POEM A Strange Temple

A Strange Temple -by Manju Kanchuli translated by Wayne Amtzis

(This is a Nepali poem translate by Wayne Amtzis An American poet and photographer living in Nepal. )
http://www.photo-poems.com/files/contents.html
http://othervoicespoetry.org/vol5/amtzis/bio.html
http://www.thedrunkenboat.com/amtzis2.html
http://www.thedrunkenboat.com/kanchuli.html

The idol behind the shut door of god must be
arrayed with vermilion and rice
That I don't know
Before meeting the deity I've seen
nothing but naked figures on the struts above
I've read so many times
“Behind the locked temple door there's no god at all”
A long time has passed...these days
I haven't opened that temple door with flowers of hope
Its inner wall might have transformed into a mirror,
blossoming in the mirror the priest's aroused mind
might have bulged forth with a flood,
the mirror on the torso turned towards his mind
might have melted with immense shame
That I don't know
Out of shame I haven't till now
parted that mirror's curtain
Encountering yellow sunlight everywhere
the priest's robe of black clouds might tremble
Tangled in the loincloth of a hurricane
it might be hovering above some gorge somewhere
That I don't know
I haven't forced that cloud to land
in the theater of the earth
I haven't harassed it with bright sunlight
History, upon a wall of mud, has been written with lines
in the vacuum of space, with voices
over the forehead of earth, with blood
in the ink of the heart, with red
into the pen of the human, with a cry;
beneath the layered soil of earth, with bones
into layers of sedimentary rock, with coral
inside black coal, with illuminating diamond
But I've never understood
the meaning of the blank paper smeared with spider ****
in the piled garbage bin near the temple
An old wall might have been changed into a new mirror
that new mirror crawled upon by a snail
into parchment of fresh slime
That I don't know
I've taken those walls, mirrors, and blank sheets
to be your undergarments
and have never in front of anyone else
parted them till today
I haven't opened the temple door
I haven't disrobed the priest The image inside the closed door of god
must still be arrayed with vermilion and rice
That I don't know
Before meeting the deity
I've seen nothing but naked figures on the struts above