strong and alone

when i am taken
away
and you cannot do
anything
but stay

ah, you cannot but
learn the
tricks
of life's final
decision

you live alone
and strong on the waiting for the next trip

where your name is listed
on a yellow paper

the analogous

everything has
an analogy

for instance these hands
with fingers

are they not rivers and creeks
a source and
tributaries?

for instance this body
this temple
where my soul rests

this eye
this window of the house

the sun
the eye of the earth

a friend of the stars
the wonders of our longings

for instance
the silence
a dash in our talk
a space of our doubts

many more
for instance you and me
two hands in prayer

a vision

the world is so vast
the universe floating and so endless
there is always this
fluidity
no one knows what is there

we focus on the
garden of our heart

it is the only thing we
can do
till

tend what is present
go where we are taken

time
that is the waiting

that sense of this, that
there

but soon the change comes
the timelessness
and weightlessness of these
all

the sense of floating and
being endless

sunless horizons
edgeless spaces

at the tip of the icebergs
of our minds

along the peripheries of
our tattered hearts

soon there will be no burdens
on the wings of
spirits

on the feathers of angels
to the arms of gods....

signs?

you dream of the storm
last night

shaken
you go to church to pray

will there be
another catastrophe?

God, please
protect us
helpless, and
innocent

unable to see what
lies beyond
this storm and darkness

as you are praying
a black butterfly passes by
and it is
so sudden

last night

the boat was small
the glass window is round
like an eyeball
looking out to the
vast sea

it is dark

the black shark is a shadow
inside the dark
blueness of the
night water

there is a storm

a man stands
waiting for what comes next
he must jump
to the water
if needs be

the big eye of the fish
stares at him
with fury

that night
they were eye to eye
and then the fish
passes away
opposite the boat's
direction

when you write
when you are sick and having fever throughout the night
there is no one beside you
there is no electricity, and there is a storm raging on your roof
the house is shaking

you feel that in a short while this house will be blown away
and you just do not know what happens in mid-air

when you write these lines
you hear voices asking for help as though they are buried by the waves
twirled and taken to the bottom of that deep and dark ocean
some bodies
of children and women
some still holding each others' hands
lay dead beside the black corrals and the sea porcupines and urchins

finally, you are carried by this horror
your body shakes in terror like the house shaking its beams and walls in mid-air
you give up the pen
let go off the paper
you give up that consciousness

what you have and what you are now
is air,
strangled like a throat
all breaths finally
sucked
in a vacuum

they say
a full stomach cannot make the brain
think,
they say too much thinking can be dangerous
for the mind
is one labyrinth that does not stop
the exit is hidden
and all you meet are walls
within walls
they say
in this world there are so many unhappy people
some for a lot of reason
a loved one taken so early
a home that breaks
a love that is wasted
hearts bleeding stabbed by the cruel dagger
of the playful
there are those who say
some people grieve over nothing and this is the saddest part of all
when reason is shattered
when that naked body runs away
a mad man
they say there are those who lie and kill and rob
inorder to survive
they say there are people without conscience anymore
too many of them

i completely agree.

there is this garden that you tend
you put the seeds and they all sprout in time
time waters it
the changes take place
soon the flowers bloom and
you watch all these
with patience
there is this light feeling that comes
like butterfly wings
white against the dusk

there is nothing new in that garden
you are sick and takes the rest
you sit by the window
the same window all these 50 years
time is you boring attendant
independent from your grasp
it can exist without you

you sit and watch the world passing by
like a flower slowly unfolding
and you never notice it
you go out
you have recovered from a disease
you
take a walk
visit some friends
come back in the afternoon
you watch the view from the window
again
this you do perhaps for another 50 years
of your life
setting aside fears of not having to
step upon 60
life is short for those who have no one to love

it is the same field same mountain
bald and brown
same clouds
pale blue and drifting
same fog
fading like a magical show

same window
that you close again
because it is dark
and cold inside
your old wooden bed
that you have
inherited from your
forefathers

as usual
you take your sleep
time passes you by
the room is so silent
as though
it is the home for
the dead