August 28, 2006

Haiku - Little Monk

He recalls sunrises
floating above high blue worlds
long before his birth,

hidden cloud valleys,
stupas, fluttering prayer flags,
cold breaths counted at dawn,

how rivers chanted sutras
to counted beads of stone and laughter,
tumbling down the mountain.

On this city street,
low rumble of evening traffic
is another mantra,

no temple or bells
in this place so far away,
no prayer wheels turning.

He dreams of returning
to lands wandered in other lives,
turns his mala slowly.