for Ingrid Soren, Buddhist & Christian
The world is sunk in darkness.
The great light is seen by few of us.
Few birds escape the net;
Few souls attain the freedom beyond night.
The city judged, the red kite and the bittern
Lay claim to it, the screech-owl and the raven
Haunt the streets, the tumbled stones of chaos
Mark out the borders of its emptiness.
The stork on the chimney-stack knows when to leave;
Likewise, the crane, the swallow and the dove
Watch for their time. We, though, shade our eyes;
When judgement falls, it falls to our surprise.
Those who, young, were inwardly at war
Missed the real treasure that eludes desire.
In age, they are like the heron – lank, unfed –
By a pool empty of fish. They look sad.
Consider the birds of the air:
They neither reap nor sow nor store,
And yet your Father feeds them day by day.
You are, surely, more than they.
Even the sparrow has found a home,
And the nesting swallow room
Just near the altar of my God and King,
Where she may raise her young.
Is it by your wisdom and at your word
That the hawk flies, that she spreads her wings southward?
Did you bid the eagle tower? And can you brag
She builds her rough nest on the topmost crag?
Flight is the miracle that frees the swan
To follow the sun’s path. Strong men
First conquer evil and its troops, then soar
Above the narrow space where they made war.
Two sparrows make a pennyworth,
Yet if just one of them should fall to earth,
Your Father knows. Your every hair
He has numbered. Do not fear.
The swift forsakes her home. She sweeps south,
In her wake the dark and cold, like bitter truth.
Yet she returns. Soon you will hear her wail,
As if in agony, that all is well.
Sources: Dhammapada 13.174; Isaiah 34.11; Job 39.26–28; Dhammapada 11.155; Matthew 6.26; Psalms 84.3; Jeremiah 8.7; Dhammapada 13.175; Matthew 10.29–31