[Poema 26] The aura of Buddha

Buddha is electrocuted
Buddha is dead
Buddha surges upward
a lotus of lightning
he cuts down four trees
to water, to vomit space
for the other four to grow
he cut down the trees
of suffering
of void
of impermanence
of impersonality
For there is nothing wrong
with suffering
except that suffering is
not an acceptable mode
of conversation over expresso
you don't exist
when you beg ragged
on sidewalks
passed out in passageways
with only soiled clothes and a flute
you are no one
and when you die
no one misses your death
personality is a funnel
for money
or it is a nothing

Buddha beckons
you to the shade
the shade of permanence
the shade of joy
the shade of personality
the shade of perpetuity
You are here until you
get it right, a fire, a wisp of smoke
you are light that
materializes in laughter
you are a human vessel
a human root
a human path
a spiraling, tornado, hurricane
with broad branches
red veins protruding
through the open skin
of leaf
Buddha has cut down with
the axe of his death
and four trees remained
standing
yet you seek the
withered flesh
of trees
the paper sun folded
to slap down flies
or create rubbish
out of tongues
You learnéd ones
you can distinguish
languages
but you cannot hear
the tongues
of tenderness
of solidarity
of human suffering
you are here
the roar of an extinguished night