The moon last night
a red bowl
traveling in the western sky,
filled with offerings
and empty all the while
ready to receive
— like my heart.
Kenza.
—
Inspiration: the moon last night.
Tag: Poetry
Open window
Open window.
The afternoon wind lifts
the corner of the paper.
The brush dances.
The ink sings my solitude.
For a brief moment,
I escape the rigidity of appearances.
Kenza.
—
Inspiration: Shodō (Japanese calligraphy)
The words of the poet
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.
Kenza.
—
Inspiration: reading the poetry of Ryōkan in the early morning.
Offering
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.
Salaam
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.
Kenza.
—
Music: Ney by Ostad Hassan Kasaie استاد حسن کسایی (Iran, 1928-2012).
Awake before the sun
Awake before the sun
I remain still under the feathered blanket
my thoughts galloping through the vastness of silence.
Kenza.
—
Inspirations: dawn, winter.
A book of poetry
To read a few lines each day like a cat lapping milk, nourishing the soul.
Words of the ancients or the new, all wise poets bequeathing us with words like a soothing pearl necklace.
But the world threw a spear at slowness. Nowadays, few read the words of the wise.
Maybe this year, instead of giving trinkets, give a book of poetry. Whether it is read or used as a door stop, it does not matter; the very presence of the book will shine bright in the house of your friend.
Kenza.
—
Inspiration: slowness and reading poetry.
I like
I like
the feel of the cold glass on my forehead
when I lean against the window on a rainy afternoon.
Kenza.
—
Inspiration: Autumn rain.
