there you lay
in your cradled bed
unable to move
hair thin,
skin frail,
bones sagging,
your eyes open
but, so far away
perhaps you are where i
remember you best,
smiling,
on your knees on the carpeted floor,
round, radiant summer skirt,
spread about like a pool
creamed clouds
whipped into azure blue
reflected
dipped in deep spun pools
on a day perfected
by quietude
stirred
with the tip of a swans feather
on a warm afternoon
cooled by the riverside breeze
beneath hundred years old trees
taken home
and consumed
as the light starts to fall
in a dark empty room
for one
a rickshaw boy
with torn trousers
stops for rapid repairs
I am surrounded by monkeys
one jumps clear over a goat
another tugs at my hair
a guide tells me follow
begging hands reach out
a bell softly rings
beside the temple gates
around spiraling corners
each one leading in
we enter a bustling square
the stalls are piled with olives
oranges, spices and dates
marigolds piled on tables
garlands strung in the air
the tea-wallah cries out his wares
a radio blares in the distance
clanging, clanging, clanging,
ringing the sun, beating down
it’s madness and radiant sound
the heat is stifling, whirling
pigeons fly up in the air
against the blue sky above
kites are spinning and diving
hidden in gathering crowds
I catch glimpses of gentler eyes
fixing me with a stare
two brown dogs lay in the shade
beneath a flowering neem
I no longer want to be there
I close my eyes,
i vanish,
into a starlit pool
and slowly float away
with this sorrow comes the sorrow
of every loss I ever had
it’s a pool of hidden depths
full of hidden weeds, obscured
is this the same for those occasions
when I’m glad? do i recall a well of joy?
gladness seems to stand alone
no predictions and no source
I know too well the ebb and flow
joy transcends all of itself
that moment like a rising wave
that bubbles up with light and air
today I cannot turn the tide
I sleep the sleep of constant loss
I’m sick with sad complexities
and all the tears I ever cried
if love were simple, as I think,
this stream would never lead
another sorry sigh away
but would swim me back again
a loom stands in the corner
the work left incomplete
slippers beside the fire, grown cold
missing the warmth of her feet
this place is full of cobwebs and dust
a broom leans by the wall, forgotten
an emerald bowl holds trinkets, jumbled
does anyone live here at all?
the garden is wild and overgrown
the birds, left unfed, have all flown away
the pool by the fountain is empty and dry
where children used to play
the faeries who hid away in the rain
will return with the nightingale
a broad green sweep of valley
dark woodlands gathered there
by the rivers curve
nestled far below
above the hills a kestrel calls
sound stretched across still air
the blue grey hills melt away
in a distant milky mist
high above the world i sit
in a place away from care
surrounded by a birch wood
close by a hidden pool
this sun warmed granite ledge
above a grassy stair
lodges like an eagle’s nest
amongst the ancient trees
the oak trees lean together
to form a secret gate
where the hawthorns grow
beside the lofty fir
I lean against the apple tree
and watch the day grow late
no sound but birds and waterfall,
the sighing of the trees
the sun dips down behind the hills
i sit in peace and wait
to see the diamond stars come out
across the web of night
a mirror reflecting a bridge
blue span across a calm pool
with a foaming drop to the other side
where swans drift in gentle spray
lazily begging food
i lean over and watch them
warm sun beating down on my back
so peaceful here in summer
when the floods come in winter
this is another place
the water rises and roars
the river booms
vibrating the beams
close to my feet
debris in swirling bundles
crashes into the bridge
a whole tree lodged on the edge
in muddied, tumultuous foam
the banks of the river burst
threatening houses
and making a lake of the park
where the swans glide idly in pools
they are undisturbed
while my heart pounds
to the booming beat of the bridge
the seed is small
curled up and tight
and now, given water,
it bursts through to light
the most beautiful of flowers
i inhale it’s gentle blossom
and worship its beauty for hours
each leaf, each petal, each pattern
the way the colour gradually changes
from the centre to the edge
every aspect as nature arranges
in intricate and elegant design
the unfolding petals curve outward
as it opens and captures the light
or closes again in shadow
a butterfly resting from flight
see how the stamen grows upward
from the nectar that stirs at the heart
i want to cup these petals so gently,
not crush them or thrust them apart,
taste the dew from the leaves
seeking the nectar and drinking
i want to dive into the pool,
to the source of the mystical scent
no thought in my head, not thinking
diving, swimming, sinking
breathing,
gasping,
drowning
The Dreaming Path 