The Forest of Whispers

In the forest of whispers,
In the soil of forgiveness
I plant a seed,
I bury a secret;
/
With the warmth of my touch
And the moisture of tears
A new willow will grow
In the forest of whispers
/
And not a soul will know,
And nobody will hear
What I said to the Earth
Or if She forgave me
/
For the rustle of leaves,
And the wind’s songs to sunlight,
And the wolves’ – the moon
To the human ear sound like nothing

The Monsoon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The clouds are closing,

Thirsty soil awaits the rain;

/

My eyes are closing,

And I hope to be revived;

/

Roads run like rivers,

Carrying away

/

Dry loads of summer days,

Ashes of summer lives;

/

My heart is open

As I hope to be revived;

/

I chase the road

Which is too long for me;

/

And drops of monsoon rain –

Nature’s all-seeing eyes

/

Follow my steps

From leaves of ancient trees;

/

And thunder roars at me,

Forbidding that I stop

/

And lightning points the way

I’m meant to go

/

My eyes are closed, my heart

 Is open, and I walk

/

Into the core of the monsoon

To be revived or gone

Remember

Monsoon, my son, whom do you weep for?

You know I’m happy, don’t you, where I am?

You breathe out gusts of wind so wild and lethal,

They scream that you remember who I am

/

I am the tree that stands alone inside your anger

A ghostly shape inside your ghastly storm

I am the river flowing through the mountains

Your clouds can’t reach – a kingdom of my own

/

I am a peasant in the field and god of nature

I am in every thing you water with your rains

I’m happy and I’m proud that you weep for me

It tells me you remember who I am

Autumn

Autumn, what color is your hair?

Like mine, it’s this of dying summer;

And this long copper dress you wear

Have you not taken from my shelf?

/

The strong, cold wind that brought you here

Could be the deepest breath from my chest;

Like mine, your voice is low and quiet,

Like me, all that you are is change

/

You color skies with daunting colors,

You drain its warmth out of the sun

Like mine, your coming is unwelcome:

It means that worse things are to come

/

Autumn, you’re smiling from my mirror

A mother’s smile that tells me all shall pass

I trust you, Autumn, but I’m leaving

To chase my dying summer’s warmth