Blindness

7EAEBE0F-D6D1-4CFB-BA02-D426EEE22DFFThe past are things I do not know

The present are things I can not touch

The future is a cat in the act of jumping

“Deep in your soul you don’t want to be the last.”

I decide I will go south

To master something I have to comprehend it first

I will carry a camera with a simple admonition

“How can I make them blind to my presence?”

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Where are you?

The fresh thought of wanting

The eagerness of eating an ice cream cone

Hastens arrival of summer

As if it can be done by magical gestures

I’m thinking of supernatural, the miraculous.

I will fold my hands

And sit still,  in silence.

 

There are those extraordinary hours

When you feel the approach of the beautiful

The moments when imagination is at its sharpest

When you see only clarity

Awe can be incomprehensible.

The ice cream is melting

The buds remain buried under the snow

I’m running very fast to catch reality

And tie it down.

Where are you?

Length of Stay

Length of Stay

There is no more boredom or uneven walk on the hiking trail
No more mere acorns and colored pebbles from the riverbed
A new day of catastrophe’s widening reach
Wearing a mask wherever one goes
Suspicion of catching the virus when traveling, talking with friends and strangers
Living in narrow corridors
A suffocating feeling, counting the hours
Waiting when the end come?
With fear of being left alone and contagious

Today I walk to the river
There is a pink breasted bird flying from one branch to another, from one tree to another tree
Tweeting and communicating in a high pitch bird talk
I see a fisherman attending to his line
The fish has not touched any of his baits
But living is not all about intensity and patience
Not all about uncertainties and business hours
Life is also about the every day simplicity: corn on the cob and opening an umbrella during the rain,
A good book, kind thoughts, and Beethoven
And kissing you goodnight.

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.

 

Blossoming

The blossoming of what one solitary heart can attain

Each time one opens the window of dawn

The abundant praise that comes out

The ordinariness shaped since ancient time

A rhododenrdrone, mountain goats, waterfalls

All offered to be touched, uttered, experienced,

Makes one bolder to leave the shelter

Shyness can not remain hidden

The dialogue of senses climbing each step

To attain the summit of expressions

The confluence of thousand stars, a constellation

We are the new arrivals

The vastness seems to be always there

We think they will last forever

They are evanescent as we are

But we try as if leaving a hint

Of what we are.

Calamities, distant or vague

Bring tremors to the mind

Where do you want to be

When the sun goes down?

 

Can you be anywhere,

Ubiquitous like the sun?

But the mind though untrammeled

Can not occupy all spaces.

 

A fisherman bruised by absence of fish

Will pursue with ferocity

Any hints of trout presence

In whatever weather or distance.

 

He will not be deceived by color

Or pitch of whirling waters

Or exasperated by any sinking thought

The oars are focused, desire is steeled.

 

Does begin the intellectual incarnation

A reverence for beauty and truth

The universe forever expanding

I’m feverishly reaching for your hand.

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