ascetic bliss

ascetic bliss

In the snowfield all white without a speck blot

You will get snow blind

If the azure is pure blue without a cloud

You will lose your mind

If life is smooth and sweet like biolac

A baby may enjoy, but a man gets cloyed

Hence there need to be clouds, blots and coffee

Just as the Tibetan pilgrim scrawl in all fours

All the way to the shrine, measure by measure

To feel the rough of the holy land in person

To the full length of their body and soul