The Blog of Laughter and Forgetting

Did I ask you, flight? Passing mirror, moist light Pieces of words fallen And the dark manifesting Generation of green Amidst my windows woven All are to write on water Shower of wound, milky feather Where has slept, the man Dissolved in the yellow And the river to follow Where he walked into From the womb to melting blue All away from, the golden statue Seeds thus from the orange Fragrant the life, watering change Wave at the ship, swallowed green Emerge from water like Grave of mountain, fathomed Whispered the cicadas Song is sharper than And knight is keen.

Time, ah time you think all of Time, you ignorant how you flow But I broke the lock, thus And found time, embraced by you Like eternal sea fathoming in sky I know I have seen A small bird inside wet nest A drop of light from mighty rain But what a magic is this longing Forgot to remember the womb? Womb you let the cloud play But there was deeper than blue Who told me that I was alive The forest was more stoned than the night You’ll stop by, you'll look You can not close your eyes You can not stop coming again...and Again your knees will be deep earth and Inside the roots will be evergreen Fragrance, like a thin mist Mist let come all alone Mist, let stay all but the charm Charm, let all but not stops hearing From clouds and from melting rain

Like a tiny window gazed, the sea and the wind blew forth... I slept and didn't stop walking... to fathom and kiss the old oak Like silence met drops of sound Like waves long to meet the last May this groom of rain for nest Be a thin spread of dews on grass Soft is the melting of hard. And moist after whispering of deep What have you listened my friend! How you heart coloured with the mist Where did you go to greet ancient breeze A deep and gentle sound inside Though the forest were to kill And dark was there in love And you saw how the river fills As breeze flows with parallel doves Yet you long for the ocean As you fought with the night Like time mirror the yellow shadow And the palace beholds the blue lie Sky? the moon ever longed for And now it's the fruit of trees As time clotted in the womb While I went swimming in the roots You searched for dews in yellow light And brought home back silk of white I was ever meteoric icy black As bright as whistle of cold night.

Grass is wet. Hengshan blues. Solitude is looking at the morning? So is love of love. Ancient geometry! Do you remember, when it rains and the angles pass through the bows? Wind is mad. But I should here watch the water. When the wind is strong it's time to go inside the earth. May be earth is sleeping under water. May be water is roaring. And gentle is water! May be water is heavy. May be water can’t feel the pain. So I became a cave. Darkness fills inside. Morning plays song. Afternoon dreams in front of trees. The wind becomes wild and tunes into murmur. There was an old Chinese couple selling fruits in a trolley. A policeman snatched the trolley and the couple begged him to return their capital. The couple with their old steps were almost running after the policeman. It’s not power. It’s not strength. Not merely weakness. I felt oneness. As if my heart is lying on the road and a pedestrian crushed it with the shoes. I felt one with the old man and lady. I became their son(g). M

Have you seen dark, fresh as winter melon? Arranged inside the water, sand and stones And the seaweeds rhythmically When breeze filters in through the cloud Moist with moments of shower And the distant dark, impregnated In the solitude of green land Whispers from inside Fragrance flowing from and outside Preparing? And miles after miles As calm as soul of dark ocean See the mirror melting and shivering? Have you seen not yet… The old man going inside The child spread out with branches His eyes astonished and erupt in green And the seaweeds rhythmically Like a song sometimes Forgets and sings the tension merrily And sometimes like horses, black and white Nearer to the galloping cold wind Do you want to know thus dark? How they play inside the solid dream?

Whisper are you listening? The leaves learning to walk with the wind Knocks the trees, returning from abroad The silence is sleeping inside And the white building floating on the grassland When the face of the sky turns feverish And the wind nurses the leaves Or a passenger from the waiting room Silently boarding in the midnight express Silence, the whisper back again Yellow from the sky And a thin white floating above, above the trees How the night embraces the grassland And how the rest of the breaths Walks along the bridge, opens the door again Like the leaves open too, and walk After the rain called the smell in And the wind across the boats Time like a wave from west to east corner And if faces are laughing while floating Few drops of dream from the wall Few rays of wind behind the curtain. Leaves are walking, yellow, and again green.

Come back, night there away smell Frangipani calling the wind As moon slips into the bush And the silent building sets in A few leaving the gate Evenings’ trace winning the glory Riverbed also dreaming As water allows the night To carry the breaths Into the island where a tone The riding horse and the dust behind Like a man’s journey in and into the sea Saw the glory? And earth Calling the roots As ocean drowning inside water Mountains rising rigid From heart, blowing with the green And grass whispering where water starts…

Chanting. But wonderfully the music is revolving, splashing within and outside. A tension that perpetuates like a trekking through forest. From far and suddenly from near a trace of light. The leaves as you may wish, keep dancing like water dances when a young river hugs rocks facing its way. I am not the audience. I am not the performer. I am the eyes of the audience and lips of the performer. You are the secret music that controls my senses. Chanting. You occupy my mind and body like air occupies a flute. And dissolved into your whims I play. You know more. I raise more. You wonder about your smell that ancient graphics absorbs and becomes a code of whisper. I can’t be chained and yet I am. I can’t be frozen so you look outside of the cloud. I can’t be compact so you secretly desire. I am not the audience. I am not the performer. I am the eyes of the audience and lips of the performer. Play relentlessly the Pipa. That calls me. Play indomitably the flute. That enervates

The moon was beyond the cloud Breeze on the front Lamps flared in the darkness, roaming Like the patrol man at the cross. Blue was no longer gloomy, but a call of romance Yellow was not boredom, but attraction Purple not in vain but amorous, Even white was so vivid then. Suddenly I found all the edge of sky orange! Shadow of the bridge hallucinating two amrs My songs became a small bamboo basket, Or a girl on the boat. My hand pressed in yours became warmer and tender... Your fragrance devided in dream and reality. Voice was gradually turning from 40 db to 10 db, finally whisper.. (This poem is written by Carol. I didn't find any better painting to describe my feeling) Sandip

And the wind walked in front like time. Homework was undone for long. And evening bells kept on talking to the last trace of light. It was important since a flower was about to come. This was the message from smell. Like a butterfly it goes and enters spring. Where are those books? After school, college they went to the library and the librarian went for holiday hoping that sea had not retired so far, and in Vietnam there was a small hut open for likeminded strangers. Time always travels away from it and further towards its inside and when I saw Chen, I remembered May, first. Now I remember that the librarian was calculating crosswords and suddenly he found the name Suzanne. And am sure the racks for old newspapers like always listen to raindrops, when those old papers are wet. I was travelling in a bus to university and it was clear by then. Economics is not a positive science, not even aesthetic science. So I saw Chen seated on a rock. Chen must have known that there is a relation be