Mending torn clothes
When the sun is up
Reading aloud the holy texts
By the light of the moon.
Living quietly in a hut overgrown with ivy vines
Buried in a deep forest, largely unseen, conversing with the stars
And the sparkling streams—the whole thing a breathing organism.
Ryokan meditates on the meaning of human existence.
A seer that can see life-altering truths hidden from ordinary eyes.
The Zen master shares with those
listening that not many things are required
for living.
When such a sacrosanct poetry springs
from a dialogue with nature and blends with the elements, pale words undergo a change and get suffused with new energy and convey fresh epistemes.
Ryokan finds nirvana in the middle of a forest, away from prying eyes of a civilization
and gets centeredness, mindfulness, harmony and tranquillity within.
Poetry, in such exalted cases, leads to spiritualism and a transcendental vision.
In order to connect with a higher realm glimpsed by the poet,
follow his wise counsel.
Too many things can distract a seeker,
So go and find the Greater Being in a tiny atom.
Words translucent, thus gained through a denial of indulgence, can open new vistas on invisible realms and be life-long blessings for the awakened!
Let sacred poetry work in this direction; let the renewal begin
after reading the master/s!
Let the light enter the soul!
Cold Mountain not for everyone!
When I tried to follow him to Cold Mountain
This month, year 2025, sitting in my home, GTA,
The Master of Cold Mountain
going
by the name of Han-Shan
speaks up from behind the lines on my PC
at this late evening hour:
A thousand clouds, ten thousand streams!
Here I live, an idle man.
I look at the rest of the simple poem
expressing
truth profound.
The poet wanders the green peaks and
sleeps by the cliffs, declaring he needs nothing
and the sweetness of this state for him!
I stop in the middle of reading
and look at the brands around
And feel awkward by this collection
of tags bought online, on discounts
that give an unexpected orgasmic feel
to the entire process of consumption.
Magically, Han-Shan sends the message down:
You won’t get there following me
Your heart and mine are not the same!
If your heart was like mine
You would have made it, and be there!
I understood and stopped in my tracks
our quests, not similar
and my understanding, imperfect!
Cold Mountain, I am not meant for you.
The climb is too demanding.
I will play with the empty shells of
images, words and syntax
and string them in poetic forms
most often, searching for meaning
in them and piles of boxes and packaged
cartons, in a corner of the room
while you live on in that mountain, forever,
your being and poetry fused, forever
in some clear cloud or stream.
———————————————
Sunil Sharma
Picture Nick Victor
Academic |Writer | Critic | Editor | Freelance Journalist | Reviewer | Literary InterviewerEditor: Setu: http://www.setumag.com/p/setu-home.htmlWebsite:https://sunil-sharma.com
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