The night air petrified about me,
the cool breeze
through the weave of my clothes
So many things to figure out;
so many things to do;
as a young man I’d get so frustrated,
when I peered back at my accomplishments,
I felt like I’d achieved nothing.
Nothing to say
“Look, this is what I am.”
But I was mistaken.
If you study it in more detail
you’ll notice
the movements.
the fluttering of wings
climbing into the sky.
Look at the moon,
wasn’t it full last night;
where it is now?
Are you sure it had ever been full?
“Oh yes,” Snaps Spider, “I felt it within me.
It’s not a matter of observation;
this is soul stuff.”
The elders came out from the trees
dancing’n’singing;
then, a young man stepped forward,
smiled grimly.
“Why , if we’re to call things by their right names,
we might as well state
-the Romans are the champions of our Law,
yet aren’t they our enemies,
whom are inside the very land of our ancestors,
inside the very mountain that’s sacred?”
“Old habits are hard to break;” the elders sang.
“newer ones are harder to form
take shape.”
And Spider replied, “Behold children,
these are the results of inaction;
and in that inaction
movements dim
and are without resolution.
Nevertheless,
Sun will forever brighten the morning.
It’s only your perception of it
that makes it appear dim and out of reach.
I shook my head
and the voices became maracas
being shook vigorously to the beat of a mariachi band,
until they burst open
and the seeds scattered across the ground.
Now some of those seeds landed on rocks
an’ did not have a chance to grow
because the animals came an’ ate them;
while some of the seeds landed among weeds,
however the weeds kept them stoned,
so they had no energy to grow;
and than some of the seeds
landed onto a freshly plowed fertilized field
an’ shot up baring fruit:
hundreds of maracas sounding off in the winter wind,
flinging their seeds everywhere.
Smyon-Pa 