Forgiveness

Forgiveness

I plant a tree

I help an old man cross the street

I walk with others

who walk in the park

heads down, heads up

smiling, withdrawn

a day in the world

to gather love in the basket

and give away

“universal forgiveness” of what we have

and what we are.

LOVE

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Walking around the kitchen, dining room

She notices words on boxes, objects on the walls

On papers lying around the tables

She hears the sounds, sees images, juxtapositions

She remembers her mother

making wreaths out of corks

She arranges her own

Made of mushrooms and marshmallows, crackers and fruits

She remembers when her mother took her to an art museum

They saw Monet’s paintings of haystacks and water lilies

She remembers her mother

took her and toured a pineapple plantation

She imagines Monet painting

rows and rows of pineapples

How about rows and rows of olive trees

Will he get tired of them?

She wishes she can ask her mother

She will know.

 

Discordant

The birds flew south

Walking in the forest

I heard silence

With echoes of sadness

After you left

The books remained unread

Arranged on top of each other

In alphabets of absence

Some words are missing

In discordant conversations

The strings were adjusted

I was able to sleep

After a very long wait.

A month ago.

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What Will Happen

What Will Happen

What’s like to be stranded in a place surrounded

By foreign language and echoes of history

Will fear envelope you? Maybe not.

Will you be like a child, free

To roam with pocketful of whims?

A universal mind, a child with no habits

With a dimension of willingness

To try, to listen, to ask questions:

How do you say hello, good morning

What ‘s your name? I’m hungry.

Gestures lead conversation and laughter

What will happen?

Complicated things will become simplified

Pull a string, turn a knob, a story will open

In ruins or splendor, devoid of boredom,new

A genius of a child,

Poor or rich, afraid or fearless

Forever curious, sometimes naughty.

 

One voice rises

Above all the mingling of street voices:

Sunset is coming.

Come, share our table

Simply feel at home, my friend.

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If Birds Can Talk

If birds can talk

Like on my other days

I perched that morning

On a flowering fennel along the river.

I saw you coming towards me, holding

In your left hand a walking stick,

A camera in your right hand

I waited for you to get close

Close enough to take my picture

Before I flew away.

Like on your many other days

You might not notice or remember

The little things, good things

You could do

For others.

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