Amidst the clamor of the world, a noiseless beauty emerges.
Like the bloom of spring, in the midst of winter.
Its kiss is sharp, like needle hot, bursting through hearts tissue.
As a warm woolen jumper prickling my neck, I feel the paradox.
A bird works for comfort, and dare not fathom the extras.
No nest can be free, but is bought at a price.
Bark glides under finger, feel that it is alive,
The bright variations of colour, begging to be studied.
A home, a tree, a life, a scholar.
How I long for the apple to fall, to right the wrongs,
To wake me up, dispersing clouds of confusion.
A smile, a creasing of the forehead, sweat;
A distant gaze of marble, longing to shift;
Simpering tones of voice, unobviously barbaric,
A whimpering inside that I dare say, nobody sees.
Wood fixed in fashion, around paintings of seas,
Photos of freedom, barred in boxes of old;
How ironic the race of humanity, can it be seen?
A smell of perfume that assigns you a name,
Love, birth, hate and despair, floating through a vein.
This stranger you know too well,
This textured silence filled with so much of life;
Observe the observer, listen to the listener,
Paint the painter, know how he speaks.
For the humble, beauty emerges;
Dare not scoff at its frailty,
Moments are fleeting;
Let the breeze have its voice,
And the grass play its symphony.
The Humility of Life.