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talking too much
or saying more than is needed
is also a kind of addiction
and just like any other dependence
it is creating confusion
where clarity is needed
talking too much
or saying more than is needed
to escape the truth of silence
where every responsibility taken
is carried with grace
inertia as a virtue
protecting and nurturing
deeper layers
of what is not yet visible to the bare eye
stars walking in an out
islands of clouds
while the night is growing longer
and longer
in between showers of rain
a golden ray of light
is drawing the contours of the almost naked trees
revealing the beauty
of structure
the whisper of the wind
is carrying long forgotten stories
to the subtle ear
of long forgotten dreams
which were drowned under the weight
of fear
paralysed by hurt
haunted by pride
and chased by the lack of trust
every suffering heart
is submitted to
whether or not
there is consciousness involved
the whisper of the wind
is carrying long forgotten stories
may courage occur in the depth of hearts
to listen
to walk the path we are being given
even when there is no glory
nor wealth
nor any other tangible manifestation
of reward
to keep on walking
simply because
it is the path
we are being given
and there will be no other path
more harmonious for us to walk
as long as we refuse to see
what we are being given
and who we are
almost all leaves have fallen
covering the soil in gold
only a few trees are still carrying
their autumnal gowns
standing at the verge of the forest
lightening like torches
to celebrate the last ball
before winterly nakedness is all there is left
beautiful nakedness
revealing their strength and structure
but naked
in utmost strength
and utmost vulnerability
above it all
the new moon
is soon beginning to grow
slightly dislocated
not to say
entirely
in between
two dimensions
of opposite realities
the clouds are low
in the distance the sound of an owl
on foreign territory
there seems to be no urge
to wake up to a world
out of balance
mist
tender mist
enveloping the world
keeping out
what is not to be seen
quite yet
allowing one to progress
blindfolded
by tenderness
until the heart is ripe
to receive
what belongs to it
there is just enough wind
to let a twig scratch the window
with quirking sounds
just enough sounds to remind
that all the agendas building up in the mind
are never to take over
presence
there is just enough presence to be aware
one is about to drown
in important matters
of no use
sleep
long metamorphosing sleep
absorbing every impression
transforming them into wisdom
written into the core of every cell
never to be the same
again
silence
along the seaside
without any wind
to stir the waves
only the generous movements of water
reaching the shore in tender embrace
stroking the sand
washing away every imprint
soon after it has been left
as emotions can swallow our souvenirs
soon after we have left the presence
and absorb them in the turmoil of memory
we are unable to distinguish
and yet carry
regardless in our heart