Reading a poem by that
old scoundrel Wang Wei,
the high minister pretending
to be a Buddhist hermit
vowed to celibacy &
his vast country mansion
a mere sage's hut, about
being afraid to make "wet"
the red blouses of singing girls
after a long day spent on
carousing on the river.
Every morning he sails out
"to pick flotus lowers",
returning only at dusk,
"poling" his "boat" carefully
so as not to "wet" the
"flowers'" red blouses.
Why do we want so much
the powerful bureaucrat and
politician to be the mask
kept on his true face, and
not the Buddhist poet
with the painter's touch?
20.02.2023
#Poem Poem #Poems Poems #PoetryPoetry #Verse Verse
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