You will remember,
like a quick wisp,
a small flutter… there, then gone.
You will remember the way you prowled the streets
and the way your fingers brushed across the twilight.
You will remember the buzzing of little bees
and the extent of the silence.
You will remember conflict and loss,
thickets of berries,
the hands of a small child, the spokes of a wheel,
the fragrance of night air,
the tangle of your consort’s hair.
You will remember all this
and then your heart will break
into a thousand shards, like wounds
and each of these will become a form, a body,
a water moon, a magical appearance,
a rainbow, a mirage, a dream, a moment’s hope.
There is no rainbow, no mirage, no water moon.
There’s no one to see it, and nothing to be seen.
This virtuous moment
never was and will never end.
No Buddha descended, no beings were lost,
no dream-like Victor saved them
from sufferings they never had.
There is no suffering, no end of suffering,
and so on, right until this moment.
Yes, and still your heart will break,
and still the bitter-sweet pain will fill you,
and still the myriad worlds will turn and spin,
and still you will appear again,
and again, and again
until every being who never was
is freed from suffering.
Night was falling into silence.
The twilight sun splayed
in a thousand rays and droplets.
Mind from the heart flowed
through the corridor of the eyes
and became the only love.
It is not that I was wrong;
rather, it was that he was right.
The fragrant flower closed in upon itself
as dusk turned to dark.