Alone in the world, so fragileThere is no one to care for himHe slowly walks along the stripOf stones flanked by emptiness. Slapped by the
Étiquette : time
Spilling Life On The Soil
There’s nothing like your wordsTo double-lock time,To turn it into clots,Into scabs and scabsBack into tissue. Reduced from the layersImpacted by the sharp tone of
African Glows
On my skin,The glimmer of a candle flameBrings up Savannah.The colors of scrub landSoftly abandonedBy a setting sun. The light changesThe fine lines of timeInto
Between The Dreadful Drafts
This life, desensitizedLiterally degenerates,Off-track, astrayGuided by Entropy AlmightyUnder mechanical grindersOf Time. Does it dilute on purpose ?Does it have, eventually, not to beAnyone left to
Teaching and Filtration
The presence of a teaching matters so much that it actually often draws the way our feet have started to walk. And when it comes
Calm and Joyful
The colors of life dancing in meAre now blending differently,Delicate glows slowly emergingAnd vividness ready to dim. It is good, it is sad,It is calm
Present Past
Zazen counts years backwardsSitting soflty sands sediments off our eyes Dogen mentioned that time flowed from the present to the past.What his vision was, as
The Soul in Buddhism
Buddhism does not assent to the existence of an eternal soul. Minds raised in Christianism find in this latter assertion a sufficient reason to turn
What Makes me Feel like Crying (2/2)
This poem is following : What Makes me Feel like Crying (1/2) This is the point where wordsCollapse into linesAnd lines fade out in dots,Where
What Makes me Feel like Crying (1/2)
–The illusion of present lives : the succession of thousands of hours, spent pretending we actually exist. –The illusion of past lives : stories, all
Behind the Smile of the Old Man (2)
What appears to me as truly wonderful, is that the aging process does not seem to impact the sheer joy of being. This experience can
Behind the Smile of the Old Man
As we grow older, comes an impression of unsuitability,We feel we have become unfit for inhabiting this place. Compared to the inflamed spark thrown by
How to Read Secret Scriptures
At the top of our breathing inAt the bottom of our breathing out,Falling asleep, at Mindfulness DuskWaking up, at Consciousness Dawn 4 points on the
The Decision (Life Ahead)
I have smothered in the narrowness of your mindsI have despaired along your vacant aspirations. My heart has splintered through you indulgenceMy soul has crushed
To the Morning Whistler
(french version available here : Au Siffloteur des Matins) From the fierce immaturity of my teenage years, I would question him about the endless universe
Notes & Silence 