VOICE FROM BOROBUDUR

I hear the rumble of the voice

Buried for centurries

In the sweat that flowed down from the top of Borobudur

Where birth and death and life

Are recorded in the long sculpted galleries

I hear the rumble of the voice

Of wounded history

In its own language it speks:

Do not bury my sweat in time machines

Let it fly away with Arjuna's bow forging a path through the sky'

Century after century Borobudur

Has taken in birth and death

Accommodating all joy and sorrow

So togethe with the many kinds of incense there

Let us place love, loyalty, courage

And determination On its breast

Enok, 1997