mamaganga
We crossed the rice fields.
We passed the bare mountains.
We walk the deck of the ship of souls.
And we walk.
Our thoughts vanish into the smoke of the temples.
We struggle to focus on the face of the moon.
And it reveals, in its incomplete disk,
a rabbit with red eyes.
The moon is all-powerful.
And the green waters cover the Mother,
who, stiffened for years,
licks the wounds of dogs.
Mother watches the river flow northward.
Our thoughts are the fireworks of the wise men
dancing with their swords upon two ships.
In the narrow alleyways,
experience surpasses the limits of imagination.
Everything predictable is undone.
What you thought you’d see
is conquered by life itself.
And yet—you will see,
if with closed eyes in a quiet room,
you listen softly
to what connects you to the outside world.
From the first breath you took
the moment you were born,
and still take, and release.
And so beside this great Mother,
you sit—
because you are her child.
Even if you're dirty and barefoot,
even if you wear Nike shoes and go to university,
you are her child.
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