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“The Bhajan of the death of the breeze Through the incredible red of the leaves I have seen death! The sky was a yogurt of flying monkeys, or the inner Ramayana of all the red leaves The breeze overflowed itself with a heart of wood, clarifying my size of subtle forgetfulness and bajans, towards the naked torso of the sun and the earth. Through the incredible red of the leaves I have seen death !. I saw my guru. I saw the God of Gods telling me: YOU ARE RAMA. YOU ARE RAMA. Since ever! And since before you were born: YOU ARE RAMA And in the naked torso of the sun and the earth my heart today spills between subtle forgetfulness and bhajans, because you are also Rama. because you are also Rama.” — Daniel Wamba
The Bhajan of the death of the breeze
Through the incredible red of the leaves
I have seen death!
The sky was a yogurt of flying monkeys,
or the inner Ramayana of all the red leaves
The breeze overflowed itself
with a heart of wood,
clarifying my size
of subtle forgetfulness and bajans,
towards the naked torso
of the sun and the earth.
Through the incredible red of the leaves
I have seen death !.
I saw my guru.
I saw the God of Gods telling me:
YOU ARE RAMA.
YOU ARE RAMA.
Since ever!
And since before you were born:
YOU ARE RAMA
And in the naked torso
of the sun and the earth
my heart today spills
between subtle forgetfulness and bhajans,
because you are also Rama.
because you are also Rama.