I think I know my death.
The groans, the aches
and the little creaks.
The costumes, the drinking,
the men muttering
and still striving –
as the beautiful ladies
read my poems.
And most of all,
a spirit liberated into the air.
That neither foes
nor loving friends can hurt.

All night,
I could not sleep.
Making a useless fuss,
and bringing up an old age
and death with no end.
Yet, in this realm
of light and dark.
I lived these moments,
outside the universe.
And I saw,
the meaning of sadness.
With a rebirth
of dazzling pureness.

As I walk along,
step by step
the first snow is falling.
A summoned winter,
blown from the northern steps.
I do not bleed
or look too far back.
Life sometimes sparkles
like a kiss.

As the evening rain falls,
rice in my bag, and memories
of a women, who loved
me with intention.
I sit comfortably,
and stay for evermore
For evermore…..

So time passes,
and youth passes
but my desire is never fulfilled.
Simply making my way,
sipping sweet spring water.
Never recognising
the sorrowful birch
and distant dog barks.
A new thread through
dark winter rain.

Darkness of the night,
a weight of the rocks
and shadows drawn long.
Time, wrapped
in illusions and cravings
– what’s to be done?

Out of nowhere,
a faraway me answered “yes”.
A free mind, resting
on nothing and the trees
exactly as they were.
That is the true home.

Just ahead, empty streets
black burnt and bent.
The doors of darkness open,
reborn in the race for
bauxite and diamonds.

A murmor of voices,
plunge into a
half – finished heaven.
But the lights close in
and the darkness continues.

As we huddle – a roar
of disbelief from
the insects, the flowers,
and the aminals.
And then a void, in silence
we close our eyes.

rhdr

qrf

The sun is faded yellow
with toil and pain,
as the swallows
lament their parting grief.

Now, a soul-consuming
fairy tale of endless hopes,
dances in the city.
Dripping down a frosted
window cold, in the name
of a fickle lover.

Though I can write,
who listens to the poets?
So the flowers and I
cannot stay long.

Leaves on the trees,
scarcely shown.
I look up at the sky,
where winter clouds
are drifting to.
And pass, as all things do

hdrpl

An image,
shivers in the damp cold.
She is crying,
regrettable of old age
and ceaselessly
flowing tide.
Her eyebrows,
dressed in pity
come into focus.
A sweet spring
of such attachment.