When I smell the fragrance of the blossoms

When I smell the fragrance of the blossoms,
millions of years rush inside of me –
speeding planets,
flashes of blinding lights,
galaxies forming in twirls of dust,
and
a drop of water as atoms collide.

Time eternal
and gentle
emerging through seeds and flowers.

Fragrance –
the rush of life
exhaling from its depth,
beauty unabashed,
because it can.

When I smell the fragrance of the blossoms,
I am one with the very essence of life
because I can –
because it is.

Kenza.

Gentle Spring rain

春雨

Gentle Spring rain
petals scattering
which one am I hearing?

Small birds chirping
too young to fly.
The cat observes them
from the window.
I like to think he just wants to play.

Soft breeze,
the clouds shape-shift
and the rain leaves.

New fragrances arrive
as old as the earth.

I sit
and write nothing.
How comforting.

Kenza.


Note: There some 50 different ways to name “rain” (雨 – ame) in Japanese. And just for Spring, one can use “Spring rain” (春霖 – shun rin) or “gentle Spring rain” (春雨 – shun u). I was inspired by the latter for this poem.

My heart like a folded rose

My heart like a folded rose
awaits morning to unfold.
The vast garden is quiet
only the leaves sing softly with the breeze.

When the sun crosses the threshold,
a thousand rose petals sprinkle the garden path.
My heart has finally opened
revealing the treasures inside of me.

The scent of the flowers intoxicate my eyes,
my lips still carry the taste of the last kiss of the night.
All I can do is to keep on giving,
peace comes with doing harm to no one.

Kenza.

Hibakusha – 被爆者

A peace poem

Hibakusha –
atomic bomb survivor
… what a distressful epithet.

Loss
tragic loss
carbonized beings
in an urban desert.

And for so many years
discrimination
pushed aside
for being different
branded
feared
– that instinctive fear
brought on by ignorance.

Seventy three years
since Hiroshima and Nagasaki
and still
people have not learned
people fail to remember.

Still playing with missiles
as though they were match sticks.
Still trying out new ways
to kill, to inflict pain.

Big people playing
the games of little brats
for real
because they can
because we let them.

Kenza.


This short text was inspired by a recent encounter with a Hibakusha. My son and I were honoured by his presence and his words, poignant words said with utter simplicity about his experience on that day and the years that followed. We were most humbled as he encouraged everyone to work for peace, no matter the size of the gesture. The gentleman was six years old when the atomic bomb feel on Hiroshima.