Saturday, May 19

The cryings of a baby (or maybe a love letter)

Let us speak about this again
about what he said
about what I said.
about that morning sunlight in Greece, in the summer.
that tint that makes love and tears sweet,
that air, that day

Let us speak of that again.
of those moments of love, of purity
where the sky is open and the world is whole.
that space, that peace and life,
when I stood across from you and saw you.
that moment
that open space
that moment wrapped in time,
hidden behind other moments,
standing out of sight, behind trees and lampposts.

I have not told you anything in this poem
I am not giving you anything from my private world.
But look:
If you stop, if you listen,
If you come forward,
If you listen with your stomach,
And feel with your heart, then it is clear.
I have opened for you a window and you can look in.
You can smell, and you can know.
All of my love.

In the deepest part of me: I am peaceful and I am humbled.
Because I stand in awe: of a love and of a light of which I know not how to speak to you.
Stillness, in the deepest part of me, is the only way I know how to be,
How to say: I love you.

So let us say something more about this again.
All of this passion, all of this urge,
This cloud that takes over our minds and our senses,
Like a wave, like a tide;
It is nothing.
It is not love, it is nothing.
And may it always be taken away from me,
Always. Until I know how, and until I am capable,
of letting it go myself.
This noise, it is not love.

I know, because in my deepest heart I have the God of Joy,
And the light, that morning summer light of love.

My words say nothing!
My words say nothing but I keep trying to write to you.
I keep trying to say:
Reader, know me.
Stop and love, stand in awe in the light of God and hear me past my words.
I know nothing, I just swim in an ocean.
I will never stop writing to you.
I will keep trying.

Hear the sound.
Feel the light!
It is such ecstasy and utter joy.

I have never been known by a human being, but I'll keep trying.
Make your hearts pure for you will hear the music.
You will see the universe as it is.

My reader, read past my words.
There is a music in all the rocks
The sound of beauty
You can hear it too, I know.   

Saturday, May 5

flying on the wings (a difficult poem)

The aroma comes in first, first through the open window
In awe, in fear I welcome you
In fear, in case you leave
In awe, and in stillness, because there is nothing I can say.

There is no way to describe, there are no words,
When you visit me, we sit in peace, in stillness.
I write your story in silence,
I tell your tale in peace,
For there is no other way.

There is no symbol that will meet your being, 
there are no words that I could use.

I cannot tell the story through me - through what you make me feel,
For that is of no matter.
And I cannot tell the world, of who you are, if they haven’t looked and seen you.

I want to tell your story, I want to speak of our love.
But what I can say is this:
I am so very glad for the stillness;
that the noises are gone;
all that noise, and all that activity are lost now.
And I feel as if this noise was a distraction,
a repulsive disgusting distraction
that had kept us apart.

What I am doing is a difficult thing
It is a dangerous thing:
I feel I must be silent, to hear you
I must be at peace, to see.
But I want to speak of our love,
I want to tell it.

Friday, May 4

Joy of joys

Joy of joys
Beauty of every beauty
Scent of all truth,
Friend of my heart,
Fresh air,
Clarity of my mind.
Light of lights
Beauty of all things.
I gaze upon you.