Monday, 1 June 2009

(I prefer not to name this one)

I am a maker of coins.
My trade specialty is in gold.
I weld them and shape them
In perfect spheres of lustrous metal.

And I traversed the streets
With pride on my sleeve,
A slight ego glowing around me.

And one day, I met a Buddha
Who in silent speculation
Made gold out of thin air.
The Alchemist had it easy, I thought,
And all the fame.
And then I saw the
Veins of contemplation
Glitter through his gold,

And what I had made seemed mere forgery.
And I was no more unique.
Humbled I stood,
And I cannot promise to stop forging
But I shall attempt to
Set out on a soul-search
And maybe one day
I shall design
Pure Gold
Out of


Daughter of the Night said...

Hmmm... I think this is a trace of the gold you hope to make!

Sayujya said...

thank you...