The Poet's Testament by Angkhan Kalayanaphong
I wrap the sky around myself
to keep away the cold
and eat starlight late at night
to take the place of rice.
Dewdrops scatter below the sky
for me to find and drink,
and out my poems flow
to greet the morn, to last the age.
My heart, sacrificed to its grave,
gains unworldly powers;
the spirit flies to lands of dreams
the far side of the sky.
It seeks divinity in Heaven
and brings it back to earth
to soothe the sand and grass,
bringing happiness, bringing peace.
My purpose in composing poems
is to salvage the soul.
now lying upon the swift, bold
currents and waves of time.
Although this life, which is not long,
gets all used up so soon,
the heart's proclamations,
sparkling and divine, shall last.
Let your body burn away
in its crematorium—
poems made with strength and sweetness
cannot be burnt away.
Whichever world the soul's reborn in,
there will be floods
of precious holy rainbows,
flashing crystal and sparkling gems.
Stillness is spirited into joy
by the written word,
as Heaven's precious heavy rain
extinguishes the heat.
The heart is swiftly blown away
to dream in other lands.
This life smells sweet. The next
will have reflections of its sweetness.
I'm willing to renounce my life
and to throw it away,
I only want valuable goods,
the twinkling and the new.
Poetry surely is the most
sacred art of all,
magic as sweet bouquets are
that, taken from a precious wood,
have fallen from the sky.
