Yin Yang

Maybe it’s time, I don’t know, it happens every late morning And once in a while before bed… This feeling of total control over my life It’s like magic, with tricky hands I can see where the ball strikes next And wins. It’s like that in your harried presence It’s your commanding glare Looking at

Burning wood

Quiet nights And the midnight stray dogs that bark The scent of burning wood Clay pots and runny rice On a stove made of fine earth I’m wearing my favorite cotton dress And peeking out the open window railings While the cool breeze touches my face Unlocking my heart There’s the lingering scent from grandma’s

In her palace

She’s in her palace; her head resting on its beautiful marbled floor. She sighs at the way it cools her cheek on such a hot summer’s day. Breeze comes through the large windows and balconies that surround this grand architecture. They tease her wavy hair strands, which in turn tease her face. She’s listless and

My meaning of life

Laying on nature’s floor, breathing in fresh air, feeling the pollinated breeze over my face, being next to the green plants and trees, accompanied by bugs and bees Letting time pass by, fast or slow, with the fluctuating clouds above I don’t care. This is my meaning of life.