History is a man

Trying to work out this business of our history 
We came upon him  behind our closed eyes .
Peace prevailed in a state of rising shoulders
Not refraining from fighting but looking straight
Into  dark spaces,through his white absences.
Peace passed understanding in lack of words.

The son was not father crying in mother's lap,
Just a moon that softly smiled at a dark space
A tree that promised an entire lack of space
From a leaf that made food of the blazing sun
And white peace in nightly dance in a breeze.
History is womb empty of men, a gaping space
That linked us all in his enormous lack of space.

(buddham, saranam, gachchami)
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