The void that’s highly embraceable
during sleep
Has no location and no fret;
Yet I keep restless mental searching
And geographical meandering
To find the Holy Inside Milk
Damema gave to all.
Damema, Mother of Buddhas,
Mother of Milk
In the dark I wryly remonstrate
With my sillier self
For feigning to believe
In the reality of anything
Especially the so-called reality
Of giving the Discipline
The full desert-hut workout
And superman solitude
And continual enlightened trance
With no cares in the open
And no walls closing in
The Bright Internal Heaven
Of the Starry Night
Of the Cloud Mopped afternoon –
Oh, Ah, Gold, Honey,
I’ve lost my way.
225th Chorus
© Copyright: Джек Керуак, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112072107919
Свидетельство о публикации №112072107919
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