Asking Why
Interrogating the Buddha’s implacable smile
“You made the sky stand without pillar or prop. O Ramanatha, which gods could have done this?” —Devar Dasimayya (11th century Indian poet)
I look at your stone face and happy eyes, impossible distance.
I’ve stared at this alley wall so long I believe it is my heart.
I am a public dumpster. People toss whatever they don’t need anymore into me. I reek of both of their sour complaints and sweet confessions. Human ferment.
I am not cruel, only sad– bitten, stunned into transparency I leak unintentional truths, half-truths–wet bitter fruit. I bleed questions.
Is that a rose on the ground or a red Covid spike protein?
Is that a mask on the pavement or a dead bird?
“A fire in every act and look and word. Between man and wife a fire. In the plate of food a fire. You have given us five fires and poured dirt in our mouths, O Ramanatha.” — Devara Dasimayya
I lost a cousin to Covid. I lost my best friend to suicide. I lost my sister to a different belief system.
I am incapable of wisdom. Ignorance houses me in her painted walls. I bait every color, prejudice, passion, mood.
This evening her wall is grief blue, gutteral cello, Jupiter heavy, Bach.
Rains, floods, fires. Hungry Yemeni eyes. Children.
Ukraine blown apart. Tear-stained treks to Poland.
Ash grey vagueness. Indeterminate sky. Buddha’s sly smile– Is it compassion? Is it sarcasm?
Ocean of your eyes washes over me.
Mass graves of Mariupol.
Why?
© Carlo Zeno 2022
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Thank you for reading.





