Sweet stranger

Fist against my heart

and a long, deep humble bow

for you, sweet stranger.

Home (to Leonie & Adam, and to you as well).

Our home,

it’s not out there

it’s not in the promise

of lucky numbers

or of random lottery tickets,

nor in the pretty words

of a skillful house seller.

Our home is not made

of the things that we own

under the roof

and between the bricks

that we share,

it's not in the things

that we bought for each other,

nor in all the money

that we can save or spare.

Our home is under the sun

and in those five lines

we drew as children;

it's in the loving shelter 

we then offered

to our imaginary friend,

and to the lost pet

we once found and kept,

hoping to never part ways.

My home is with you,

and yours is with me,

my family, my comrade,

my neighbour, my lover;

and with you too, 

kind stranger.

Even if we had to spend

long nights under a cold bridge

or if we fell asleep

under an ancient tree,

our home is in us,

mine in you, yours in me,

as we rest safely

in each other’s arms.

'Aspirante equilibrista' (To Elenia, who inspired the title and the thought).

If in order to test your sense of equilibrium you would walk on a long high cable hung between two skycrapers, don't look down: the harmony and beauty of chaos will leave you in awe and you might as well feel like jumping.

The path is now

My death will not be long enough to give sufficient rest to the sufferings I’ve had in this life.   Before a new day breaks in or an old day fades away, I will be in the seed that soon anounces the birth of a baby boy or a baby girl.  Again, I will get another chance to learn from old sorrows, and to seek and find true happiness throughout the endless line of life.  But before dying this time and crawling again some day, I’d better make sure  that I sketch my future path graciously and righteously;  now when I can still walk firmly, with clear eyes and loving hands, and a heart full of faith.

To my very soul mate, wherever you might be -

A thousand lives back,

the silence of which I speak

has always, always loved you.

A million blue moons ahead of now

undoubtely, I will,

I will always love you.

Even at this moment,

when I still might not know 

the shape of your lips;

even when I still

might not have heard

the sound of your name,

my love is not at all still!

It beats for you in silence

and misses you warmingly,

my love, my very soul mate

wherever you might be.

En la Casa de la Cui'tura (inspirado en el Mae'tro Cabral, QEPD) - (With English translation)

Con la lengua ardiente como un dragón,
ebrio de barato vino tinto,
escupiendo a quemaduras,
gritaba el Mae'tro Cabral:
A mí no me manden a callai', COñO,
que la poesía se hizo PA'BLAI'LA!

In the House of Culture (inspired in the  'Master Cabral' RIP)

With his tongue hot as a dragon,
drunk on cheap red wine,
spitting burning fire,
Mae'tro Cabral shouted:

Don't tell me to shut up, COñO,
that poetry was made to be SPOKEN OUT LOUD!

Haiku voor de mist (with English translation). Also for Wendy.

Wat zoek jij? vroeg hij, | de blinde die alles ziet | met zijn bloot gevoel.

 

What do you seek? he asked, | the blind who sees all | with his bare feeling

Welcoming winter (double haiku, and a single poem). For Wendy, who triggered the inspiration.

The mist ahead chills | every effort of sight. | My eyes close in faith, | as i walk the path, | fearless of the blind future, | i beckon the clouds.

Para Patricia Pereryra - la artista dominicana que más adoro (with English translation)

Eres diosa humana,

diosa de poesía, de canto.

Y cuando hablas, tu voz recoge

el aliento de ultratumbas,

el cual sin esfuerzo respiras

dándole cobijo 

en tu profunda garganta.

Y entonces,

cuando cantas, diosa humana

el universo revela

lo que aún no sabía cierto

En sus entrañas;

y en las tuyas

se engendra en unísono,

otra canción de esperanza,

la cual persigo

con este simple poema,

anhelando escuchar tu parto

de melodías infinitas,

otra y otra vez.

(si quieres escuchar a Patricia, pulsa en este enlace  Patricia Pereyra, cantando El Mandala).

You are a human goddess,
goddess of poetry, of chanting.
And when you speak, your voice gathers
the breath beyond the graves,
which you breathe effortlessly
giving it shelter
in the depths of your throat.

And then
when you sing, human goddess
the universe reveals
what it still did not know was certain.

In her womb;
and in yours
in unison,
another song of hope is conceived,
which I pursue
with this simple poem,
longing to hear you giving birth
to infinite melodies,

over and over again.

If you want to listen to Patricia, the Dominican artist I adore the most, click on this link Patricia Pereyra singing El Mandala

 

Gratitude (to my family, friends, teachers and kind strangers... you are the nightingales in my life)

The Nightingale and the Rose
(Image by http://pjlynchgallery.blogspot.com)

That freezing night, one of the many that I've felt hopeless and lonesome, I let my doors wide open as if wanting the wind to blow me out of my world and dissolve my tears in faraway mists.

But instead of the wind, that same night, as if seeking shelter, a flock of birds flew into the wide room of my cold, trembling silence. One by one, they approached me and with their tiny peaks, they pierced my chest with hungry kindness.  Hungry for my aching love, for the sour nectar of my sadness, they perched my heart and drank the thirst of my solitude, of my abandonment.

And they sang and perched, and they perched and sang my song of hollow regrets and ancient sorrows.  With each note, they gently hushed the laments of my cracking voice.  And touch after touch after touch, the silence became all wings until it was not painful anymore.

That long night I made a promise to honour and not to taint the echo and the tunes of the breeze that carry the melodies of compassionate nightingales, who selflessly offered me their loving thirst to help me mend my broken dreams.  And ever since,  when I hear their harmonious notes,  my chest grows and blossoms into hundreds of splendorous roses, willingly offering to be perched once again.

Tonight, doors wide open, I stand fearless as I wave to the chilled blows of the passing wind.  I invite the nightingales in, so they can drink from the sweet and pouring gratitude of my garden, and find a home in the loving embrace of new-born red petals.

(This note has been inspired by the teachings of the Dharma and by Oscar Wilde's "The Nightingale and the Rose", but when searching for a suitable image, I learned that Florence Nightingale is the woman who is the mother of modern nursery and was a very caring person.  It is a beautiful coincidence!).

Beauty!

Beauty! 

anchored in my hungry eyes

and the bliss of life 

dancing around me, 

like a baby discovering music 

for the very first time.

Y es por eso que no desespero

La vida sigue, amor
como el amanecer que descansa
en la soñolienta y cariñosa noche;
como el ocaso que despierta
bajo la luz tierna e inquieta
de un nuevo sol.

La vida sigue, amor,
porque cada ilusión de finales
es un claro destello
de esperanza parida
por el incansable génesis
que preñado de desnudos
y hambrientos universos,

nos invita a descubrirlo.

Spiritual Reflection on Suicide and Re-encarnation (for those whom I knew, but left life by their own means)

"If in that one conversation I had with you, we had talked about suicide, this is what I would have told you that I had learned so far, now wishing that I knew then of your terrible suffering:

To rob your own life is a  lost opportunity to practice gratitude and compassion for those who have loved you, even if you never knew of their intended kindness. To offer your life for the happiness of others is the ultimate selflessness, but not when you lose your own battle against hope. 

To honour life is, for both situations, the middle way, the only way.  

If only you came to this realisation, your path to happiness would not be as harsh as you think it is when you consider suicide.  And if by misfortunes you fail into the delusion of self-hate and helplessness, but the fountain of your love and the pureness of  your intention are greater,  the greater is the chance for you to get to unfold and cultivate this truth as a higher being, in future lives.

And this is what I tell you my neighbour, my love, my friend, now that you have walked this terrible patch:   No, it's not too late for this conversation:  nobody judges you or blames you, somewhere, just now, life is welcoming again the blessing of your pure and genuine heart.  And this time, I pray for your happiness, that in your new rebirth you will be able to love and forgive all your demons.  I chant for you to glow once more, this time like a star that shines with bliss and never vanishes, even in the cloudiest  night.

With these words, I close my eyes and imagine myself warmly holding a new-born baby, as if she or he was mine".

Ineens, was het zó duidelijk (voor Jerry)

Ik praat (en praat).
Met volle aandacht,
je luistert.
Je lacht  zo mooi,
zo openhartig.
Stralend van echtheid
je vertelt, ik onderbreek,
ik luister.
En zo gaan wij door,
ontdekking na ontdekking,
op zoek naar schoonheid
onder de verre sterren.

To Antonie Kamerling, RIP

Now that you're willingly gone, your words, which I will never forget, make more sense than ever:

"Once in the top of the mountain, there is this emptiness, this fear of falling or failing.  And then you have to start all over again".


I wish you a safe rebirth, full of clarity and a longer & healthier new life.

Ode to the sea as I know it

Tall waves fall and raise,

riding the ocean calmness.

With sunk hurricanes,

searching for far shores,

as they gallop randomly,

they find destiny.

With soft diamond foam,

long streaks of sand kiss the tide

waltzing endlessly,

with wide open arms,

tenderly embracing fate

and the frail moonlight,

they dance with the wind

and wave a rose to the sky,

while reefs watch and praise

their sensuous moves

in every splashing touch

of loving  wet salt.

Sin título

Deja que el silencio te cuente
cómo te visité en tus sueños,
cual fugitiva diosa del ocaso
suplicando albergue
en las suaves almohadas
de tu pecho, de tus brazos.

Deja que la noche te cuente
las palabras que susurré
al buscar mi piel en la tuya,
refugiándome friolenta
en el imaginado abrigo
de tus tiernas y cálidas manos.

Deja que el amanecer te cuente
que no dormiste solitario,
que los plieques de tu lecho
guardan mi aroma
cual perfume de locuras,
de pétalos desparramados.

Y si no me crees, deja entonces
que las calles te cuenten
como por ti, trémula, callo
cuando en cada imagen tuya
lamo con besos
el ancla de tu fugaz mirada.

Deja que el universo te cuente
cómo clavaste la luz de tu sol
en el fondo de mis soledades
dejándome perpleja de amor,
iluminando aquel sagrado rincón
donde aún habitan mis ansias

 de encontrarte en la distancia,

algún día, alguna vez.

Dharma, like the wind

The breeze, the eagles,
without you, they drop backwards
or lose firm balance.

Like an old sailor
or a child and her first kite,
we praise your teachings.

In our own prison,
without you, we cannot sing
true songs of freedom.

You hold our faint words,
our stories of old sorrows
as we search for wings.

In the middle of the storm,
with you, we fly in stillness
as we chant and breathe.

Free from fear to fall,
completely silent, we drift,
we let it all be as it is.

In vast deep skies,
with you, our holy gift, our path,
we travel through the clouds

to where all is transparent

and free.

Autumn, at last

It is over, now
over the fields, moisture dwells
on dry summer leaves.

Just by...

As long as we live
in selfless kindness, we give 
just by existing.