Search of Gesar’s Sword

Another lonely night
Among moss and shrubs
With the sky as my blanket
And a rock for my pillow.
When will this ever end …?

When will I find the sword?

Gesar didn’t tell them all;
But that sword exists
Hidden in the mountains
Waiting to be retrieved.
Some say it’s for the chosen one
But who is more chosen than I …?

If it’s only for the chosen one
Why hasn’t he come — why wait;
When all around death lingers
Like scavengers waiting
for the final sigh,
The dropping head — infinity.

The moon is too ashamed
To rise and glow with
His borrowed light;
And I am certain
He knows I’m right,
Yet he sulks coyly.

The stars mock me
With their distance;
Their cold light
Scattering the warmth;
Blinking sadistically
And leering at me.

Come messengers show me
Where it is buried
I’ve been here too long
Neither will I last forever
It’s time now — it is
The moment does not delay.

The stream gurgles rhythmically
Through its cold course,
Leaving everything behind;
Without hunger or anxiety,
Neither can it feel
Insulated by the night.

Let sleep come now
And take me swiftly through
This night of trials
To another weary day
In search of Gesar’s sword
Buried in these mountains.


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