The hunger, the hunger

 

The truth I found perhaps

wasn’t as beautiful and fulfilling

but the hunger for it was

 

Un/clear divide

in Sólheimasandur⁩

nothing either white or black

but shades of blue abound

to heal

fissure in the heart

light water weed seagulls in

ocean-bathèd wound

Dustballs

 

countless year-long days past since she went

every memory of her flared from under the bed

in a lock of hair balled up in dust

 

kintsugi-san

the gilded-veins 'tween the heart-enamel
spiralling-galactic-arms welding memories
into a cracked-whole – all her own doing

 

Luck

 

eyes-spangle meteor-like

gyres souls and clouds effortlessly

yet it landed next to me

Bow to no one

for him ever so humble

that lone rose given

for a lifetime of service

was the greatest gift –

he bowed to the little girl

Year-ning

Comes the dry summer wind

now I'm keenly biding my time for

the appoggiatura

 

suspended

that which never was
had been for a timeless time
the only present

Nothing in the shadow cast in the mirror

な あ 影 鏡 世

き る に に の

に に あ 映 中

も も れ る は

あ あ や

ら ら

ず ず

源 実朝

Yo no naka wa

Kaga mi ni utsuru

Kage ni are ya

Aru ni mo arazu

Naki ni mo arazu

Our existence

is like a reflection

in a mirror

It really does not exist

but also doesn't not exist

Minamoto no Sanetomo (1192-1219) was a shōgun during very troubled times. He was a very gifted poet, writing more than 700 poems between 17 and 22 years of age, especially excelling in the art of the tanka. 

Earlier on today I was discussing with a dear friend of mine the fact that Greek plays still retained, thousands of years later, that humanity which moved us to tears, which made us (re)think life and our choices; how Greek myths would mirror some of the situations we experienced, which made us pause and ponder.

I had copied this tanka a while ago in my notebook, and it seems so fitting for the both of us right now that I cannot let such a caressing serendipity slip by unnoticed. Here it is, again, for you, dearest.
 

Old haiku

Fought Death I have
though much was destroyed
none was defeated

***

Kites like rainbow dragonflies
hover furlongs above the
smell of the sand

***

Lovers in the setting sun
halting to embrace
one shadow on the shore

***

Seagulls reeling all
afternoon in the warm air
cold sobered them up                                                 28/02/2012

. . .

Eyes follow dot-dot-dot
Tongue touch lip
Shaky pencil birth dinosaur

haïku

descente en enfer en rappel

chute contrôlée dans les gouffres

plume d'un autre passé par-là

White Lap

Ploughing through unbroken snow

The widest spaces on hold

For my footstep

A new place

Home is where I hang my hat
Home! Home is where my heart is
Both are with me, home.

Agôn

Fought Death I have
Though much was destroyed
None was defeated.

(28/02/12)

McLeod Ganj, 22.10.11, evening

Silent, cold oasis
The moonlit dog barks itself hoarse
At a shadowless silhouette

Lost and found

Here's a haiku I found in one of my notepads. It is dated November 8th, 2011, morning, Orchha, India.


Warm feeling of homeliness
Far away from kin and fatherland
So much happens over tea


Twenty-four hours later, my life took an entirely different turn. So much happens over tea.

Hunter

Hunting bears I will
Hone my blade on my instinct -
Sentry in the wild

Nocturnal trompe-l'oeil

The dead of night’s curtain

Which I thought was pulled down

Lets the cool, white darkness in