In the shadows of daybreak’s silent screams. A single star swoops from the heavens. A woman, in her bedroom – her heart burning. A keepsake of what? That night of the moon, and the afterglow of such sweet caress.
A fossil tree, A sharp-edged pen, unsheathed. Inviting an eastern wind to take me away. My love awaits me. her soul cuts through this void. Until the time, we shall see the magpies again.
Once the wind blew for me. A wind that I had waited for. Sundered from the summer mountains, and omen of lifted stones. That my great lament was no more. And in my hand, holding the shape of our night. Your soul, your spirit and love by the twig fire.
Though life howls as it goes, I can still taste your sweetness. Taken from the body of the one I wait for. And when the moonlight starts to seep, you and I will be there. To catch the plum-flowers when they fall. Your lips, your breasts as tender as young leaves. I drink, but still thirsty I want more.
My friends, who now sit in a silent way. Now that summer is over. Will you still hear the cicada shrieks, that never leaves a moment dry. And the screams of joy, from the blue magpies. Swirling away from the peaks. As they make their way back to their island homes. Stretching and learning as they go. A tiny gentleness that does not wither.
When the east wind blows, I smell your scent. So near, that the smallest pebble grows. And a thousand birds, twitter in the fading summer season. Everything is renewed, and I dream of an island boat.
They are burning everything to death. The birds, the fish in the sea and the protection that wisdom brings. It is not easy to persist with courage. We are just tiny voices echoing in the quiet nights. But the days and the world are passing us. Each moment of each day. Look carefully. The deeper the water, the more still and clearer it becomes. Linking the thread of dreams that connects us all. Together we can savour the joys of days, and the radiance of the nights.
But everywhere, the singing fish are wind weeping. Unheeded by the world. Only the distant trees, point the way as they drift. Fishtails scattering the lotus blooms as they pass. Too shallow in here, for anyone to care. Despite everything, this is were they will live and die.
How heavy is this place? How many heaps of sufferings are there? Even the noise is not functioning. Yet, every moment of life is still here. The morning light, clouds in the sky and the colours in the trees. Look carefully, and the shadows will look different
Deep stillness, and banners of the dawn. Do not cast your claims, and there will be no more gloom. Became a moth hanging, drawn from the sun. Then in weariness settle. Bring up your eyelids, to rescue the whispers. And everything will become memory. Floating as stone over the sea.
A Wandering Poet 