Tiger
Sedimo na drevesu in čakamo. V meni negibnost
reke. Preseli se v gibko valovanje rumenih trav.
Mrak v templju iz gostih krošenj zmoti klic
neznanega ptiča, ki žari od motne svetlobe molitve.
Dvakrat je zakrožil okrog Budove glave in mojster
je ostal brez oči. Gledali smo namesto njega v prostor
nad sivo reko. Alge so valovale v levo, lahni valovi drseli
v desno – zdelo se je, da teče reka v dveh smereh.
Skozi trave je pridrsel s počasnostjo, ki ima težo.
Nagrbančen v gosto jedro se je ustavil ob vodi, pil.
Rilec je pljusnil vodo ob trdo kožo, da so duše, ozke
kot bilke, zatrepetale. Izginil je v travah na drugem bregu,
ponovno smo ga čakali zaman. Kot sanje so vlakna
ovila drevesa in obrodila rdeče mesene fige. Iz votlin gozda
so se plazili šumi. Bela znamenja na kožuhih srnjadi
so se razletela kot galaksije. Upali smo, da končno stopi
iz zelene praznine. Da se potopi v hlad. Čakali smo,
pripravljeni na priklon, molitev in žrtvovanje.
V središču želje je stala votla oblika tigra, ki pride pit,
ki obsedi sredi počasi tekoče resničnosti s prosojnimi
šapami, steklenim pogledom in kapljami, ki se nočejo
utrniti z mokrih brkov. Čakamo.
Tiger
We are sitting in the tree and waiting. Stillness of the river
in me. It moves into the supple waving of yellow grasses.
A twilight in a temple of dense canopies is disrupted by the call
of an unknown bird, glowing in the hazy light of prayer.
It circled the Buddha’s head twice and the master was left
without the eyes. Instead of him we were watching into the space
above the grey river. Algae rippled to the left, light waves headed
to the right – it seemed the river was running in two directions.
It slipped through the grasses with the slowness that has a weight.
Wrinkled into the thick core it stopped at the river, drunk.
A trunk splashed water on the hard skin, making the souls tight
as blades tremble. It disappeared in the grasses on the other bank,
we were waiting again in vain. As a dream fibres wrapped around
the trees and bore red carnal figs. From the cavities of the forest
sounds were crawling. White signs on the furs of the deer
blowed up like galaxies. We hoped it was going to finally step out
of the green void. To sink in the coolness. We were waiting,
ready to bow, pray and sacrifice. In the centre of the wish
a hollow shape of a tiger was standing, which comes to drink,
which remains seated in the middle of the slowly running reality
with the transparent paws, glassy gaze and waterdrops, that do not
want to fall from the wet whiskers. We are waiting.
Written, translated & photographed by Uroš Marolt.