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Archive for April, 2017

Met an old potter today after crossing the forest;
Old enough to lift the clay that was seeing him
For a long time, with water turned vapour now
And holding still to the air that touched it long ago.
And he greets me saying ‘here comes the mad man,
Here comes the one who couldn’t water the clay’.

Only the heart knows the dream it lives and loves,
Amid springs and falls that the river breathes.
Such emptied souls that multiply more emptiness
Such unflinching evenings and darkness around.
The potter, the wheel, the clay and the aged art
All will now shape this soul for sure salvation.

The decadence of those smiles will lure the obscure;
And the mad man will walk to find again the same clay.

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Hold this finger and lead me Oh Time
To that epitome of an unending love.
I will drop every wish that this being
Is burdened while walking over the grass
And tossing among leaves green to brown;
Every lip that lied to see their eyes turn gold,
Every hand that prayed to save its soul so cold.
Balance is a myth, justice rebels against its judge.

If I can stand, I will forever love and paint
The moment the soul longs, and to weave
Through the rivers, the dream for the ocean.
I will someday then reach that island of love,
Come to the shore, throw a pebble with smile
To send ripples to your heart, no matter how far.
It’s blessed to be mad than in reason die unknown.

We will when the time is gone, stand like rock
Among these tides to love more and live forever.

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