at the stars appearing as the night starts
at the child smiling
at the cloud shape-shifting
at the bird taking flight
at the chocolate melting on the tongue
at the ink making words come to life
at the ant pulling a leaf
at the steam rising from a cup of tea
at the sky stretching beyond the horizon
at the bread rising as it bakes
at the rain drop polishing the sidewalk
at the flower hanging from the vase
at the onion slice wilting in the pan
at the universe dancing beyond your imagination.
look around you.
and you will become all of it.
Inspiration: every day.
I am made of clay and wind.
I am made of water and silence.
Every day I crumble.
Every day I rebuild myself.
Inspiration: living one day at a time.
The wind calls in the early morning
by afternoon it is a raging storm
lifting veils revealing beauty
then slipping under doors
listening to lovemaking.
Inspiration: a windy day with beautiful blue skies.
Did you know that during some nights,
if you stretch your arm, you can touch the moon?
Now, do so, but very carefully.
I did it the other day,
and well… I tipped it… a bit…
the whole world did not take itself so so seriously!
People laughed for no reasons at all.
It only rained during the night.
The little crabs started walking straight.
And all the children slept peacefully,
all weapons silent… finally.
And all this from tipping the moon … a bit!
Just a little bit, really, when I touched it.
I have to say it was great!
But what a scolding did I get!
Grouchy people had lost their pout,
while chatty politicians were tied up in knots.
I thought it was funny, but they did not.
With all the rain, the insects were a tad frustrated,
but the flowers were delighted,
and so were the gardeners around the world.
A few tulips were even spotted in the Sahara desert!
Crabs got well… slightly dizzy.
Now that’s not so good, is it?
They could have gotten used to walking straight,
I think, most humbly.
The fierce warmongers smiled
twitching their large moustaches,
and some even laughed
when their weapons turned into potashes.
Others I admit, did not like having their shinny boots
covered with pink goo.
Someone else stretched his arm
and tipped the moon back straight.
Now it looks stiff and cold,
and makes me feel so so old.
The grouchy recovered his pout,
the crab walks again sideways,
and it rains most days.
Many children went back to covering their ears
while the warmongers develop new high tech gears.
I want to stretch my arm again,
and make the moon look like Charlie Chaplin.
Come with me tonight and we will do it together.
So that maybe,
the world stops taking itself so so seriously.
The words of the poet save our hearts from mediocrity and putrefaction.
With a dash of ink and plenty of elegance, he knows that each word is as ephemeral as what it says; and herein lies his gift.
Inspiration: reading the poetry of Ryōkan in the early morning.
As the evening gently ushers in the night,
I remain baffled at the continuous quarrels of mankind
amidst the silence of the stars.
Inspiration: New Year, peace, silence.
The wrinkles at the corner of my eyes
can tell many stories.
I am old you see, very old,
older than the faded carpet I sit on.
My eyes are deep.
They contain the secrets of alchemists
and infinite horizons of dazzling colours.
I come in peace, always in peace.
I am wrapped in the colours of the desert
and offer a cup of saffron tea
to the ones who visit me.
When it touches their lips,
it turns into wine.
I speak the universal language of the reed,
the one of a thousand smiles.
And I like to wrap each smile
very carefully in words of poetry.
I then offer them to the ones
who have embraced roses.
I know the thorns penetrated their skin,
I have my own scars.
Please accept my offering.
Music: Ney by Ostad Hassan Kasaie استاد حسن کسایی (Iran, 1928-2012).