Mary McCall <br />one of my students <br />raped <br />in an abandoned building <br />her face <br />then set aflame <br />alive <br />but forever disfigured <br />no rest <br />from the nightmare <br />and when I lay down <br />couldn’t catch my breath <br />a fierce rumble of <br />torment— <br />Oh, the dear girl <br />pain <br />I couldn’t imagine. <br />“I wish I never knew.” <br />Then whimpered for a moment <br />but didn’t cry <br />mumbling, “I ought to cry.” <br />Then I tried to cry, <br />but could not. <br />“No soul left <br />in this tattered body, ” I moaned <br />and left the bed, <br />turned on the light <br />sat in the green chair <br />slowly following my breath <br />gradually rhythm soothed me <br />and soon began to muse <br />on the great matters <br />this entire experiment <br />of humanity <br />wouldn’t last more than a million years <br />if that long <br />a blip in the grand sweep <br />of time <br />measured in billions <br />and billions of years. <br />I inhaled deeply <br />and felt tingling in my arms and legs <br />beginning to taste Buddha’s great truth— <br />Not a thing exists <br />just the endless transformation of atoms <br />and a bit of joy entered me. <br />“No matter what happens <br />I’m lucky to have come across <br />his wisdom.” <br />Without warning <br />tears <br />Mary’s suffering <br />finally <br />real.<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-true-child-of-the-buddha-in-brooklyn/
