The self advances
with each step.
The trees sing when
there no wind around.
And I watch the leaves
fall on rocky ground.
What is there left to praise?
Everything is before me.
Clear from the hindrances
of attachment and knowing.
Spring air, not quite.
I still have to apply my mind
to the maddening views.
Of those articulating
emptiness as the way.
Jingling and tinkling
their way through life.
Some say, why bother –
this is the way it is.
Trying not to allow dust
to fall upon my thoughts.
I say “How do you like your world?”
Even with the wildest
winds around me.
I still find time to come and go.
An afternoon breeze stirs.
The sun sets.
Simple happenings.
Each a snapshot of a moment.
But a path I can always take.
In which I accept my part.
Clambering up and
down the streets.
The fog seems to
go on and on.
There is no wind of change.
So how to address the fog?
Mind, mind and mind –
with a dose of contemplation.
Of course, I need to practice –
a calming of the heart.
Until I feel all the dust
and worshipping mounds.
Have been washed away
from my mind.
Before the coffee
had finished brewing.
I had smiled, and the
mountain path
had brought me to you.
Poems came like rain
soaking dry streets.
Everything was here –
enshrined within me.
I used to be a man of sorrows.
Weeping in my beer.
Playing at being brave.
I knew something was wrong.
So, I mopped up the clouds –
and wrote poems.
Walking through the dark.
To find places where
the sun hangs out.
A peace between the wars.
A spring exodus –
now the heroes return.
A new birth of the art,
spared by the winter cold.
Or a sweet song of
non-attachment?
Let us see the real spring flowers.
In all their natural glory
Gulping down February.
I travelled for 21 days.
Past rise fields, seas
and crowded streets.
How precious each step was.
The way was always with me.
And nothing turned from me.
I am sure now
that spring will come.
By the river.
On the streets.
I gaze within myself.
Sometimes, I see a
world of fading grass.
Other times, a flame of
truth as strong a ever.
A place of fleeting hours.
Where heaven and hell
cease to exist.
Still full of hope,
and full certainly life.
I left home.
Soon, I learned
to walk the path.
To notice the minor
ripples in my mind.
To see through them
like one who sees.
Passing through the barriers.
To continue my journey, alone.
