The Abyss

I’m standing quite still on the edge of an abyss,
As wide and as deep as the heart itself is,
And though I’ve not noticed its vastness till now,
I know it’s been there since before time began.

And now that I’ve seen it, I can’t run away,
For it opens wherever I go,
Yawning and gaping, like some awful mouth,
Just waiting to swallow me – whole.

Yet the strangest thing is that, afraid as I am,
I miss by a mile if I try to fall in,
As I do with my shadow,
That will not be caught.

So what can I do,
Stuck here on this edge,
With a bottomless gulf at my feet?

Perhaps, when I’m ripe,
Like an apple in autumn,
I’ll fall, and be gone,
For ever.

Zazen

Within the night-dark room – a flame!
A breath of living fire,
That feeds upon itself, as if eternal,
Consuming darkness with its flickering tongue
Of fragile, yellow light.

Without, the moon-soaked wind blows cold,
And with faint knocks and taps
Allows the shadows of the dead a voice,
To summon and implore
The living.

The figures sit, unmoving,
With straight backs and folded hands,
And faces of forgetful bliss,
Softly shining,
Buddhas of the Three Worlds.

Through the open windows,
In rising gusts, the wind
Sweeps out the trembling flare,
To leave the living quick
Aglow, amid the smouldering dark.

Missionary Man

I met a young man in the street yesterday,
Who wanted to talk about God, (so he said),
So I said, “What about Him?”

He first of all told me Christ died for my sins,
(Whatever that means),
As if murder could make me feel better.

Then he told me how God made the world in six days,
When I wanted to know,
“Who made God?”

“The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand”, he exclaimed,
“Yes, I’ve seen it”, I said,
–in Kolkatta.”

“If you only have faith”, he exhorted me next,
“Ah, if only I could,
–but I can’t.”

So I said to him, “Show me, then, you of the Faith,
Show me God in yourself,
Right now!”

But his white-shirted limbs went as dead as a brick,
And his wonderful words came no more,
Though he wanted to talk about God, (so he said).

Ah, he sounded so glib,
When he talked about Him,
Like a salesman who’s pushing a product,

That I thought of a banker,
Withdrawing his cash on investments
In “Jesus Christ, Inc.”

But he’d licked up the vomit
Of what others had told him,
And spewed it out into my face,

‘Till the stink turned my guts,
And I left him alone,
Finding others to talk about God with.