Some pictures I took today.
Confusions of the mind.
Health
Tattered memories
To be lonely, and raise my face
to a mirror on life.
To gaze at the stars every night
and lament for nothing.
Is to waver between
life and death – and
become a single-body.
That moment, when even
the rushing streams cease
all their flowing
And the hills and mountains,
overturn.
Walking Eastward
I look at the faces,
and hear an old tune.
A sound of non-being
fills the void.
My mind goes wandering,
still the darkness.
But along deaths path,
towards distant hills –
I still behold the moon
and river waters clear.
There, my song
charms me asleep –
until the end.
A door to yesterday
A picture I came across from my trip to South Korea. I wrote this poem a couple of days ago.
The shape of the day,
and smell of a summer shower.
Before, she made it something.
Now, the bird song
shortens a memory lane.
A spot of sunlight changes its grip,
the earth shakes.
Just enough to remind me,
that death is death –
all over again.
A place for Apparitions
I escape to the coffee cafes,
to hide myself.
Again a pen and solitude,
hold a guardian spirit.
And inside, an alternative
to a fog of fatigue.
The powerful totems, stand tall.
A truth is never taken
‘Regret’ – My Picture.
Once regrets come to mind,
they fall like leaves…in vain – from all around.
Sometimes with shame,
always with sadness.
A mirror awaits me, forever.
Necessary Inconvenience
My picture.
All winter and spring,
I have moved….a wall, a building
an argument.
It meant nothing,
it meant absolutely everything.
Now head down towards the meadow floor,
an eerie silence slowly coming into view.
The evening star glows to the right,
and panic whispers in my ear..
Talking to the dying
My drawing.
Just by the hospital,
I met a man
who told me he talks to the dying.
Those sleepless souls
who have lost their shape.
“You feel deeply” he said.
“Just fragments” said I.
As I left, I thought
time and future have meaning.
And watched,
as the others lined-up
to talk with the man
….. trying to act casual.
Clouds of pain
My picture.
Tell me of pain,
what do you know?
I can recollect
when the shadows
of the night came out.
I have never killed,
only ever loved.
Yet, there has been
so much pain…..
with passion
and prolonged silence….
Tell me what you know,
about pain?
Enough
My picture
Not just a pastime, to me
An invigorating swing
of medical English.
Wrapped around
the humanity of
William Carlos Williams
and Cicely Saunders.
Tailing with high gratitude…
and silver lamps of light…
always helping…for no reward.
Yet…alone
how lonely I feel
in the battlefield here.
A Wandering Poet 