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.
l’herbe folle — en prière.
wild grass — in prayer.
Come to my garden.
The one where the roses open in the silence of the night.
The one where my secret sorrows gently wash away the dust from the path,
so that your feet may step onto it.
The garden where tears also water the roses
– the ones that open in the silence of the night.
You will feel your sorrows leave you,
just like the dust on the path.
near the roses that open in the silence of the night.
Nowruz when Spring gently knocks at the door baring the gift of light, illuminating the house and encouraging me to clean it meticulously.
I listen to the swallows’ early morning songs and the quiet opening of the hyacinth.
I set up the haft seen, the seven items of the altar. This year it is lavender, eggs, garlic, an apple, a silver plate, a candle and the poetry of Omar Khayyam and Hafez, showering us with their blessings.
You are cordially invited to our house to sit under the blooming jacaranda and listen to the gentle conversation of the violet, the pansy and the tulip. Believe me, they always have a lot of interesting things to say if you listen carefully.
Please come and come early, so that together we may dance amidst particles of light and smile at Khayyam and Hafez’s witty and eternal poetry.
Several flocks of ducks flew over the house this morning, going north to their summer dwellings.
I thought of counting them. There must have been more than 200 birds in each flock.
And then I came to my senses.
Why this need to count? To appropriate something by putting it into a category or a number? Why compare or count?
Let the birds fly north! Enjoy them as they are!
And most importantly, take in the beauty of their ways in silence just as they leave no traces in the sky.
Inspirations: Spring, morning sky and birds.
Mid morning —
The bird wobbles across the garden.
He picks a twig, lets it go.
He goes towards a fallen bougainvillea flower, turns away.
He flies onto a branch, sings a few notes.
We seem to always have a place to go,
a goal to reach,
a purpose to fulfill.
Couldn’t we just be aimless?
There may be some wisdom in this somewhere.
Inspiration: reading Chuang Tzu on a Spring morning in a garden.
When a flower opens it means a heart
somewhere, is trembling after
a gesture, a passing gesture
of immense tenderness.