Among Massive Shadows

Among massive shadows
of rocks and stones
where nothing moved.
When the rocks don't move
how will the shadows?

Shadows change
not in the mass,
having no substance of their own;
they change their size and directions.
Here on the shore where the rocks stand,
the waves recede and surge,
and the waves are the ones who cast no shadows.

I stood among rocks,
watching a shadow
a shadow of my own,
wanting to shield and cover the things I loved:
when all I did was to change the feel
of what looked to me unsafe and exposed :
exposed to winds and wounds
that moved with apathy
to the things I loved.

And then a bird moved
a bit closer to me and flew,
and hardly ever the shadow stayed
to cast a shape to change my anonymous stay
among rocks and stones and surging waves.

The image via courtesy +Anna .a

P. Emma originally shared the image

A SHOE SHOP

Jun 15, 2016

A SHOE SHOP
If I were her mother,
and which in a way I am..
because looking at her
I stand by her,
my feet unshod,
I am careworn.
She is someone to me, though I don't know what!
I am angry, more angry than sad
that she should stand there,
struck by a longing
which has been the cause of the undoing
for humanity at large!
How I must fight for her and mine own
dignity!
O my soul, be quiet!
Do not give in to rage!
Work calmly, diligently,
with no sorrow in your heart.
Teach her, let her know, she lacks nothing.
Hold her close and let her know,
she has love; she lacks nothing.

Humanity Cries originally shared to The Human Soul Speaks:

Come Into The Garden Maud

To whom does the sound belong"Come into the garden Maud."
The words keep humming today.
The month of March is sliding past,
the woods and the paths are all in the beams of light
as the evening reclines and pauses awhile

How do I hear a guitar?
in the place so far away from the sea?
A deep basal tone
heard only on the shore of the sea,
and how it has found a way
in the rustling wings of the trees!
"Come into the garden Maud"
When did I first hear those words?
It seems so long ago..
in a little bird's singing note,
in the pages of the classroom notes?
And sure it was in the classroom
on those pages was scribbled
in a watery ink the delight of a spring
that was not there for long.
And yet it lived, and it does live;
it whispers thru' the leaves of the woods;
ruffles the shadows of the trees in spring,
It lives and it does call,
"Come into the garden Maud"

NO MAN"S LAND

THE CALL OF THE NO MAN'S LAND

Faith, the driver of peace, the catalyst of drawing in humanity,
love that knows no name, nor a boundary to cage in truth,
the liberating force under any sign,
the energy of Earth that empowers all
to live, to sustain, to invigorate.
Let us, for a moment, breathe in that peace;
the peace that needs not to negotiate,
the word we all hear from the heart,
and in its essential simplicity
wash the wounds of the antique pasts, heal the injuries
that were thought never to heal.
I today, may not be an insider to what holds you today
to your in-built civilizational forces, the structures and edifices that spell your life;
you may not be able to read
what holds me to my earth today;
and yet in this brief moment which is granted us today
let us cross the forbidden lines and join hands.
It's the appeal of the age-old call
that was drowned in the darkness that reigned
in the no man's land that was never inhabited

In fiecare noapte stau și mă gândesc
la regresul fluidelor...
și fac un pas inapoi in fata ușii;
Intind mâna spre lumină,
iar ea se transformă
in nostalgia unui Dor,
pierdut demult
in antichitatea unui vis;
și privesc dincolo de viata,
și nu mai judec nici o formă
a spatiului care face umbră viziunilor agresive ale căderilor masive de gheată
și ale eruptiilor cotidiene
din adâncurile mărilor de corali.

In fiecare noapte stau si mă gândesc
cât de efemeră e lumea...
și luna mă priveste ingrijorată,
căci nu mai vreau să fac nici un pas
spre ea
și nici să scriu vreo pagină in jurnalul fanteziilor;
Doar sentimentul amărăciunilor mai sapă albia râului
și totul parcă se intoarce invers
in matca propiului Sine
ca intr-o cascadă a neputintelor;
Și ploaia s-a desprins din cântecul ultimului curcubeau;
Abia se mai aude ecoul unei voci zăvorâte in volumele
divizate ale cunoașterii, ale căror pagini s-au risipit in negura timpului;
Și râul isi urmează cursul său firesc spre marea lui Eliberare
in Pace și Dragoste. :)
(sunt doar niște simple gânduri...)

Toate cele bune draga mea prietenă! +Sushama Karnik​​​​



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A BRASS JAR POLISHED

A temporal silence pervades
there, where once we dwelt together.
It was a place made of odd stuff of dreams, old collectibles,
drawn from across the world.
A brass jar once polished to a glaze of gold,
 crystals wrought to healing shapes,
paint brushes stacked in old coffee mugs,
books which opened into words of an alien kind...

A writing desk, a jar filled with water,
 holding a single leaf on a single stem,
some book opened randomly, left half-read,
with a bookmark that has flown away.
There is a coffeemaker, long unused.
And those books which overflowed the shelves,
they did not invade the rooms in such overwhelming numbers before;
not before I began to earn and my pockets felt the warmth of money!

Those were the times when there was
 a lone bookstore around the corner,
and few visitors once in a while.
Books were the objects to be handled with a feel
for the aroma of adhesive and the brand new ink.
On the wall was hung a clumsily made portrait I drew
of a poet with dreamy eyes and a flowing white beard,
and in its glass frame could be seen
the reflection of every passerby who passed along the road.

And how could I forget the black kitten who stood guard every hour,
as that was the mission entrusted to her by her Animal God.
That was a world within a world,
a brass jar polished to a glaze of gold!

NOCTURNAL MEDITATIONS

Nocturnal Meditations
 I open the window  at night
my spirit flies to the stars,
I leave my body stranded on the rocks below, where
once upon a time
waves came and danced.
Far above in the sky
there is no storm
 among the moon and the stars,
 no waves that  break the rock;
the hard surfaces are not so hard,
they have a soft kernel which
 the moonbeams and stars can reach.
A child's world arises with the moon
and sinks behind the hills
with the first ray of the dawn.

Image:courtesy +David Testa

David Testa originally shared:

Art Michel Comte