Classic poem of the day
In streets east, streets west, they expound the Buddhist canon,
clanging bells, sounding conches, till the din invades the palace;
“sin,” “blessing,” wildly inflated, give force to threats and deceptions;
throngs of listeners elbow and shove as though through duckweed seas.
Yellow-robed Taoist priests preach their sermons, too,
but beneath their lecturns, ranks grow thinner than stars in the flush of dawn.
The girl of Mount Hua, child of a Taoist home,
longed to expel the foreign faith, win men back to the Immortals;
she washed off her powder, wiped her face, put on cap and shawl.
With white throat, crimson cheeks, long eyebrows of gray,
she came at last to ascend the chair, unfolding the secrets of Truth.
For anyone else the Taoist halls would hardly have opened their doors;
I do not know who first whispered the word abroad,
but all at once the very earth rocked with the roar of thunder.
Buddhist temples were swept...
member poem of the day
My head’s swirling, it’s all too surreal
My heart questions just what is real
My mind couldn’t describe how I feel,
Oh, how I long for self-transcendence.
An overwhelming feeling of longing
Hopes and fears together thronging
I wonder why it’s me fate is wronging,
O spirits awaken my conscience.