Friday, 29 January 2010

Underneath Haiti

There is no verb that can help explain the magnitude of the tragedy in Haiti...  It all seems so irrational, that it's difficult to describe it without struggling to make sense.  I pray for Haiti, may it raise like the Phoenix and be free of suffering.

The blood, the despair, the loss | Brother, sister, father, mother | Limbs in pieces |  The home, the school, the church, the playground  | A mass grave | The tents, the stench, the dirt, the street hospital | If any, a plate of food, a gallon of water, a pair of crutches | The heat, the flies, a wrinkled beggar | Another mattress on the pavement, a pregnant widow | A funeral, a new-born child | The song, the touch, the love, the tear, the faith, the fear, the prayer | A puzzle of dreams, pain, courage and hope | Underneath Haiti, from within the ashes | a ray of light, a rising sun |

Thursday, 28 January 2010

In stillness, now, forever, I give you all of me (or Prelude to the saddest farewell )

The liquid glow
of blue voices
inside your eyes
speaks to me

in stillness,

a drop of rain falls
on my cheek
and I know
you're leaving me

now, forever

just before the sun
is back to bright
just before heaven
opens its doors

I give you all of me

Maan | Moon | Luna

psst psst mijn naam is maan
en ik ben er ieder nacht
naast je, als je zacht slaapt

psst psst my name is moon
and I am there every night
next to you, as you softly sleep

psst psst mi nombre es luna
y estoy ahí cada noche
junto a ti, mientras duermes

Para Jo, porque tu espíritu es una lección de renovación y por eso y otras tantas cosas, te quiero.

(Image from

Hay que aprender a soltar
en plena consciencia 
 aunque el abismo
nos engulla sin reparos
hasta que el viento
nos cobije 
y en su silente arrullo
nos convierta
en tierna pluma alada
enseñándonos a volar
suave y ligero
sin temor a caer
una vez más
sobre ancianos
y agudos arrecifes
de desencanto.

Sunday, 3 January 2010

If True Love were a Tree

     (photo:  by Amapola Blooming, Damme, Belgium, Dec 2009)

True trees they 
don't run away
they stay and conquer.
Sheltering us, pleasing us, guarding us
like robust loving warriors
they don't desert their place.
In spite of the coldest winter
when true trees witness
naked equals and white sadness
they never ruin their promise
to never leave our garden
to never break to block our path.
If we were to walk away or
If we were to come back
true trees, they never abandon.
True trees, they grow deeply
and always blossom
offering roots to our hearts