the !n(tro)verted yogi

Bernie Gourley. Traveling Poet-Philosopher

puffy white clouds
seem no less solid 
than gray granite

conscious.
be, do, sleep, repeat…
unconscious.

from the train,
everchanging landscapes…
then i wake up

between boulders
grows a sinewy tree --
robust by ordeals

cactus & bush
harmoniously grow into
one silhouette

at the bottom,
i feel my legs work;
at the top, i see

barren trees
reveal the flooded land
to my distant eye

sunlit white temple
reflects in pond water
in cooler hues

a face in a tree;
my mind turns all into one:
tree-man not man-tree

saffron-clad men
wash the Bahubali’s feet;
its eyes forward

%d bloggers like this: