Existentialism, Nature, poetry

Four Sparrows


There are four

sparrows on

the road leading to my


Two are spooked when I cough

One leaves of its own accord

The fourth stood his ground

And puffed his tiny chest

and sung a song I shall never

Live long enough to forget

The tune spoke of longing

and worms

and flight and clouds

And 20 thousand thousand thousand years of dust and light



On bone hard lips

I am brought to my knees

and closer to the primordial


too close

and the distance between us


without either of us having

moved an inch

It was then I

realized was I had trespassed

And my home was gone

Because it had never really been there

And he was master

And I was nothing in less than a moment

And he and continued to sing

An aria of eons

And I felt the sting of reality

and had a glimpse of perception and

time for what it was

Nothing but two accidents of empty everything

locked in bloodless battle

with the overwhelming weight

of the exhausting sabhāva-dhamma of life

and the inexorable flow of event consuming event consuming event

And the sparrow

his voice explored me

and brought me to a clear wall

over which I climbed without climbing

and I forgot the ascent without forgetting

and beheld without beholding

the summit

And it was a valley

And it was a song from a sparrow’s beak

no more or less anything

a star

a crumb of earth

a fistful of sweat

a corpse

a staff of wood

and a song

more or less than anything else

I wept and dreamt of


of suns battling each other for

sovereignty of the sky

of elemental clouds

fading and pulsing and turning and screaming

and it was a song

from a sparrow’s beak

and it never sang

and it sang

and I traced a line from the corner of my eye

wet with tears

to the edges of conception and phenomenon

and I was inverted and the

sparrow sang of nothing


belching brocades from the silt

and wrapping themselves around the bosoms of

inherently impossible gods

before I realized

I had slept for 300 billion years

and had awoken in a dream of myself

dreaming of dreams

and sparrows

and rivers of golden cloth

and blazing steam

and I screamed

and realized my scream was a song

and that I was a bird

a sparrow

and I took flight

and ended my song

and erased with the beat of my wings

that thing that I never was


from the earth



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