Food

At first I thought the art of eating in Japan

Was an unconquerable mythology 

Of sweet sauces polluting meat

Breakfast that smells strong enough

To wake the late sleepers

And minuscule sweet treats

that counterbalance calories 

By washing them with patience

And the pure taste of green teas.

I ALSO thought that onions role 

was to anesthetize the feelings

and to drown in tears the thoughts 

against eating raw fish 

and while i was humbly battling all of this

Sweet friends appeared and thought me

how To eat with chopsticks:

Grain by grain, cut by cut 

Gentle and delicate 

Restoring the balance

And The feelings too came back

Rice

And if we are but grains of rice

Don’t we deserve 

The joy of life?

The privilege to make some noise

To let the wind bend us

In a few directions 

The sun light us,

The moon enchant us

Who’s going to see the face of me

And hear the voice of you 

If we are all but grains of rice

Let us be merry for the season

We’ll fill your bowl a little later

With hard earned fruits

If our labor

 

Bruises

I have scraped my knees 

In beautiful corners of the world

I have bled and got bruised

By the road

When taking a curve here and there

Too fast or too slow 

On a dusty fun motor

Ages ago.

And now that I look at me knees

I see silvery traces

Of bruises and all I can say is

Thank you for building with me

Memories.

I

I was never part of the picture

Never been part of the plan

I just happen to happen

And you own the hand

That made be be drawn.

The lines that you’ve painted

Are recognizable 

For being bolder than bold

And they danced me

Into existence 

and shaped me to flow

Into the painting.

Where is my fault 

For being drawn 

at the speed of a bomb?