SONNET 107
Priest of fired wind and calmer drizzles, but dimple
Of timely rain desired and prayers tilled shrines adapt.
O forecaster, what emperorship the ripples
You compose, fog solicits, and toads drunk with sap?
'Samsara's nature is change, prays our nature t' escape;
Mind's the palace true distractive, folly, gore, foul air
And gales had as quartz but channels ebru, t' reshape
One will eponymous decreed, from hell's vain lair.
Alchemist,' the Jizo resumed, 'to flee 'ts ruin
Is to stay, stubbornly weathering and loosen.
So let them keep their fantasies, slight and steady;
Time-bound's the frivolous till next drop be ready.
Thy strength's alone, fear not its pangs, more brave surmounts;
Humbling faces, too, own hour, dur'ng the monsoon months.'
