Yoke smiles
And twinkles from the eyes
Blend them together
Whisk, whisk, whisk
Till it all bubbles to
A perfect frothy fluffiness -

Heat some love
And tender words
Add fruit of human kindness
Mix, mix, mix
Some rinds of laughter
Blend it all well, in folds

Cup this
Into lightly buttered hands
Of giving

Then warm the heart
And put it in to bake

See happiness rise to a perfect gold

A simple recipe - the soufflé of life

Crisp outside
Molten and soft happiness within

The universe is an infinite structure.
Our lives however, are not.
Life must end because with no end, there is no beginning.
Humanity is programmed to fear death.
Haven't you realized that we are born to die?
Please, don't perceive this notion as negative or dissuading.
Death allows us to return to our innocence,
Only to be limitlessly reborn in a higher form.
When we die, we are not gone,
Rather we are no longer a single whole.
Every molecule that was in us will be present in multiple forms of life.
It isn't the end of a journey,
Rather the start of a beautiful endeavor.

What she whispers to the deity

in her daily evening prayer
from her lips' quiver
I try to hear

I try to understand
what she asks of her god
with folded hands

is it her own welfare she prays
begs from the deity
well being of her family
wealth and safety

or her prayer is not that small
she asks god for the good of all

I am not sure
but deep within feel
her prayer is pure

through years of asking
but never receiving
she has quit
praying for any specific thing

she prays as a need
as an inseparable thought
whether god heeds her
or not.

The stars
Once ceaseless
Infinite
Now sprinkle the dark
As if accidents
Tiny holes
Peppering the black
With their hopeful presence ​

Only the brightest are permitted to shine
While the rest lay trapped  
Behind the blanket of dusk
Which is cool upon the skin
And warm within my heart

But I will break it open
Uncaging the sky
Allowing weaker stars to see the world
Before dawn comes again

Awestruck
I will breathe them in
Before back out
Into the night
They will ascend

Through a broken window
Covered with dirt and cobwebs
And from within an empty house
Crumbling and derelict
Even the bleakest landscape
Can look fine and good

When the water runs in
Through the sagging old roof
It makes the rain outside
Seem healthier and clean
So that drafts blowing through
Cracked and buckling walls
Make the harshest winds
Feel kind and warm

Because when the interior
Is so desolate and empty
It makes the worst of the world
Seem pretty much good enough
So why bother to change
Anything at all

                                               By Phil Roberts

Full Moon speaks the last word tonight -
Casual-recherché and light.
In the absence of the sun she
Leafs through the pages of the night
And shoots a side-look at the pond -
Her desire stretches far beyond
His specular contour.

© LazharBouazzi,  November 28, 2016