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?”