Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Blue Mist Of Guilin

Blue Mist Of Guilin
© Surazeus
2017 03 14

When I walk down the busy city street
I see ten thousand people without names
who seem no more than robots in my eyes,
so I want to understand hopeful dreams
that glow behind placid mask of each face
and feel the spark that motivates their actions
so I see how each individual person
moves on unseen path of their private quest
in that vast complex play of social games
that swirls across the landscape of our world.

I stand on ocean shore in Oregon
and contemplate path my ancestors blazed,
traveling west over ten thousand years,
and wonder why they always walk away
from crowded cities of established power
to journey lonely through the wilderness,
struggling through waste land to find paradise
and build new city on free river shore
till their fertile descendants multiply
and crowd the landscape with contentious drama
so another small group of exiles pack
and journey further west toward glowing sun
that guides their way over mountains and seas
on endless quest for secure paradise
west from plains of Egypt through hills of Greece
across Europe to hills of Oregon.

When humanity spread from land of Khem
we fanned out far across vast continents,
following rivers into rugged hills
till cities flourish in every lush vale
where fruit trees bloom on shores of flowing streams,
but now that we populate every land
there is no wilderness left to explore,
so if I sail from shore of Oregon
and glide east across vast Pacific Ocean,
I would find myself in high hills of China
where red dawn glows first over ancient lands.

I want to go and climb some tall straight peak
that shimmers in the blue mist of Guilin
to sit ten thousand years among white clouds
and sing with birds who play on peach tree limbs
so I can dance with the far-spinning world
where the song of Kwan Yin enchants my soul.

When long ago on the plains of Shinar
Nabu designed new ideograms of thought
to signify words of language we speak,
pictures that resemble objects and actions,
he taught us how to carve lines in wet clay
so visions of our minds are set in stone
that glows with spirit of our consciousness
ten thousand years of world-spiraling time
till tablets crumble into dust in wind.

When Kadmos simplified his ideograms
as letters to indicate sounds we speak
that can be rearranged as many words,
fierce arguments erupted into war
that split Sumerians into rival camps,
till those who wrote with new alphabet won,
so Sin, the Moon God, organized his group,
who chose to write with complex ideograms,
and sailed east in crowded fleet of large ships
to land where sun first rises from the sea
and founded land still named for his son Chin.

While dancing in the blue mist of Guilin
I want to match each ideogram of thought,
designed by Nabu in the Hall of Ishtar,
to tag its equal word from all world tongues,
connecting every concept of our minds
in one world song that vibrates in our hearts
so when we gather on the Tower of Babel,
tall ziggurat that shimmers among trees,
ten thousand languages merge into one.

When I walk down the busy city street
I see eight billion people with new names
whose faces flicker on the small glass screen
of smart phone tablet that glows in my hand,
and see the visions of their thoughts in words
which they express by tapping little keys
in code of ideogram and alphabet
which now unites us all in one world tribe.

I hear Kwan Yin play tunes on silver flute
that enchant my soul as I dance alive
in swirling, timeless, blue mist of Guilin.

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