#107 Praying

A beautiful starry night,
Story of a single soul, bit too happy,
To be here, to be home.

Between the days’ chaos left behind,
In the nights’ murmurs coming from the grasses,
Sleeping birds find their interlude.

Under an open sky,
Expanse of the green surrounding,
Idle mind, clouds going far.

Even in the mild wind
Tender boughs play an invisible music,
And feeling is faith restored.

Stories from memory,
Colourful flags of a distant place,
From attachments, a cessation of suffering.

Sitting in an extreme calm
Watching remnants float away in the stream of time,
What could have been washed away easily by rain.

In the myriad tests of life
This fear of loneliness is but a little thing,
And the smiling moon, a constant companion.

Surrendering myself
Seeing futility in contemplating paths ahead,
Peace in no knowledge of future.

Journeys that have been,
Reflections on my window are firmly painted,
Appearing on my forehead as wrinkles.

In the beauty of all things incomprehensible,
I only see reflected my own insignificance.
O’ Lord Buddha, with your affection lead me to wisdom.

I shall sing in your prayer, “ༀ་ཨ་ར་པ་ཙ་ན་དྷཱི༔“.

#106 “Dream-ghost”

Windy it was, and the night continued
Carrying such a ghastly feeling to it,
Dream-catchers hanging off the leafless branches
Yet, around lurked terrifying dreams.

Shadows too did seem grossly unkind,
Leaping up from every corner to scare.
Just like the pitter-patter chicaning rain
The ever-smiling moon, nobbled, remained.

Even the bushes came to frighten
As did the unheard-of cries, dogs or monsters?
With every turn equally blind,
The path just going away awry.

She finds herself completely lost
Her fairytale friends don’t come to hold her hands,
Her elusive Prince disappointingly misses this chance too
To win his darling for ever. Maybe, his horse broke down?

Running up the stairs, forming in my head,
An equally strange razzmatazz story to console
The girl who woke up, wailing, finding herself on her bed,
Petrified and unstrung, in need of a hug.

I say “it’s fine” but she still weeps;
The smell still lingers, ground still wet since it rained.
As I tuck my daughter in, I wonder,
Is the real world any less cruel than her nightmarish bedtime?