​
​My hand is writing.
​My eyes can see.
​And the ins and outs
​of my breath are in my mind.
​Every suffering is still there.
​But now they have
​a way to escape.
​A vibrant joy in
letting go of fear.

​
​Standing on an autumn street.
​Quite alone.
​Flute and drum
​are sounding.
​Birds fly past,
​flock-by-flock.
​What a delight it is
​to watch the flow of life.
​With no trouble at all.
​I’m afraid I can’t stay long.
​For I have work to do.
​More than the clouds in the sky.

​
​You asked me about love.
Beauty and struggle.
A thorn in the heart
revealed by chance or fate.
Or no more than
mirrors shattered
under mutilated skies.
No matter.
Amongst these
matching tremors.
I once found an answer.
A woman, a body
a mind, a soul.
Now I think, how can
I love anyone else.

My spirit is something powerful.
It can turn the sun into a flower.
The moon into a beautiful rhythm.
And when it rains, it is not
dampened or lined
with threads of despair.
It climbs slowly, emotions rippling.
And floats across a
rain-drenched world.
Towards the winds of spring.
Moment-by-moment.
​

​With autumn now.
​They huddle in the
rain ​soaked streets.
​But with falling leaves.
​And before the
​winter swirl.
​I look and see
​a skylark soaring.
​Showing me the way.

​On a bare street
​a solitary soul.
​Alone, with
pen and paper.
And a single thought.
Leaf on leaf,
these are the
days of autumn.
They should not
just pass by.
​

From the eastern edge,
the streets are penetrating.
The days linger
and the nights full
of a hundred woes.
But destiny and life
eventually come to an end.
Returning to the moment
in the blink of an eye.
My heart and soul lives on.
What more is there?

Sun up, and I go to work.
Sun down, I drink tea
and write poems.
To some, looks
like a boring thread.
Just this…Just that…
But I think that there is
nothing in this world
that is here and there.
Come, walk with me
and you will see you
are not alone.

​The dream I hunted for.
​Was lost some place
​along the road.
​Bombarded with strange glitter.
​And your shell-like tears.
​Now, unreeled by
​the streets around me.
​I write poems, without the
​glitter and solemn apprehension.
​To please myself, and nobody else.
​Living in the world’s present life.

​Opening the door,
​I set off…..
​Oh! Oh!
​A rain morning.
​I had a choice.
​Shelter from the rain.
​Or carry on and
​show it to the world.
​’It’s today or never’,
​I thought.
​So, I bowed to the clouds.
​And tempted myself out.
​The sky was dark.
​But still had some
​love for me.