The vast, quivering landscape
Sordid in heat,
Recites to my travelling eyes,
A complacent suffering.
The little matchstick trees
And calm sporadic waters,
Quieten often to a breeze
A subtle complaint of love.
In these desolate lands
I find your house,
With memory paintings on the walls
Under which I wish to lie.
Your incandescent laughter
Lightens my meditations
Into a water color painting
Of your heart.
I survey the distant droughts
Of my pain filled past
Humbled by the lyrical simplicity
Of your intentions.
1 comment:
I just can't believe that everything we get troubled about in our lives matters.
Constantly put in thinking about the numerous things that we experience
just about every moment is going to be really important,
as no other person will encounter your life for us. I feel that
men and women ought to be a whole lot more mentally stable.
Technology is superb, however, a lot of everything we might know about is
indeed abstract. Having a cup of tea is a zen process
that takes one back to the present occasion. We have to be
more in the here and today, without being overwhelmed by life and the drama we encounter each day.
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