The Poet’s Path

kutch

In the end, these words,

like birds fly away,

rearranged another way,

burned up into smoke

to be filed in the sky.

Or maybe a generation

skipped, will stumble

on a poem or prose,

and dance across

its heather, softly

opening a tender ear,

while fragrantly

dissolving in ether.

But if that shall never be,

It won’t be the end of me.

As I write, these words

smooth over,

a rock unpolished,

to soothe a weary soul.

It is my path of Love,

a practice in spirit

made right and true,

bringing me ever closer

in the divine countenance

found right here with you.

 

~ jeffrey vionito

 

picture by:  http://musetheplace.com/incredible-handicrafts-of-india-kutch-handicrafts/

 

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