Somewhere
in the Past
pale-white faces
of shipwrecked sailors
stare vacant drowned
up the beach
hundreds strewn
at a dead low tide
disappearing
to the distant sea-mist
like some ominous language
scrawled upon the sand
hewn in their prime
these young oaks
dashed
against the wintry shore
while high water mark
evades their grasp
last gasps
their final struggle
lonely forlorn cries
whipped away
by the punishing gale
conspiring
with her watery sister
come to claim her sons
The Rumi-Nation
Fumi says,
failure to engage
does not necessarily
avoid war and enemies
nor gain peace and friends
but instead condemns us
to a wretched state
called no-man's land
where you have no true being
and no being is true to you
the wind in that deserted place
ambushes like a dusty bandit
armed with aridity
brittle and dry
robbing the soul
of its sweet nectar
leaving thirst
in a starving heart
oh for union!
but a familiar friend
first demands a dialogue
in the shady part of the garden
where no one usually likes to go
where weeds choke the Path
the stagnant pond fouls the air
this neglected plot
will bear a bitter harvest
unless the gardener gets to work
for the Master
who is temporarily out of town
