How many times has this body been thrown aside?
The chest is always torn open, willingly,
And shown to the eyes of all -
But there is not one response. Not one sees.
This morning, it is cool on the veranda.
The strings of my lute rise to these fingers.
I find that one un-named, unheard chord
And my fingers curl around it -
And it takes me down, down, deeply through the luminous centuries...
So, I remember the time they threw
This body down into a pit of licking flames,
but to my senses it was only a bed of tender rose petals.
Where their eyes burned from the thick, choking black smoke,
I knew only the attar of roses, singing.
Flesh and sinew and bones
May have burned,
Still I knew only the impossibly honeyed scent
That is You.
Now, a thousand years later,
I have to laugh & shake this head...
Searching all the broken world
For a few crumbs of Detachment.