Don't tell me

Don't tell me you're honey that lacks sweetness, the ocean that is
thirsty for water, the sun that hungers for light. Don't tell me you're a
king who goes begging for alms, a farmer starving for food, the moon crying for

a smile, a flower bereft of a perfume. Don't tell me my friend.

Remember the flower

We live million days in a day.
some days
we wake up to the morning breeze
and we open up to all wonders
some days mornings and evenings wake up within us.
In this beauty, we all die.
Every-body should die after flowering
We scatter our perfume around
in the form of a trillion light-waves.
We are not actually dying. The same way the wine spills from the bottle
We just leave our vessel because we can no longer be contained in it.
We climb the ladder to the higher dimension.
we are free now.. and remember the flower
which you're.
Remember the flower.

Thousand times a day

Who said
it is a wastage of time to repeat delicious things?
Not at all, for me, for the walls of time does not exist in reality.
That’s why, most fragrant one, I wanna repeat you thousand times.
That’s why I wanna sing you and kiss you and hold you
Thousand times a day.

When you breath

most eloquent one:
what is in the words

what is in the silence?
whether you say something
or nothing,
your voice is the light
ripping through light.
Your hands brim with love
and when you touch me
I grow into an ocean-wave.
or a skylark or an oak tree filled with a thousand new birthing.

when you breath, believe me,
mountains melt under my feet and evening breeze
whispers to me:
Dance!Dance my friend without fear!
When you breath
The desert in me turns into a delicious bread,
into a sweet goat milk.
and I awaken into my own fragrance
that has been missing for so many past lives,
when you breath.

You never say a word

You move me back and forth back and forth; You make me sing and dance. You touch me and I cry and laugh. I whistle and shout to share your brilliance, to scatter your perfume around. You make me write love poems. When all these happen. You just listen. You never say a word.

I am the river

I’m the river

that snores

The river that moans. The river that roars…

Every sound of its roar is my breath.

Its rise and its fall is a sign of life

In the depth of my bone

It is the color of my curiosity.

My courage and my cowardice.

Every bit of its flow is my hope, my strength

Tears of my bliss, whisper of my love.

Magic of creativity. My singing age.

I’m the mountain.

Every part of its rise

And every minute of its silence

Is my song that’s not sang yet.

My denied freedom, my hushed liberty.

Every speechless stone is my deep sleep.

I’m the Sun, the Sky, the Moon, the galaxies.. the milky way…

Their every twinkle, their every stare,

Their every frown, their every smile

Their every caress is my wakefullness.

Their divine warmth is my longing for newness.

I’m the woods

Every single wood is the renewal of my physical body

The song of the beasts in the wood is my heartbeat,

The shade of every single tree is my serenity

I’m themeadow, the moors

Every single blade of leaves is my flesh under my skin

Every grass is my blood cell.

The flowers in the grass are laugher and sorrow in my heart.

Every road that crosses unending glassfield

Is part of me that sings with light.

My presence. The awareness of the Now

I’m a farmer.

His bellowing bulls, his bleating sheep

His frolicking horses and kicking mules

Are the age of innocence.

The cord between a cow and the calf

And the milk in between is immortal tenderness

Of my mother.

The serene thatched, lonely houses

Are my purple moments

when I meet the formless, the ageless. The nameless

I’m the winds.

Every sound of its whistle

Is the poem I am composing.

Every groan of its might is

The symphony of this poem

And every sigh of its fury is my suppressed feelings.

I’m the earth.

Her hills and her gorges are my silent tongue.

Every speck of her dust is my beautiful death

My buried intensities. My spent hours, my evenings.

Light enters me through your smile

And it departs from me though your sobs

And it returns to me again through your silence

Through everyone of you,

I learn how to live

And through everyone of you

I practice the art of dying.
                                         [2000, Shegger, Ethiopia]

                                              
                                   
                                        

Pristine eloquence

Before you were trained  how to smile
you had the smile deep inside you
that bursts like waterfall.
The moon would not say to you:
I have shone for you all night, dear friend
except  for the moments when  the clouds
got in the way.
I have shone for you all night.
It is your turn now
to wash my feet and serve meal all day.
The moon would never say that to you.
When you smile for someone
don't put a price tag on your lips or your eyes.

A thing of pristine eloquence

cannot be purchased with money.
It is only accessed with the heart's longing.

The burning

A dry tree branch that was flung onto the fire was popping and bursting and crackling in great Pain. A tremendous noise came out of him. The fire stopped burning for a while and asked the tree if it hurts. The tree said:

Burning is not fun at all. But what hurts most is the separation from my mother, the source.

The skin

after so much exposure to the heat of the sun and the cold,
after so much expansion and contruction,
beaten and thrashed ruthlessly, Stretched and nailed to the ground
drenched in chemicals,
The raw, moist skin from a sheep, turns into a drum
to make such a sweet sound!