An Agent I Am

Poem By john tiong chunghoo

in me
the identity of the tree
as i look
and as i talk
i help it send a message
of its existence
so as the next tree
and the next tree
and the next
from the mountain too
i receive a signal
that latches onto my inner self
and every object in sight
the rain, thunder
dance of nature
i am pulled into
the feeling
that each object
arouses in me
a stamp
of their message
good or bad
a storm ensues
what a frustration to learn
that after all the glory
we heap on ourselves
we are but mere
media for all the forms
to project themselves
in the world
as i look at
the tree
this drowsy feeling
it fuels in me
and as i open my mouth
the world is stamped
with its identity
good or bad
the feeling to chop
down the other tree arises
one tree subtly using me
as an agent
without me even
knowing it
me drowned
in all the messages
i shed tears over
world's clashes
nature's helplessness
of chaos
in creation
and also the wonder
the wonder
that some far off planets, stars
light years away
are using me too
as an agent
for their ploys
their power
etched on
my trials
the (biological) storms
that traverse
this little 5' 5' frame
the oozing
of blood
at full moon,
the lunatics,
the swing of moods,
the favours and disfavours
thrown around
the good, the bad,
the world over
a frustration to
know that i am
a mere agent
in this whole plane
so many things come
into play
and an innocent me
in the centre of all
taking all
for good, for bad
the workings
of the gods?
i found that
prayers and meditation
stop these destructive messages
from crossing over to the world
from polluting our mind, the id
stop the world
from quarrels, warring
yes, quieting the mind
would stop them from
using me as an agent
for their destructive ploys
tearing the world into nothingness
prayers, yes prayers
would douse their desires
the desires floating around the world
i then become a neutral
a buddha in bliss
all the trees, mountains
forms in their quiet
stop issuing orders
for war, quarrel..
desire kept at bay

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