The Blog of Laughter and Forgetting

Fall

2011-10-29T18:52:00.000-07:00

Very quietly I hugged the blue
Very quietly I dropped the snow
Very quietly I stood by the green
Very quietly I drank the rain
Singing, I touched the dust
Dancing, the willow bound to lust
Smiling, the flower took the time
Floating, the silver crossed the rhyme

Touch

2010-11-20T23:24:00.000-08:00

Was ever blue so silent?
Steps are going down slowly
I come to touch burnt alphabets
And burnt yellow too
Married with red then came black
I looked at, with fever
The green with closed eyes
I can’t be cured again
So the thirsty cloud
Going to the moon
Wasted the wings for whom
Happier the blues left so soon
A promise is to be kept in afternoon
Ocean says at last before the spring rips
Water was everywhere after the flash
And the fire walked past
To bounds where snow wants to start

Page of painter Du

2010-07-24T10:10:00.000-07:00

White breeze comes from the top
Leaves float on the green river
A storm of colours
And the boat in black
Windows open to greet
Awakening to wait for first
My river emerges from your navel
Arms are raised to the end of light
As whisper pass through the door
Like night sleeps in through the scarlet
A singing bird swims through white
And the spring goes back to ask

A girl in red

2010-07-24T10:06:00.001-07:00

Half of sepia, half through dream

When black speaks from eyes

And the next pink with breeze

Awakening of green or may

Be the first white passenger on river

Ripening with yellow while green reflecting back

As orange gathers in the corner

And breeze row the seeds in sky

Water is circling now inside

A touch of violet from west

The boat is floating on the velvet

Green drowns in silver water

Stars are rising from the grass

And black is walking silently

2010-05-22T23:01:00.000-07:00

Lyrics write the road in music

Colours sail in the canvas

The tune beholds your hair around my shoulder

I bathe

The flower emerges from kisses

Your fingers paint

My body becomes your canvas

Your silence drown into the ocean

Mist in your eyes turns

And what a tender waiting by the river

Like the water never stops

And the silver lines compose on riverbed

Smile is born from everywhere

The grass remembers drops from sky

As we walk inside

And your footprints follow the horizon

Immortal is your violin

Passionate is my grave

Flowers touch each other, the music thrust upon the door

While the song remembers dead ones, alive yet

Your beauty touches all the strings

And all the frozen ones whisper from the wall

I become your kite through the clouds

And your fingers call from miles away

When you hold the truth

Like the mountain holds the secret

Like the river holds her tears

I touch your moist eyes

And I sleep inside the morning thereafter

Moments with a long leaf

2010-05-22T22:50:00.000-07:00

Door wants to open? Drops are still alive. When the wet moves on, and the flute flows two arms. Long hair plays the guitar, and smell arises out of water.

I will feed the hens forever. Life is a ribbon still holding the end. Stairs are climbing down to green. And green waves at the flicker of butterfly.

Did I ever wish to know? So much of shower! When I gave the flower ... and the little child set her homework aside.

Your hand moved. Trees nod and bring more yellow, green, and red plum.

Spring, don't leave! Wind, I am happy to be inside your prison.

In March?

2010-03-06T10:47:00.000-08:00

I still believe in the walk
Still believe in the leaves
When the night crowded in
And the face remained first rain
No, need is far inside the song
Inspire to overcome the window
Some kisses have grown unwatered
And some mists turning shadow
Quiet sentences once wrote
Rains of the windy rainbow
Ah, the train passed one night
And the platform gathered the dews
Questions were born from silver
Blaze on the run of time
Deep was fragrant in steel water
And bright was sunk like a rhyme.

Prison of Enchanter

2009-12-21T20:14:00.000-08:00

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.

Years later

2009-12-13T19:13:00.000-08:00

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

Chrome of silence

2009-12-07T19:39:00.000-08:00

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.

Anatomy of seven

2009-10-19T21:16:00.000-07:00

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).

Music is whirling up. I shout with joy. My body becomes two pieces. And they go inside themselves.

For Calcutta

2009-07-09T07:24:00.000-07:00

To breathe in, to sing , to long

2009-06-11T06:15:00.000-07:00

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?

Tales from the window

2009-05-24T11:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Mirror of night

2009-05-03T09:38:00.001-07:00

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…

Memory of Yangzi

2009-02-21T23:37:00.000-08:00

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 me. I am not the audience. I am not the performer. I am the wave of your flute. I am the voice of your song.

Bath in the dark

2009-02-10T18:31:00.001-08:00

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

Looking at the hat

2009-01-31T22:39:00.000-08:00

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 between smile, sky and sea.

Back to the dews that find a lover’s body, I will be in the later stage when fragrance of a song dances with Jupiter’s light. And the breeze that speaks about jealousy just to know in advance that trees are not far. Their urge and Elizee’s dream started from the library. And the wind walked in.

Yesterday

2008-12-27T21:26:00.001-08:00

This is not a poem. This is marriage. Marriage with songs, marriage with inspiration, marriage with smell of hair, lips, it’s a marriage and still undefined. We sang together ‘Imagine’…embraced in spring. I love that delusion that bridges over troubled water. Unless that urge, that dream and that longing, what’s the value in a song? And the same way when kisses are transplanted deep inside lips not for the sake of trace, but for the sake of names uncalled for. Love is not a metaphor or feeling of us, we are the metaphor of love. After the song she pulled her ring out and it’s now in my finger. Melt, melt, and melt further…unless you can be dissolved in ether. Your body is singing in chorus with the float. And I’m seeing myself as a priest who never touched the mirror…there’s no print of my finger on the mirror, and yet mirror knows the secret. I saw everything, and I touched the distance, to make it like a string in the arrow…the more tensed the string, the better is imagination in oneness. D.

Birthday

2008-12-17T22:23:00.001-08:00

The flower grew in Venus
Water was as calm as silence
The door opened in birthday
And showed the ocean trembling
The butterfly came from the body
Trees grew and opened the lips
Cloud came and leaned against the eyes
And twilight came and dropped on the hair
And nature as clueless as a mirror
Observed the melt in the dusk
Where sky fathom deep into her womb
To find where life starts
And in intoxication I woke
To walk down to the eyes
That is the gate to the garden
And fountain inside
Lips may reward the house
As chrysanthemum murmuring in bed
A few drops of solitude
Is still drizzling after the snow…

Cecilia

2008-12-04T18:29:00.000-08:00

You stand there birds flying above
When you turn unmindful
River stops for a while and bends
The moment passes into your eyes
And you, with the tree, spreading branches
Felt the wind, it is coming from
And there is a rock your hands upon it
Came from earth traveling long
And you listening the frozen whisper
But there is no window to open
So you go near a tree and touch
And a leaf comes to you, smell is still there
Keep the leaf inside you diary
Where you wrote, eyes breathing light slowly
And lips curving like a river’s bed
You stand there birds flying above
And your cloud sailing unmindful

All about breeze

2008-09-01T21:46:00.000-07:00

Unknown breeze comes down from night
Brings fever first then touches forehead like a nurse
Or hugs the yellow cloud
Whose wings turned to vapor long ago
The way trees keep dreaming with sighs
All the earthly winds who forgets one another
And look for milky winds like a wanderer
Like night sleeping on riverbed
Expects with smiley face if the stars are also joining from far
And deep inside eternal time
Twilight, shy girl covers her face
Protects the black and white within frame
Then away from it, away from the table
Starts walking on the beloved earth of dear trees
Suddenly on a bright noon of winter
Comes clouds like a blue envelop half soaked in rain
The toy train travels galaxies in dream
Only the rail line offers known flowers in morning.

Roots

2008-08-12T22:16:00.000-07:00

Freedom and change. What did I see in your eyes? Won’t you want to know how to salvage? Well we started but the way goes beyond the meadow…there was a tree…there was a pond. Yes the water was creating small circles. Same when you cried but ain’t it be something that I need?

I need change. You can love me or hate me. You can be anxious or unmoved. I like it in all the forms to evaporate your body in cosmic clouds. And it will rain, promise.
Some people call it discipline…some call it bohemian. But why do you see only one side of longing? Away I’m wondering out of my time. That’s why I came in your time. And the moon was still trying to camouflage the fragrance of your language. I liked your body.

It’s another light I never knew. Now the two lights cutting them across and traveling away…but don’t be back. Don’t let me cheat you. I’m sure I won’t.

2008-07-31T00:52:00.000-07:00

All the tales are told before you
Like light before a flower
Blind darkness from deep purple
The blue chrysanthemum blossom with my face
And your tale, your tale
And your tale…
An ultraviolet rose
Stand I, facing silence
A few rays open the door
Your phone call from Tokyo, Yokohama, Helsinki, Victoria terminus
One remembers Rangoon, chatter of sailors
The diesel-bullet of your calf-muscle
Your standing alone in the rain
On the other side of the glass, a shadow
Your last assignment in Merlin Tower
Unmoved I, waiting for you
Your last victim.

Pothe Chole Jete Jete

2008-07-06T23:56:00.000-07:00

2008-05-13T10:10:00.000-07:00

There is always an imperfect moment. We know it like fish in troubled water. And the shark is just for it. One who has collected so many marble balls and when you turn your face and try to see it for a fraction of seconds. But where do you want to go…where is your residence? And where is your dream to go homeless? No…I’ve not forced anyone but to feel robbed of after staring and being stuck with the familiarity. Still you know it…

Today is clouded, windy and all of a sudden when we start hopping after a break with the sea. The full moon never leaves? Don’t ever dare to love any other woman. Dare to believe … I will take far; I will scare beyond your courage and comforts. You always make me crazy…why you like that always…tell me the truth, please, I can’t resist truly, my dear friend…

The moon makes me crazy, the sky makes me mad, the stars makes me fly, the breeze makes me bathe, the water makes me laugh, the vacuum makes me smile…is there any way? Or, why should there always be a ribbon…if I’ve lived with many? It’s to their haste and compactness that I lay my attentiveness. What else? There is always a different way a flower finds the ground…shall I tell them not to come? Can I dare say? Soul, I still need, there is no end, and it’s the bed…but tell me, is it really worth forgetting my glances?

Prepared…for I myself don’t know my velocity, my direction. But I know too well with controlled hand I’ll drive, and I’ll do it with irresistible speed. Stop me if you can ….you, who after all, have always claimed that you are best salvaged in my arms. Mirrors melt down. Can there be a greater pleasure? Can there be a greater injustice?

Listen carefully. I can see the smell in your eyes. Close. Open. Now I’m there…I like those waves, I challenge upon them like an eager sailor. A man can live only through his immense joys, invisible freedom and flying windows.

Canterbury tales, Winchester light

2008-05-01T09:46:00.000-07:00

Don’t ever make love to any other woman…I’m here. But hey, do you know that I once had my own farm, my stake in the cattle? Didn’t you remember the bells rang during dusk….I was still wondering and wandering with my flute. How do you know?

Your eyes are small…so is the village, but not the green, not the white cover. Or, let the moon be smaller to fools, who cares…an intruder is ready for the light.

Those white horses still running. One still beside the Monastery. But why worry so much…I told you that there are three stages in the life of a man, why don’t you try to believe? I don’t like to drink water from your hand: it makes me bored. You could instead offer apples…but I’ll refuse. Two more sips please…I can synthesize it myself dear, but thanks for those fingers. I eat very little…I wonder why you so surprised…you know it very well I dislike chatting…this device is against all flowers.

When the tension precipitates, remains the ether (oh this gathering!). Is that elevation? Is that a happy and relaxing journey for some people? Well, yes. But most of us don’t know the art of making us lighter. One may think of becoming a feather that travels through the open air as free as possible, yet even for some moments and touch the ground as gently as possible, without a noise… without any sound. Gravitation even works on levity.

From tower

2008-04-27T02:39:00.000-07:00

Only the eternal earth, and parallel dove
As I gaze at, the silhouette
And waves upon waves break their strength very near
Tree, you will stop before reaching sky
Still head high in pride
And the shy leaves
Waiting as they turn brown
Set the sky sparks onto them

Only the eternal earth, and parallel dove
As I gaze at, the silhouette
And as I sail, I forget…
Like Constants in unmindful pages
Yellow, dark red in foaming rages
As they dissolve in mystic blue
Leaves leaving the tree
Like a silver dish fading in sky
And tremble as they come down and crash
The fragrance evaporates
Like a free bird, sailing on clouds of tears

Only the eternal decay, and parallel dove
As I gaze at, the wet grass
I love and forget.

Air on G string

2008-04-23T20:29:00.000-07:00

Ludvik

2008-04-04T21:02:00.000-07:00

There is no start. So the end is also meaningless. My life is more a metaphor than a visual thing. And it is for this reason I touched it by dint of metaphors…that is my life itself. Most of us remain in a state of material inertia unless there is a flash of blue light that burns the sleeping body and let soul look at it in its own eyes.

So I woke up one night or was I still sleeping? And I went into another sleep, another awakening in another sleep. The ether always hits soul like a blue wave…the same way I was bathing in a river. I guess life is a river that merges with its own longing for ethereal streams.

I often watched the sky, space, stars in those eyes that seek bathing in light, breeze and all the ethereal charms…So I needed metaphors, I needed constant excitement, flashes, sparks. I was always interpreted as mysterious, arrogant, penetrating, enigmatic, stupid person. But our social constructs are so weak that it itself surrenders to rejoice. Yes.
I seduced others. They are my metaphors. They connect me to my river, to their river, to our river, to us.

What is the source of this constant search? Perhaps the quarks behaving in a string of vibrating chords…eternal music. Some people call it ‘Naadbrahma’. Be that as it may, in any form or without a form, because form is also formless in itself and unless this whim of our soul is uncovered we go to churches, we visit Mosques; we offer prayer in Temples and forget our aspirations as indivisible part of universe.

What next? I’ll keep my own promise. A libertine never forgets to love and escape after the flower has fallen from the branches. I’ll love the same aspirations of the same flower that is still in the branches…waiting for the night.

Wings and windows

2008-02-25T23:16:00.000-08:00

A few green leaves towards the sun
Beside stands in own shade
The old tree…
One gets from the deep purple
Age, as it becomes sonorous
Still rains, desires bathing in full
At night the moonlight pours
Winds go by along the valley
Who laughs? And the soul
Runs in white horses’ spirit
A lost sense or some organ
Finally felt deep within.

autumn horses

2008-02-04T20:12:00.000-08:00

Those who went down
In a flash turned to statue
If a light pierce through the cloud, may find
Rain falls down, on black hazy faces…frozen
Comes sharp whistle, perhaps snake
Or lost in yellow woods
No use to stand down before the roots
Lights left downwards long ago
But still it calls, as the earthworm moves slowly
Butterflies come once a day
One sees the down-going of mass and energy
Why, then so much of light
Why then the flashes?
As the fish caught jumps up and down to reflect the silver blaze
There is waste of sublime verbs and nouns that longs for lithographed.