Closed Eyes to the Alhambra
I gently turn them away from me
As I, a sinner,
Gaze and walk into the holy garden.
The pond of lilies,
I bow to the wavering stems in the water
The gentle roots medicine and a delicacy--
I cannot escape worldly thoughts.
As these traditional strings
Pluck away at the feathers of my life,
My pride and plumage slowly flutter off into the wind,
One by one.
But I am not hurt.
I look as the clear pond quivers and trickles--
Ah, I am sorry, for I bring pain.
Ah that lovely sound, that--
The porch a wooden earth
That I bless and sully with my innocent footsteps.
My presence embraced, but I know,
I am not there.
And I will never be.
The bamboo reeds still whistle.
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