Zen Buddhism and Martial Arts

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Author of this poem:

Robert Rhodes (Yao Xin)


I walk here for the last time -
in the shadow of wats
and their blinding white spires -
these footprints on sand
will be my last -

It seems almost as if
I am alone here - but
there, past the shore,
in the haze of the sun,
something stirs. I hear
voices, then wind, thunder
perhaps, a cell phone playing
a song I vaguely remember -
a final annoyance.

The birds that cried out
in such an odd way
only moments ago
have become strangely mute -
it seems almost as if
I am alone here - but
moments from now,
only moments,
these steps will be the last
I will take -

in these few seconds,
clear as premonition,
I wonder, even as these
slight shadows are erased by
the shuddering tide -
which will cease to exist today?

this place -
this sand -
this ancient muted sky -
or this holy morning
and the footprints of so many
who walked here once?

I look up
and the last thing I see
is this blinding white spire
and the sun,
the sun,
the miraculous sun

Humming Bird
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