It is night.
Rain pelts the roof.
The soul awakens
To a flooded Earth
A sea of storm
Roaring,
Then passing.
In that short moment,
Shifting lines and shapes,
Fleeting,
Barely seen.
Before the passing moment tilts
And falls to melancholy,
Laughter sounds,
In quite raindrops
Thich Nhat Hanh
----
It is as though a memory from childhood. The rain, the water. The feelings take the form of the breaking waves. It is night and I am looking at a white swan... It is like walking on a rope carefully, but you die to fall.
No comments:
Post a Comment