EAST OF THE SUN

  Packed are my trunks to the brink

  With dreams and sleepless eyes

  Still, the mind's eye wants to think

  And thus wants to sever the ties

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  That bind the will to my love

  East of the Sun.

  In the land of plentiful pleasures,

  The Buddha hovers on eaters of lotus

  His lips dare not to lose focus

  From spread dishes of treasure.

  That build the road to be followed

  North of the Sun.

  In Winn's pages of state

  The hero's feet the desert follow

  Manat, the third, now all prostrate!

  But still the crescent feels hollow,

  Her edges sinking deep

  West of the Sun.

  The topic's thundering storm

  Tears words to pieces and thunders

  Remains the body yet born

  In seas and landlocked blunders.

  Yet I rule in everlasting burning

  South of the Sun