Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
in a land of shadows and chimeras,
Buddhas, who seek the Buddha,
yearners, strugglers, dying persons.
Still with the last breath
hovered around from mists,
through the woods the morning star shines,
the red blood flows out of the heart,
that there beats and will beating eternally.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
sparks of light from nowhere,
like lightnings flashing through the universe,
again go out in the nowhere,
which lays its blackness comforting and motherly
yet at the last sigh around us.
Life, which, forgetting itself,
sees itself in the empty mirror
and doesn’t know, that the mirror
is in every fiber of its being
- not here or there
and beyond the great gate of the here,
through which it becomes itself
on the middle of the threshold a gateless gate.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
- A thunderclap!
A fall from heaven to earth!
A cry from earth to heaven!
An inconceivable moment of glory!
And only peace – unpronounceable holy…


© Barbara-Paraprem, 2014