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. Wether 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.
Inspiration: slowness and reading poetry.
the feel of the cold glass on my forehead
when I lean against the window on a rainy afternoon.
Inspiration: Autumn rain.
When it rains at dawn,
the sky brightens uniformly —
drops diluting all the colours.
Inspiration: rain at dawn.
The ninth month
Chrysanthemums are starting to flower
Yes, I am a poet —
one of those belittled
by this world in such a hurry.
Be thankful I cannot sing,
imagine what it would mean!
At least writing poetry
is a silent endeavor.
Sadness is an immense meadow.
A misty meadow filled with elegant trees,
branches laden with silent love.
Live your sadness thoroughly
like a rainy day that seems to never end.
Shed tears. Shed them all.
Let sadness devastate you,
crush your heart
until slowing it to the limits of life.
Then let the intense force of love,
the very root and fruit of sadness,
awake it all.
Let love open your eyes
and pull you up so that you may stand
in the vast meadow of sadness.
Let love reveal to you
that state of grace that only beauty confers.
Let it enrobe you with its immeasurable tenderness.
Yes, the world is often rough and cunning,
shattering our most intimate thoughts
and forcing us to doubt the simple beauty in our lives.
So open your eyes and take in the beauty.
Let all your sadness become a piece of cloud,
then place it inside your heart so that love may find a place to rest.