The greatness of your soul lies in its measured beat.
Its even, gentle chime counters erratic trials,
grave woes, so deftly plucked by callused thumbs of grief.

With flint-glazed eyes, chiseled cheeks, brows without a crease,
you stand erect and stern before guilt-bodied shame,
only bowing to honor the righteous voice of grace.

With silence, you’ve suffered, though intimate with joy,
not blaming an other for weakness human in kind,
nor excusing yourself with motives sound yet void.

You run not to slander, gossip, false hope, foul plans;
you crave not glory in wealth, advantage, sharp wit;
you leave a legacy of stillness and command.

Your loss exhumes a memory of contentment’s peace,
of whiskey, peanuts, baseball in mid-afternoon,
legs crossed, reading with ease, living life at wisdom’s pace.

With jeweled smiles and simple charm, you capture time
and enchant faith, forestalling fear and anguished thoughts
which haunt the souls who question their lot with mute pride.

I, though far away, have lived in your heart of gold.
Your loving kindness, your honest mercy have sown
a seed of wonder in me; I miss you Gong-Gong.

-Tsai

 

1 Gong-Gong means grandfather.