In the morning,
I heard a sad cicada sing.
A song of pain
and the knell of
dark days to come.
All of a sudden,
the words changed.
To a land in another place.
I thought, everything
is in my mind to
grasp and move on.
There is light and truth
for a happy mind.

​
​Still dragonfly weather.
​Summer sleeping sort of day.
​But my eyes are locked
​on what is in front of me.
​Bright sunlight on your skin.
​No time to waste.
​”Show me the rest – if you wish”.
​And the threads were
linked between our dreams.

​
​Late summer.
​Still the sultry nights.
​The winter moon
​not far away.
​Full of death
and pale pearls.
​But in the shining sky
I see you there.
And life wakes up again.
​

The banks of dark clouds
still drift from the peak.
And the pity of things
still haunt some of my dreams.
Sniping from time-to-time
from the cold morning sky.

But I am still able to write my
words that echo in the quiet night.
Listening to the few souls –
with whom I can exchange
intimate whispers.
And the ins and outs
of a serene breath.

​

This year in Setember
why is it so beautiful?
The trees and the
flowers are dying slowly.
Husband and wife
don’t talk anymore.
And there is little
breeze in the city.
But each single form and
hue is merged and lost.
Nothing in life is
without a cloud.
And still the world offers
itself to my imagination,
and to my words.

Today, I was given a gift.
I thought, what is the lesson?

How to understand reality
without using your mind?

Or maybe, how to be at peace
when aching petals are dying?

Then I closed my eyes
echoing in a quiet moment.

The day and the world passed by.
And I realized the friend is the real gift.

In the middle of that desert.
I wondered how you will
fashion the future?
How will a garden grow
in this barren place?
With only waving
hands as a guide.
“You don’t need to
worry about nothing,
it’s not your business” you told me.
And twenty, thirty, forty years.
I realized you had
not moved an inch.

A cold indifference
fills your voice.
As is there was no more.
I wonder, have you ever
held a hand so tight as
though you cannot let go?
I lament the passing
of this honesty and decency.
And if I am asked one day,
how it was?
I will leave nothing out.

​

When I had no love.
I made myself
the object of loving.

When I had no friends.
I became a friend to
the sun and the moon.

When I had no temple.
I made my words and my voice
a hopeful place to rest.

I bring each day all that I am.
Love, words, the sun, the moon
and the magic of my voice.

There is nothing outside of me.
Except the shadow of death.
Such a simple happening.

In every step
the world before my eyes.
But I choose
the opposite direction.
Crossing long streets
and ignoring the shadows.
Enough to listen to the
rain and tilt the flowers.
And no longer bearing
the pain of being.
​