THE MONK WHO LOVED TO DANCE

He who drank 
from the crane's beak
wished to juggle a few steps
on the monastery corridor
lit by sunrise
and 
guarded by the crescent moon!

He danced good,
his kashaya camouflaged
his gait and swift spirit;
he slipped between 
thin smokes of incense
like vipers of the east:
his steps poured out
the purest of 'chi',
seemed arts of the masters,
but was an art from within self.
He looked balanced:
chaos of the yin,
serenity of the yang
composed his stunts...
He looked not exhausted
or speculative of things:
his dance was all he did
and ended his streak with a bow,
respect for the art
from the Lone Master,
that fuelled him
to pursue Life
as it must be.
The sunset brought with it
the crescent moon
to guard his little abode
and he smiled at it
like a child in his teens.

I would now recall:
He who ate 
from the cheetah's plate
juggled a few steps
on the monastery corridor
lit by goodness
and
guarded by a spark in the dark!