My thoughts shimmer with these shimmering leaves and my heart sings with the touch of this sunlight; my life is glad to be floating with all things into the blue of space, into the dark of time.
God’s great power is in the gentle breeze, not in the storm.
This is a dream in which things are all loose and they oppress.
I shall find them gathered in thee when I awake and shall be free.
Who is there to take up my duties? asked the setting sun.
I shall do what I can, my Master, said the earthen lamp.
By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
Silence will carry your voice like the nest that holds the sleeping birds.
The Great walks with the Small without fear.
The Middling keeps aloof.
The night opens the flowers in secret and allows the day to get thanks.
Power takes as ingratitude the writhings of its victims.
When we rejoice in our fulness, then we can part with our fruits with joy.
The raindrops kissed the earth and whispered, -We are thy homesick children, mother, come back to thee from the heaven.
The cobweb pretends to catch dewdrops and catches flies.
Love! When you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hand, I can see your face and know you as bliss.
The leaned say that your lights will one day be no more, said the firefly to the stars.
The stars made no answer.
In the dusk of the evening the bird of some early dawn comes to the nest of my silence.
Thoughts pass in my mind like flocks of lucks in the sky.
I hear the voice of their wings.
The canal loves to think that rivers exist solely to supply it with water.
The world has kissed my soul with its pain, asking for its return in songs.
That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open,or the soul of the world knocking at my heart for its entrance?
Thought feeds itself with its own words and grows.
I have dipped the vessel of my heart into this silent hour; it has filled with love.
Either you have work or you have not.
When you have to say, “Let us do something”, then begins mischief.
The sunflower blushed to own the nameless flower as her kin.
The sun rose and smiled on it, saying, “Are you well, my darling?”
“Who drives me forward like fate?”
“The Myself striding on my back.”
The clouds fill the water cups of the river, hiding themselves in the distant hills.
I spill water from my water jar as I walk on my way, Very little remains for my home.
The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark.
The small truth has words that are clear; the great truth has great silence.
Your smile was the flowers of your own fields, your talk was the rustle of your own mountain pines, but your heart was the woman that we all know.
It is the little things that I leave behind for my loved ones,-great things are for everyone.
Woman, thou hast encircled the worlds heart with the depth of thy tears as the sea has the earth.
The sunshine greets me with a smile.
The rain, his sad sister, talks to my heart.
My flower of the day dropped its petals forgotten.
In the evening it ripens into a golden fruit of memory.
I am like the road in the night listening to the footfalls of its memories in silence.
The evening sky to me is like a window, and a lighted lamp, and a waiting behind it.
He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good.
I am the autumn cloud, empty of rain, see my fulness in the field of ripened rice.
They hated and killed and men praised them.
But God in shame hastens to hide its memory under the green grass.
Toes are the fingers that have forsaken their past.
Darkness travels towards light, but blindness towards death.
The pet dog suspects the universe for scheming to take its place.
Sit still, my heart, do not raise your dust.
Let the world find its way to you.
The bow whispers to the arrow before it speeds forth-
“Your freedom is mine.”
Woman, in your laughter you have the music of the fountain of life.
A mind all logic is like a knife all blade.
It makes the hand bleed that uses it.
God loves man’s lamp lights better than his own great stars.
This world is the world of wild storms kept tame with the music of beauty.
“My heart is like the golden casket of thy kiss,” said the sunset cloud to the sun.
By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess.
The cricket’s chirp and the patter of rain come to me through the dark, like the rustle of dreams from my past youth.
“I have lost my dewdrop,”cries the flower to the morning sky that has lost all its stars.
The burning log bursts in flame and cries, - “This is my flower, my death.”
The wasp thinks that the honey hive of the neighbouring bees is too small.
His neighbours ask him to build one still smaller.
“I cannot keep your waves,” says the bank to the river. “Let me keep your footprints in my heart.”
The day, with the noise of this little earth, drowns the silence of all worlds.
The song feels the infinite in the air, the picture in the earth, the poem in the air and the earth; For its words have meaning that walks and music that soars.
When the sun goes down to the West, the East of his morning stands before him in silence.
Let me not put myself wrongly to my world and set it against me.
Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it.
Let me doing nothing when I have nothing to do become untroubled in its depth of peace like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent.
Maiden, your simplicity, like the blueness of the lake, reveals your depth of truth.
The best does not come alone.
It comes with the company of the all.
God’s right hand is gentle, but terrible is his left hand.
My evening came among the alien trees and spoke in a language
which my morning stars did not know.
Night’s darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.
Our desire lends the colours of the rainbow to the mere mists and vapours of life.
God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man’s hands.
My sad thoughts tease me asking me their own names.
The service of the fruit is precious, the service of the flower is sweet, but let my service be the service of the leaves in its shade of humble devotion.
My heart has spread its sails to the idle winds for the shadowy island of Anywhere.
Men are cruel, but Man is kind.
Make me thy cup and let my fulness be for thee and for thine.
The storm is like the cry of some god in pain whose love the earth refuses.
The world does not leak because death is not a crack.