that is the beauty we love to sing.
Look at a mountain. Beneath her solid mask,
there lies a profound tenderness we cannot reach with thought.
Your eyes are fresh and your lips are full of sweetness
and sublime words surge through your veins.
In the middle of the night
You hear a cow going into a deep labor.
You drop everything
and help with the delivery
The calf falters a little bit, until her legs could find the ground.
She opens her eyes, then parts her mouth and would say:
I am a language woven from the sighs of labor within labor.
I am the scent of love the lovers desire to smell.
Thought arises and says:
I have an accent. Can everyone understand me?
The heart replies:
You speak God’s accent.
If they cannot understand you,
No worries. You can understand them.
Love knows neither doubt nor expectation.
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