Mountains & Motorcycles

Only a few more days

before I traverse again the great hips of this land,

drown my lungs in perfumes sailing from the earth’s breath,

in nameless scents that have yet to fall into words

I perspire something like God at work.

Only a few more days before I ravage the sinuous roads

and drink from the sun’s back,

skating past diamond rice fields that frame a peasants dream,

I let my heartbeat drum with wedding rings on listless shadows

that spread wide like palm leaves praying.

In this unmitigated plain that stutters eternally

over obsequious jungles and plants made from rock,

singing in sounds only familiar

to prophets and sages dressed in cloth taken from Truth’s grace,

I find myself repeatedly dying,

only to be repainted by a stadium of wandering colours,

sagacious, with the abundance of the wild hauling my spirit.

Here where I can sit unperturbed with clouds, mice and grandfather gorges

then feel the mighty gaze of dinosaur canyons lean into me,

until every great mystery dances desperately, yearning to unveil itself

brazen and alive like water leaping from the heavens,

revelations bloom from inside the lips of each lotus flower,

to cascade the barrenness of my meditation

until I am nothing but another being

breathing flutes made of wild jasmine and ice.

How rich is this nature that owns me now,

what price could free me from this bark and this leaf,

this space littered with lakes of whispering peace?

Only a few more days until I find again the perfect place to dream

from somewhere within the hive of my every desire

smelling of magic motorbikes drenched in mountains.