New Ambition

Clattering sound of falling kitchen pans brushes aside her reverie 

Her eyes fix on the sea

Fog distorts perception of distance, silence ushers thinking confidently 

She adjusts herself in the writing table

With a new  ambition

She writes, her fingers trembling with words.

Evening crickets will summon her to sleep

The rooster will wake her before dawn

Seldom she considers to stray outside these boundaries

Her stories wanting to be heard

Like mute feelings suddenly freed from captivity

How to express the river’s yearnings

The delicate exposure of what is hidden

Abundant play before learning the alphabets

The forest changes, weather comes with seasons

She feels fresh facing open spaces, the deep and simple questions, enhancement and pruning

The mysteries of truth and moments of need

Finding her way in intricacies of language

If she has nothing to say, she stays silent.

She may play her violin in front of the llamas

Or she may hold the cat close to her chest

Hum a melody to its ear

Don’t let desire turn to dreaming and fades

Even when distance dims

She has to consider the end

What is meaningful to her

To flourish the goodness life

And encourage herself to cultivate 

Habits of the heart.

Ancient Habit

A thought 

awaken you from velleity

a summon to bear fruit

you lace your shoes

you start walking, an ancient habit

fresh persuasion of open air,

feelings of space and seeing

the outdoors, vast and hospitable, 

slopping hills 

you bravely ascend steps, 

carefully accelerate descent

blistered heels and suffering knees,

and muscle burns

temporary distractions,

hesitation gradually fades

one step at a time, the trodden way

strength prospers and optimism lifts

exhilaration and healthy elements

you huddle a new circle, your kindred:

sway of stride, unhurried banter, 

their voices twinkle in greetings

you don’t have to

but you keep a journal 

the notches, tiny achievements

nourishing pastoral scenes, 

joy of jotting experiences

the long walks

you observe the olympians, 

their constancy

you wonder how they do it

the focus, the intensity

the magnitude of sacrifices

you weigh yours in gratitude

you try to understand, 

is there time to exult or console

you are in your eighties

you dare to disturb life expectancy

in full measure.

Flirtations

Should I haiku

my way to you

light bends

The apple falls

flowers attract butterflies

bees circle around

Mothers wonder

children run to sounds of  a waterfall

does enthusiasm measure distances

The kite laughs with the wind

free and unafraid

a boy watches

Inquisitive, often in motion

a bird moves from from to branch

to opening spaces

I decide to be better

procrastination flirts

catches my curiosity

The splendor of order

my thoughts and a nightingale singing

a pebble and thunder

The swan’s wings sweep the air

clouds coalesce like a quilt

the pond and I mirror the scene

The swan, lovely and silent

unruffled by wakes of passing boats

somewhere, a monk in contemplation.

Unafraid, swelling with confidence, she prays 

the snow falls on top of trees

first week of December

My strength begins

paddles breaks the water

the ducks glide

The bell’s sounds of angelus

a moment of remembrance

farmers stand silent on the field

With darkening sky

poetic storm enters her vision

sharp and exhausting

Bowls and fields catch raindrops

seasons of need

umbrellas cover workers’ heads

note: The photos were taken during my walk to the river. Books I am reading. Our Book Club decided to read Moby Dick.

Metaphors in Idleness

Sometimes you want to spend a day to idleness

Some people are not for greatness

You have to know which one to elevate, which one to endure

To choose one character is an act of courage

Dancing when you should be praying

When procrastination awakes doubt enters

You fast while in the temple of Weeping Women

To cleanse yourself

Tomorrow morning, early, you will visit the waterfalls

And enter the cave behind the falling waters

A shelter for you till beauty

And strength thread in your consciousness:

An armadillo waking

An astonishing reflection in its eyes

note: photos are from my wlak to the river on Thursday. The day is sunny and warm. Beautiful day to go out .

Begins With A Question

Life is not a simple flow of time

 A lived experience

a taste of beauty

then taken away

Is there enjoyment in being immortal

though everything you touch is not permanent

a statue, a stone, unlike a snowflake

everyone will pass away

and you remain

immortal, you,alone

with all your elaborate memories.

Can we still ask

and live life’s hard question

or remain submerged in modern angst?

Or are we waiting like a jar

to fall into fragments on the floor?

Or do we bloom for each other on virtual reality?

In the reddening sun

we should not be content

just to be alive.

note: I finished reading the book, Paris in the Present Tense by Mark Helprin. About time, art and life and love.

An Invitation

Hundred tents and more than hundred pairs of eyes

bathe in the brightness of the stars

more than a hundred dreams and failures

In the morning they will swim and fish and kayak in the lake

They will close their books, remember quotations in their hearts

Create spaces for discoveries

Some will be filled, some will remain empty

Tension of equilibrium and displacements

Each day is different from the last

They may question accomplishments

and value experiences

The dialogue of thoughts that inhabits the mind

Like a breeze playing with the reeds

Come, the reeds say to the breeze,

Let’s dance.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

I like carrying a yellow parasol

protects me from rain

sometimes it balance my thoughts

from crowds, sudden jolts

opens to social distancing,

a companion in my walks

If I am meeting a friend

I am easy to distinguish 

In a crowded train station

Suffering can be cruel

yellow seems to soften my emotion

It’s New Year 

you will understand changes.

Musing

What are cruel works for man?

The siren paves a way

rage to be heard

or hurry to offer remedy

someone cries for help

arrival then silence

Start of another story 

One may not walk away

drastic alteration of meanings

the grief rises when 

one doesn’t listen

but invisible energy emerges

when someone cares

After all this thinking

I arrive at a camp at Lake Millinockett

to fish for brown trout.

note: The book I’m reading: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron