Shunned by the trance-laden masses,
Spat on by the self-appointed 'elite',
Just around some dirty corner street
In every major city, even today,
In his sleeping bag curled up within
Some dusty back alley passage way...
A Buddha patiently dwells -
Waiting for the world's holy wonder to re-awaken.
***
By lying low on crowded streets,
I rise like warm vapours from vents in the pavement,
Above the multitudinous mind.
I have, I am - everything and nothing:
My words shout surrender, but my voice is filled with design;
Without a penny to my name, the entire city is my boudoir.
For them it is a battleground of all against all.
But pity and gratitude are the portion on which I survive;
Hand-outs to my cupped palms put a swagger in my stride!
On many tempestuous nights have I revelled like an awe-struck child,
Frolicking freely through the neon wilderness, or riled.
Greed makes the garbage cans brim bountifully for me,
Yet I exist without the trappings of mainstream materiality.
The moment is forever balanced perfectly within,
And I am at the very centre of the storm-
The mesmerizing mass-market parade -
The hub of it all. All verve through their nerves,
No stall - at every stall.
Inwardly still, inwardly me.
You think I'm the exception?
One of my comrades in alms is Jesus - only with breasts -
And another has tales and tunes that would put Tom Waits to the test.
One look at us, sitting with blankets on the sidewalk, and the coldest
hearts melt.
We may not be at home in our beds, but are we not more at home in Die
Welt ?
In this free-access condominium beneath the stars,
Love, I take in, multiply and radiate outwards
To the tops of skyscrapers down to the shadowy unconscious sea;
Which we homeless embody as the archetype of this poor suffering
humanity:
For - and remember this, ye who build your castles so proud and so tall -
We are all as beggars before the mighty One And All.