Another contribution to the debate on Buddhism...
You tell me the story
but it belongs to you,
comes back to you,
like the skinny dog on the string
comes back to the boy selling mangoes
on the edge of the village,
where the dust of the road
meets the dust of the riverbed
and the wind blows kisses at
your lazy saint.
How does Siddharta stay so fat
when he never eats?
They leave bruised mangoes
glasses of warm goat milk
soft bars of candy,
but he is not tempted,
is too well-trained.
He will not slaver with the dogs
who circle the village well like hunters
waiting for their wounds.
Look: his hands stay on his knees.
His mouth has congealed into a blissful smile.
Only the dust touches his lips.