As clear as the rainy season.
August is a ruthless knife,
polished to bitterness.
Yet, all I see is
passion in your veins.
Lifting me to a realm of tastes,
grown in a human world.

Across the morning sky,
I become nostalgic –
all that love given
and received.
An all night caress,
look – I’m burning with you.

But, some tongues creep on –
against the odds,
And lemon trees
grow in the wind,
forever in a ready mood.

You finally came
into my soul.
So, hold me tight
and taste my pain.
And I will accompany you,
with the sun and the moon.

Sun-scattered,
here and there,
a splash of worshippers
returning to their homes.
Coiled like ropes,
as a cuckoo’s
echo dies away.
Already it seems
like years and years.
My mind isn’t like yours,
more than just to
finish life’s span.
Coming, going, life and death.
The whole sun,
moon and entire sky –
and how to gauge
my love for you.
With my pen and coffee,
I sit comfortably –
and we can begin
to speak of life.
 

A big wind is blowing,
blowing on tears
from 58 years….
A wedding, some births,
the first kiss and taking
loneliness for non – loneliness.
I see the passion of history,
stumbling before me.
And your love
comes close again.

In the hot sun
the flower blooms.

I smell the flower.
I touch the flower.

And you arrive
like the dew.

No longer afraid to love,
we gather our things.

And we fly like the waves,
and nothing of my burdens are left.

Hold me tight, this is
the last time we set out.

Through the cracks
in the earth,
a light blue sky.
And a mountain graced
with your sweet flesh.
A theme without variations –
watching me, touching me.
All feelings in flames,
and our souls
changing bodies.

In the north
the plain extends.
Stretching beyond
an avalanche
of insomnia,
and unrequited love.
And if my lover,
fails to wake me
with a kiss, and again.
I catch the suns
last goodbye,
and the rivers
thoughts for the day

Took a trip to
the northern plains.
Where grass rose
into skyscrapers,
and life found me.
There and then
I made a choice.
It is the sun
or my heart.
I chose my heart,
the long road.
This life, is my life –
each day a different
image of my face.
Opening my eyes
to the world.
A man with identity,
making his way
through the dark nights.
And in the end,
I become one with the
grass, the sky, the horizon
and with you.

A crown of smoke
rises between
the few beans sprouted.
And grey silos
dripped in faded words.

Nearby, a muted dance
takes place –
by a lazy stream.
And in an hour, maybe –
we will all
interrogate the dark.

Or nourish the fire ants,
and dream once more –
of prairies and horizons

I walk around the streets,
and bend to the shadows dropped.
A ground swell of solace,
half lying, half sitting.
Like a scent, spread everywhere –
I smell it, I taste it.
Just calm remains,
sitting with me.
And small is beautiful.