Layers upon layers

Layers upon layers
of thoughts and memories and emotions.
We are wrapped in layers like onions.
One by one they stack upon us from childhood,
and as adult we strive to take them off.

I want to get rid of those heavy layers.
The ones of the past that weight on my back,
that impede me from dancing freely
and laughing like a child.
It is so easy to say that the past is gone,
you need a generous environment
or emptiness, for it to be so.

Emptiness.
It seems easier as it requires no one to lean on.
Emptiness holds no expectations.
Maybe that is why I seek silence
and the poetry of the ancients.
Maybe that is why I shun the complex
and the superfluous.

There is no wisdom in my words,
just the perpetual questioning
of how to find tranquility of the heart
in a world that too often remains incomprehensible.

Kenza.

The blue cup with the butterfly

I sweep the dry leaves and the brushwood from the alley leading to the front door.
I rarely do so, as I seldom have visitors.
The night before you arrive, I know it will rain. In silence, it will wet the trees and the roof.
The scent of wet soil will greet you along with the one of the roses I planted near the entrance.
I will leave the front door ajar. It may squeak, echoing my old bones.
As for me, after setting up the tray with the blue cup with the butterfly, I will depart.
The kettle will be filled. The tea leaves are in the small white jar.
You will find tranquility here.
Stay as long as you wish.

Kenza.