Ivan Bodhidharma (BG)
Ivan Bodhidharma moves from the south
On the wings of spring;
He drinks from a river,
In which was ice.
He holds in his hands the geography
Of all our rooms,
Of flats and passions;
And white tiger is silent,
And blue dragon sings;
He will cure those who hear,
And maybe those who is smart;
And he will tell those who want all to know,
The history of light times.
He moves past buildings in which
They aspire to avoid fate;
He is lighter than smoke;
Through the plastic and tin plate
Ivan Bodhidharma is inclined to see trees
There where we tend to see pillars;
And if became lighter,
Then, apparently, he's already here;
He will cure those who hear,
And maybe those who is smart;
And he will tell those who want all to know,
Histories of light times.
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