When Buddha found nirvana was it like
the rush of blood to the head from a bungee
plunge, or the first breath of air surfacing
from a dive, the vacuum in your head giving
way to the sputter before the colours
swim in, and noises shape to words, was it
heavy as a young mother's expectations,
or light as laughter in the school sandpit
at three, was it soft as a man's death or
loud as his birth - were there tears either way,
was it like a helium high, did he pause
like a ferris wheel, levitate an octave
above the ground, did it smell sweet, did it
taste like candy, did it melt on his tongue
like M&Ms, did it burn like a woman's
silhouette by moonlight, was it like the
earth splitting, night giving way to morning,
grass stretching to catch the first drops of dew
on their thirsty tongues, did his thoughts ripple
through or march like a parade, did he think
at all, did it sink in like the legs of
an ibis discovering the muddy
flats of shore, or did it wash over him,
did it catch him by surprise,
like love forsaken finding once again,
its eyes?