My love,
you asked me
to describe your eyes.
Skinning the soothing exaggerations
I’ll tell you the truth, listen.

Two deep ponds
in the woods
are your eyes–
so quiet, so deep
that not even
the seven-fold-rope could reach.

Lashes, tree-lined paths,
the deep woods behind,
see how our worlds appear there,
turned upside down,
blooming creepers that enfold
and suck in and make the born unborn,
and above, look the blue lotus.
Each passing moment
the fresh exuberant beauty
carves the rainbows
and shapes the clouds.
Overflowing joy
turns to fright.
The other day,
when the boatman’s lad
spread his net
what he caught
was not the fish
but the hearts
of those drowned.
That’s an old story.

Do you know, dear,
the sun appears in your eyes,
commits adultery
and consuming the sun
legends take their birth,
the umbilical creeper of creation
Suddenly blooms.
The miracle of fresh green
on the dead roots.
But, do you know, my dear,
for this the nature needs your mercy.

What is required to jolt the sun?
A tiny fish of the pond is enough.
The fish twirls effortlessly
and the sun trembles,
the support of the sky collapses.
How long could this hemisphere live?
Only so long as you do not blink.
Blink,
and the game is over.
All that appeared disappears.
When you open your eyes,
a new scene.

But, you are clever, my dear.
You know how to manage the balloon
and keep it away from eye-lash needles.

This is not a new contract.
I am not telling a lie, you know.
Our love,
a bridge between illusion and reality
has no other documents.