All these meanders and sleights of handAre a dead-end.They push me deeper into the dark.Their roads all finally narrowAnd swear to smother meIf I follow
Étiquette : poem
Brutalizing In The Background
For all my writing : kilometers spread out in paper mattressesFor all my reaching : unattainable places,For all my preaching to nearby villages,About the time
Quintessence Of Instruction – Notes on Maharshi’s Poem (2/2)
Beyond Karma, beyond this world is the Kingdom of Heaven,The Kingdom of God.Inside this karmic existence, actors ‘don’t know what they do ‘, as Jesus said.Saying
World-Ends Prayer
I desperately need a breath of fresh airTo renew the rancid climate of former stagnancy.I have been short of breath for so long,Lord, help me
Secret Coordinates
At the peak of inhalationIn the valley of exhalation,Touching water after diving for sleepReaching eyelid surface when awakening to the new day 4 points on
Thoughts Helmet
Put the thoughts-helmet downand see what life is like in its simplicity, intimacy, immediacy.Life is so close I can finally touch it.Life is so nude
Where Roads Are Paved With Hearts
For this country, I feel a wild attraction, a magnetic, animal instinct.Nothing as refined as what you would expect for a country like this.Actually, I
Edge : Your Guide, My Jammer (1/2)
I would have loved us to walk there,Both of us. But the edge guiding your words and carrying the sound of your voiceJams everything.It disconnects
Meeting The Kesa Of My Life
Today is February, the First, of 2019I am 39 years old.In a few minutes, we’ll celebrateThe seventh birthday of my younger son. At the back
Harvesting Drips
I simply dip the quill in the zafuAnd words drill at the tipThen I harvest them on a notebook.That is all there is to it.
A Father’s Space
When the child angersWhen the child storms about and hits,The role of the father is not to counter-stormAnd to end up both smothering. It is
Tickles In The Forehead
It had been a long time since the ticklingBehind the center of the foreheadHad not sprung up in the course of Just Sitting. Small gravel
On The Battle Shore
Pieces of meMyself, in pieces,To save the ship from sinkingWhile crossing the layers of darknessI have no idea how it finally reached the shoreOf the
The Prayer Of Milare Solsimi
Guitar strings blow a magic bubblewhere useless and destructive wordscan’t get in. It only takes a few seconds for the bubble to take shape.I wish
Silence Will Sit
First you need to keep silent, keep the silence, protect it, like a bodyguard.Surround it and make sure that conditions are preserved to sustain silence.
Notes & Silence 