Do not look at me with eyes that do not see;
Think not of me with a heart that is numb.
Do not feel the searing heat of my ardor
With insulated nerves and deadened senses.
The prison that contains this heart
Is clad in granite chiseled from living rock,
Its walls reflecting the cold and stony emotion
Of your own pent-up rage like a shattered mirror.
As a sculptor, I bear two powerful tools
Which may break apart and utterly smash
That frozen, awful façade of silence that you wear
With hammer blows of undeniable force.
Only the briefest spark is required
To summon the stonecutters craft to life,
A breathing, coursing transformation wrought
By the mallet of Yang upon Yin.
When that moment comes, be ready,
For there will be a tremor of blinding power
That instantly destroys the unseeing, useless hate
That has locked your soul in its sheath of living quartz.
(Rapa Nui, 1985)