Every now and then this gipsy soul

Every now and then this gipsy soul

Tells me to get up and go

Leave to the past the shadows of old

Loves and wars

I do however always see you

Stoic and peaceful

In your old place of meditation and thoughts

And spin around

I come sit next to you on the ground

You tell me a story

You paint me a painting of a beautiful minute

I stay put

My arms are longing to lift you

And fly

From hurricanes or tornadoes

But your wisdom says

We’ll stay until they settle

to dust

My risky slopes

My risky slopes
Are ravaged by the winter winds
And only breakneck skiers
Dare to slalom down
Knowing that all that waits for them
When they have reached
The finish line are stories
Of warmer days of future
From the dreams of rhododendrons 
asleep under the snow
thinking they might be
Domestic stolen roses


No guard can protect you
Against this storm
Neither is there a reason to struggle
Aim to float and wait
For this shall pass and you will need
To use your energy and get ahead
Once you see light

Stone

Somebody left a mirror in the forest
By the side of the path,
And by the side of a stone
And people who passed
We’re attracted by the glimmering light
And came and sat on the stone and watched

Days, months and years passed
Over the mirror, and stone
And people gradually stopped
Noticing light, and rarely came
To sit on the stone

The stone thought it must have been
Getting old because it could hardly see anymore
How it looked in the mirror
But it could still hear and feel
Sound and touch, and the world
Started to look comparatively more sparkling and clear

The stone had turned once again
Outwards
It had no hands, no legs
No big desires and dreams
But it was there ready to help
Weary travelers rest, and regain
Their sense of direction by looking
Outside and not just at a reflection!

Night

The night is quiet and deep
And it is hard to extract
The promise of a luminous dream
To lull me to sleep

I must have seen you walk

I must have seen you walk
Solemnly down the center path
That Friday night
When spring had died

I must have heard your voice
And though I can’t be sure
Its sound could resonate
With the tormented ocean waves

Somehow the stirred up torments
Soothe the pain as the sopranos
Lift it from the chest, and then
The basses led the soul to rest

the promise says 
That travel Through the purifying hell
Shall not be long 
And life will rise on Sunday morning with the sun again