Bodhi

There was a special moment,
All doors were open.

No leaves, no branches,
The garden of annihilation had appeared.

Birds of places were silent,
This silent, that silent,
The silence itself was utterance.

What was that area?
Seems a ewe and a wolf,
Standing side by side.*
The shape of the sound, pale
The voice of the shape, weak
Was the curtain folded?

I was gone, he was gone,
We had lost us.
The beauty was alone.
Every river had become a sea,
Every being had become a Buddha.

To live

in a cry.

(The rebellious flight of a fountain
that cannot escape the earth
and is simply trying deliverance.)

And the glory of dying
in the fountain of a cry

(the earth pulls you to
itself
madly
to gain a source of fertility,
for martyrs and rebels
are all the same
for fertility they are the rain
and fervor.

To become the rain of grace
for the earth

such is the fountain's death

or else this earth
will turn into a swamp,
when you die like a trifling stream.
Be a cry
to rain
or else

die.

بدون شرح