Merely one of the 108 Buddhist sins erased as the bell tolls,
gonging in the icy New Year night; that team
of monks stepping back, silent, from the released pole
under the TV spotlights. From in the crowd it seemed
to João the shattering of skulls numberless and holy,
pure extinction, as if all the many thousands seeing the bell,
the millions, knew by telepathy what was lurking in his soul,
that ghost. He closed his eyes, felt lost, slowly
recalling, within the depth of his dim, honeycomb body,
arriving at a temple in the far mountains of Honshu.
Pilgrims were already there, kneeling, and the monk,
blessing them with a long leafy branch, beckoned
him in to also pay homage to the transparent box,
the mummified saint. João heard: He could also be you...
gonging in the icy New Year night; that team
of monks stepping back, silent, from the released pole
under the TV spotlights. From in the crowd it seemed
to João the shattering of skulls numberless and holy,
pure extinction, as if all the many thousands seeing the bell,
the millions, knew by telepathy what was lurking in his soul,
that ghost. He closed his eyes, felt lost, slowly
recalling, within the depth of his dim, honeycomb body,
arriving at a temple in the far mountains of Honshu.
Pilgrims were already there, kneeling, and the monk,
blessing them with a long leafy branch, beckoned
him in to also pay homage to the transparent box,
the mummified saint. João heard: He could also be you...