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how to wake up to exhaustion
without losing faith
that everything is
in its proper place
how to sit exhausted
at the silent river of hope
running somewhere inside
to let the sound of water irrigate the dry fields
of heart
how to be quiet long enough
for water to penetrate the chambers of this sacred organ
where the alchemy of charity
is taking place
not again
is what one could be tempted to exclaim
though that will not change
the rain
only the mood
experiencing in vain
the limits of every effort to gain
that particular state
where whatever happens
is received as a game
where whoever ever enters
is received the same
somehow absorbed
in a thoughtful mind
only the wind leaves impressions
distinct enough to be taken into account
yet
the wind is not strong
just present
playing nostalgic with the leaves
all too aware
that they will not be there for long
to receive its invisible caress
plain rain
falling
calling
for a day
spent
in white sheets
calling
for fire
in the fireplace
calling
for cuddles
longing
so much the deeper
that it is subtle
as the rain
falling through darkness
nourishing the sources
of the underworld
to prepare for spring
where the raising of sap
will need
every drop gathered
through the winter
of hope
a thin layer of clouds is covering the sky
at least
this is what it seems
in the early dawn
where light is still just a promise in the sound
of a single birds song
a thin layer of clouds covering the world
with a soft layer of kindness
to be distilled into love by the human heart
by those who desire
to carry awareness
to the degree
of presence
to withdraw from the surface of the world
into layers
where soul grows freely
and love defines the horizon
where time is supple
and the soil irrigated
by rivers of peace
into layers
where nothing seems to happen
when observed from the surface of the world
rain again
steady rain
calling for the world
to slow down
allowing itself to breath and wait
just wait
till the rain has passed
calling for the world
to slow down
just the time for every cell to discover
the heartbeat of the earth
and fall into a rhythm
decided by other decrees
than the endless desire
of hungry minds
there is something about the silence
which is different from other silences
simply because
there is something about the day
which is different from other days
announcing the unknown
more persistently
than is usually the case
revealing to the alert observer
that there are certain unknowns
to be embraced
even when there is no wish
nor any desire
to do so
and most probably
those are the one who carry
secrets of the delivery of soul
a gentle wind is whispering
tenderness into the dark
while the world awaken
to yet another
beautiful
day
leaving unchanged what can
and will not
change
transforming everything
that is open to
and supposed to be
transformed
the wind is whispering
tenderness
into the dark