a spell

i walk into the clouds
the setting sun illuminates,
casts shadows,
casts spells
over the playground
and the house
just for the night.
my house is empty.
nowhere to go
but the clouds.

the clarity of spring evenings

spring days end.
descending into clarity
a calm out-breath
into a starry night

summer evenings breathe out longer still.
in winter, dusk is day-long, and darkness deeper
after which we now wait for the blackbird
to breathe sweetness
into the day's end

and the blossoms to open
the leaves to unfold to green the trees
by morning.

untitled (who will)

who will caress
the wonders of this spring
plant fleeting memories of kindness
in this broken soil
and hold the birdsong
in his palm

post-illusion

to stop chasing clouds,
to give up dreaming
to grow up
from illusion
break through
to reality
give up
hope

untitled [metta1/the love of children for their mother is greater than the love of the mother for her children]

having lost it
i pick up the pieces
time and time again
i cut myself on the sharp edges
of my voice raised too loud
i hit myself with the fist
of my anger
time and time again
i patch up the wounds
trying to heal the scratches
of unkindness
mending the broken bones
of trust
seeking forgiveness,
i know that your eyes
teach me all i need to know
about love

the house close to the sea shore

i have built my house close to the sea shore,
i have built my house close to the sea
i have built my house close to the water's edge

the water tears at the sea shore
the sea tears at the walls
the tears leap at the heart's edge
the tears leap at the walls

bring down the house
i have built
too close
to the
water

[Bangalore 3]

on the temple's blue floor
pradakshina around the sanctum
crushing ants with naked feet
thinking only of god, or what's weighing
on our minds. heavy
feet, unthinkingly
crushing creatures
on the blue stone floor

another ant scurries to her sister who
writhes in pain, legs groping in slow motion
on the blue stone floor
does she feel pain, and the other, panic
she seems to move anxiously
around her half-crushed sister, seems to
want to carry her in her front legs like a mother
carrying her baby–

in my arms i hold
the ant's pain, and i put it before the god,
he returns it, a flower for my hair

the ants still scurry across
the blue stone floor
other feet carry heavy hearts
around the sanctum
pain
the cessation of pain

prasad.