Wind and stone

the sun is shining but the rain is falling
on the parched land devoid of understanding
a light is shining but theres no one home
an empty house with eyes of stone
and the wind that blows through this place
to linger and tarry in this impossible space
carry with it the whispers and stories through time
cannot help but play upon the hanging chimes
and the music that plays with unheard notes and sighs
sing of joy and sadness throughout the night
why the wind would tarry in such dark emptiness
does not make the strength of the tempest less
rage as it might in the darkest of days
stone is never moved when it has decided to stay
for it longs for the mountain that was once its home
carved from its mother it can never be whole
like the coming of the dawn and breaking of light
its darkness it cannot forget, forgive nor fight
even in destruction when broken in every part
it will never yield the wind its armored heart
so the wind sing the songs it cannot call its own
on the windows of otherwise silent stone
and only the dead will listen to the music made
of stone and wind that even time cannot forget or fade
thailand/2011

Truth

If I were to wield a brush for a painting for all to see
Is my palette the truth, or the truth by me
For demons that live in men stir from depths of the heart.
Wielding the palette of ignorance and doubt to pass as art.
An unsullied mind is open to the shades of misdirection.
As the unyielding are armoured against the hues of liberation.
Is good and right upheld if the image is cast in gray
And hope the message, truth and justice is carried anyway
To banish hues of doubt and malice that I shall find.
I shall no doubt wash it with colors from my heart and mind.
Will the painting be less or more faithful, that I cannot tell.
Unless creation is parcel of truth as well.

6.2.2010

The Frog

I met a frog one day, on a pond far away from home
As it sat with bulging eyes upon a weathered stone
And though its clammy skin could make one touching it start
It could not hide the warmth of its reptile heart.

So we spoke for while about all sorts of things
Flies and tadpoles and everything in between
"I dream of the lake beyond this pond" it says to me
"And the time I no longer want to be free"

Which to me despite the speaker stood to reason
As even men bow inevitably to the seasons
And though the conversation was between frog and man
The words we spoke were easy to understand.

It nods it head and gives a knowing smile
When I tell it that even men must be alone from time to time
Like frogs when they sing at night from where you cannot tell
So must man seek solitude to be just himself

But man and frog have no business other than to chat
And even that I was truly doubtful at
So we bid our goodbyes this frog that I now esteem
Me off to my fate and it to its reptilian dreams.

One day perhaps when all wishes are granted
I'll find it in the middle of a lake wizened and enlightened
And if we still speak the same words and know what they truly mean
We can talk of tadpoles, flies and everything in between.

CG - written sometime in 2008 Jolo/Sulu

The Owl

Fly away with your eyes spirit
Spare me from that disarming stare
Keep to the woods and be hidden
And haunt not dreams from there
Though the night seeks your song
And darkness quails in thy flight
Pity those who cannot fly or flee
Yet have to live within your light.

Even if we flee in the night
To seek respite from the brightness
No one escapes the cruelty of memory
Which plague even the sightless
For the morrow brings yet another night
Where as moths all are drawn to
The peril of being in the light.

A journalist's prayer

Let me see light in the darkest of nights
And doubt in the brightest of days
Lend me courage in defeat
And humility in my triumphs

Grant me the determination of the wicked
The righteousness of the good,
Show me the wisdom of those blessed by age
And let me keep the desire of the uninitiated.

Make me face that which is fearful
And reveal the darkness behind everything joyful
As all things give way to death in time
Preserve me long enough to have me say my piece.

A song of hope

I have never said these words to you,
Though the fires we lit continue to dwell,
Kindled the day you graced my life,
Burns until I bid this life farewell.

If the gods in all their fickleness agree,
If our spirits truly free,
I'll wait until fate's melodies,
Sing better songs for you and me.

The written word

Life breathes in the forest of the written word,
Be it divine or human creation.
Sheer genius seems pointless methinks,
Without the grace of literary revelation.