infused with the fury of spring
a mighty young river flows
powerful and hopeful
with the buoyancy of youth
although unbeknownst to it
whatever rocks it may move
wherever it goes at the end
its force remains deeply constrained
by mountains long ago built
by framing ideas that persist
thick influences lingering past their due
as it happens to us as well
deeper than we can know
we keep flowing ahead
sometimes meandering around
towards a vast and distant sea
following action, reflection is due
out of reflection, attitude grows
upon attitude, action is built
Fragile and ephemeral.
To those unaware eyes.
Crazy flickering lamps,
trembling in the wind.
But appearances are superficial!
See! on the inside there is a mountain,
and within the mountain a deep lake.
Genuine and unique,
self-reliant and authentic.
Behind the veil of softness,
there is an iron will,
a soul committed to the truth
and a spirit no one can defeat.
a timid winter Sun sets
over a thousand years ruins
once mighty monument
now rubble and dust
as I walk back to my path
I shiver at the thought
of the hubris and wrath
these old stones did command
now conquered by the bush
while the suffering and pain
went lost in the haze of time
I cannot help but reflect
how much of today’s sweat and stress
are already condemned
to become future rubble and ruins
only outside equilibrium
beyond the foreseeable and certain
can something new and surprising
come into life and existence
(paraphrasing a passage in Malicorne, by Hubert Reeves)
It is no secret at this point
that every single tumble on my way
offers opportunities to learn and grow.
But what then about those cracks,
indelibly imprinted upon us
by these experiences in life?
Should we rejoice or mourn?
Speechless and clueless,
contemplating nuggets and fissures,
I catch glimpses of truths and answers,
lingering long on faint fleeting hints,
about living having a price,
and wherever this wonderful life leads
it has anyhow to be lived.
The world being what it is
and me being who I am …
how could I prevent some of those mishaps?
Left without sleep and wishing better days,
lingering over the spilled milk
some days I cannot help but reflect
about what makes a day without blame.
But upon deeper thought I then realize
that such would merely be a passable day
not a worthy goal, perhaps even a lame one,
completely unlike a great day,
one in which I gracefully deflect attacks
tuning my mouth to the wisdom I grew inside,
guarding myself against my own wrath
and practicing that higher living art,
where in spite of noise, greed and lies
I remain aware, joyous and wise,
genuinely faithful to myself
positive, constructive and calm,
amidst a world that has gone severely mad.