8) Yoga

    Wolran Kim

 

Not becoming a thick meditation book

I turn a page of my stiff joints

My heart collides above the Cobra curves

A bird I swallowed one day may spring out

 

I reread the forgotten pain on a transparent chair

My hands and feet have never looked at each other

So they are estranged face to face

There is something that you can see only with your eyes closed

 

Mini Karma on my feet

Is afraid of every step carrying a fleshy past

You can see the same person differently, with the poses of dogs and cats

The straight road is seen after wrenching your limbs

 

On the surged sea

I become an island that never shakes, even without roots

Flowers blossom although the ship was never anchored

Flowers fall although the ship never sailed out

 

On the towering mountain

I become a tree that stands without roots

I plant a fistful of the sky, touched by the tree branch

In my toes like a petal

 

I plant a pant of breath high like a dream

Finally I put it down with tippy toes and plant it under my chin

On the land that laid like the inside of a coffin between broken breaths

The hidden wind has gone flat

 

There is sound that you can hear only in the silence

If my breath pants again after drinking the words

Under my gaze, without jeopardizing, just,

NAMASTE!