​
​Some nights my sleep
​is interrupted by strange thoughts.
​People fish-cold and silent.
​Sitting in deaths waiting room
​without any misgivings.
​Crickets singing the
​whole night away.
​Feeling ashamed
of their past mistakes.
​On nights like this,
​I am glad to wake-up.
​To face the day
​with flowers in bloom.
​And words that can
light ​up a soul.
​As good words should.

Sometimes, I feel like
a solitary stream.
Alone, and never touching
anything as I go on my way.

But I have you, and
I have the memories.
As if by magic, I feel
surrounded by a ring of being.

A rainy day without
the need for a coat and hat.
Like this, the old love
and passion continue.

Was it that I fell asleep
and dreamed of her?
Or I have been living
with a mask on, all this time?
Whatever it might be,
my true desire is not for
memories that shake
my entire space.
But to find my lost-self again.

Time negotiates with me.
An indoor and an outdoor battle.
Ten thousand fights as one.
Sometimes the colour of blood.
But always, your presence is felt.
A human gift with
such a caressing touch.

If you look carefully enough.
Linking the heart thread
with the soul thread.
There is no deceiving.
And even the shadows
look different.
A hidden place we so
secretly keep.

I walk across the street.
The autumn breeze pipes
sadly all around me.
I look for your eyes
and the blossom on the branch.
To where my dreams will wander
This is one way for a man to exist.
​

​Tossing in my bed
​most of the night.
​I pulled and knotted together
​the fragments of fate.
​That turned out bad.
​
​The autumn morning came.
​It was not the
autumn ​of old times.
​But good enough to waken
​again, the buds of spring to come.
​

​Life takes longer when
you walk through city streets.
​Watching everything
transform itself.
​There are days of meeting.
​And I can loose myself
​in a night’s dream.
​Even the shadows are
​hidden for a while.
​Yet I alone, remain the same.
​As the clouds drift
​in an open sky.

This morning after the rain
I walked along the streets alone.
Most of the summer
flowers had gone.
There was enough silence
to fill the west lake.
Empty, as ever-I carried on.
Wondering, how many
had passed this way before?

​

​
​One morning of autumn.
​Everything is prepared.
​The notes, the
​delivering of the words.
​And the electric buzz
​of a teaching day.
​May youth and wisdom
​remain there long.