Rss Feed
Tweeter button
Facebook button
Technorati button
Webonews button
Delicious button
Digg button
Stumbleupon button
Youtube button

 

1988

1994

1996

2002

2012

2013

How many times must I die before I die for the last time?

There is gossip:

Flowers are hiding behind summer’s skirt,

waiting to surprise you.

the sun touches my skin

it’s as warm as my mother’s touch

should have been

My windchime

knows only five words

but when it talks

to the breeze

it’s music to my ears.

I’m not new to snow. But I am new to living where it snows right outside your doorstep, and where one is stuck with snow for around 5 months a year. And like anyone who is new to anything, like a child, I spent time watching and being mesmerized by it.

So here are a few of the many conversations that I had with this Vast Whiteness. We met just outside my door this morning and went for a walk.

—-

“The snowflake is water solidifying into structure,” said the Whiteness as I tried to catch some flakes floating down from the heavens.  “The universe is making patterns at the smallest scale. Nature creating micro-art.”

The flakes landed on my jacket, and as I brought my eyes closer to observe, the Vast Whiteness said, “Just because the snowflake is small and trivial doesn’t mean it should not deserve attention from the universe!” I nodded in agreement, still scrutinizing the flakes on my sleeve and pondering my own triviality.

Continue reading ‘A Conversation With The Vast Whiteness’ »

I am like the wind

mute

 

in fury

I molded oceans into waves

silently rolled them

onto mountains

until   mountains              broke                                    down

I scurried

through flowers

hurried through

meadows;    wordlessly

carried clouds

birds                      seeds

to where they’re needed

missed

or loved

 

then

at the peak of my frustration

I found you

 

you were like a tree

solid

quiet

sincere

 

and while you could not educate

or control me

you stood there and watched me fail

to mold   roll   or    carry you

to push you down

 

you stood

unaffected

as I threw tantrum

after tantrum

until my rage was worn out and tired

until I understood

that I must

slow

down

 

that my strength

does not

match your frailty

that it’s only when I run my fingers

calmly

peacefully

against your lips

only when I brush your hair gently

that you will open your palms

and give me back

my true voice

Tonight they will make us walk

barefoot

through the halls of this feeble language

until we are tired, cold

and disgraced

 

They will order us

to stop

They will blindfold us

first you, then me

and place us in front of the firing squad

As they gaze with contempt at our eloquence

 

And while we stand in front of those lifeless letters

As they take their aim

As they judge us

Our fervent hands will meet

fingers will grip each other

     crushing the silence

between our palms

 

We are partners in crime

 

You will turn to me, smiling

(I will imagine your smile)

with your mischievous eyes

(I will see them despite our blindfolds)

like you always do

when you have a plan.

 

“I know of a place,”

you will whisper,

“not far from here

where we can hide and read the night

Where no one will discover us

while we write, erase

and rewrite

our words

 

until we find

that perfect sentence

 

And there we can spend forever

whispering it to each other

until we are innocent

again”