall we fold
shall we shall we
fold up neat and smoothed our memories now
Neat and smooth for later
safe for later fresh as rivers bright as stars
Folded away for later
Where it all still is the same
But better
Where it all still is
Where nothing is lost
This bowl this bowl this bowl.
The fine webs
That tie us
all together
Golden and silver
Stretch and snap and little by little
those of us who remain drop
down into singing
darkness suspended by dreams
And dreams and names and the way things were.
What ties
us here
what ties us
when so many
have gone?
—
simonhlilly 