1.
The distant echo of
firecrakers rings with
faint gongs and low whispers of
impatience.
Wait
as the incense on the shrine waits,
fidgety, mute.
2.
Smoke everywhere.
Smoked chicken, smoked children,
smoked chocolate with a few fallen ashes.
We breath in smoke,
we see through smoke,
and they proceed into smoke—
—and the smoked God sits in the dais
waiting to be carried away
and vanishes behind the smoky veil...
3.
She hides behind the boy
when the firecrakers explode
and shout with penetrating fury.
He's not afraid—his shoulder
tells him not to: so he fears not
the roar and detonation.
With eyes closed, he feels
her warm reliance only
and the blow of broken bits on his back.
4.
He once endured the name of
misbehavior, but now
His divine Name is entrusted to him
—so heavy is the feeling of trust
that he must beat it out now
in the low roar of drums,
in the resounding gongs,
declaring, justifying Him and him.
5.
The little figure feels dizzy
when He's on his shoulder.
They told him it's something
important...
His feet just follow
the memorized rhythms.
His little shirt is soaked with sweat,
but lit with neon lights from behind.
He proceeds through the smoke and din...
And the crowds behold the boys
bearing God's dais on their shoulders.
They say it's a blessing.
6.
We're born dust,
and in dust and flame
bathe we.
In dust and flame,
let our sin be cleansed
through divine illuminations,
through aural explosions,
through air pollutions.
From sin we depart, and in dirts we come.
Let our sins be poured into the wastes.
Thus the dust is greed, the fume envy,
and the flame lust and pride.
Pollution is the only way
toward salvation.
--
※ 發信站: 批踢踢實業坊(ptt.cc)
◆ From: 119.77.236.61
※ 編輯: yuuyh 來自: 119.77.236.61 (09/13 00:27)