It was a willow tree once there
   At the land of lake and mist,
   It was standing lonely on the shore
   Waiting for a beautiful hand to touch
   Its shining leaves.
   It was a woman in green, wrapped in
   A scarf with autumn leaves,
   Her hair was with honey color
   Her eyes were magnetizing and dark,
   She came to the willow on twilight "
   Rainy clouds gathered with above
   With gray shadows,
   She weeps under the tree and talks to it
   “Oh, willow, where is my beloved…
    since years he went to the land of
    pineapples and sun,
    and then he never returned..
    I promised to wait him every night,
    And every day I light candles and pray.”
   The woman's tears fall from her beautiful eyes,
   They touched the ground of the tree
   And dropped on its leaves…
   “Don't cry, dear “ replied the willow,
    I'm here beside you, I hear and feel,
    I was also a maiden one day in life
    Waiting my beloved I came here to cry
    Near the lake and mist.
    Years passed by ,he never returned
    And my longing increased
    One day I just woke up and found
     My hands transformed into green leaves
     My body " to stem of a willow tree.
    God gave me peace , I'm still crying
    But I don’t wait for him.
    The woman in green was amazed
    She felt suddenly quite inside herself,
    She stood little with opened eyes
    Gazing the lake, then kissed the tree
    And turned away.
    The willow saw her smile, she never came
    Again to the mist and lake land,
    But her autumn leaves scarf is still there…

He was dancing between forces of light and darkness.
His eyes celebrated journey of sun in the sky
looking in it for ancient knowledge
invoking light and fire of all stars
praying to divine source of goodness
pretending to be white lunar light.
He told me' You must be light to give light,
fire to give fire in this dark world.
All living matter belongs to light.
All living matter is thought of God.'
I needed him as I need breath to live and die,
as astrology influence of stars and planets
as east west to embrace direction
as plants cosmic rays to exist
as body cells Infinite Intelligence to guide
as child womb to grow .
I guess he has good heart underneath
worthy miracles come to him
even if he appears to me like black moon
hungry for light to experience pure moments.
He called me Venus, Isthar.
I called him hidden mystery of universe.
We both spoke soul to soul
with codex of love
and sacredness of spirits.
I was Divine Godess filled
with smell of white roses
illuminating his mind.
When night came
he loved me with power of Gods
embracing my crown between stars.
Showing me constellations and moon
he became almighty Creator
giving brigtness of all of cosmic creation to me.
My mother told me
'Choose your man wisely.'
But what is wisely
doesn't come from heart.
He was first man
who didn't break my heart
and shattered my dreams.
I choosed him following my heart
and voice residing between my heart,
fate and God's inspirations.
When he looked in my eyes he told me
'Vision of God is clear to me.
Loving you I am one with His light.
You gave me eyes of God.
I am godlike, goddess like
I am His wings of Love above all
Existing only for you and our love.
I am prayer of your heart.'
Angels created intimacy and ecstasy
between our bodies and worlds.
Sacrifice, sweetness was my gift to him.
'Guiding lantern of my heart' he called me.
Holding his head in my arms close to chest
I was morning and evening star glorifying law of love .
He was guardian Angel of my day and nights
rebirth of my soul to escape death
music and poems of my longings
force of attraction between our hearts.
It was romance of souls and minds,
body to body, spirit to spirit
intimacy of clouds carrying our hearts
close to Mars,
closeness of bodies, kiss of breaths
unity of flames, memory of Eden.
My mother told me 'Choose your man wisely.'
All I know heart is wiser than mind.
Listen your inner voice
blood, veins and cells
God's whispers of intuition
and you will find the one.
This love is return to Source,
fullfilment of human emptiness
not caring for pride, humanity.
It's nakedness of souls
celebrating acts of closeness
not looking for any other lover
not knowing beginning and end
of falling in love and being in love.
'Let his fires and silence burn you.'
pure passion whispered.
I choosed wisely.
Soul to soul.
Heart to heart.
Fire to fire.
God making two one.

being the topper in the class, he developed certain pride
that the envious derided, ignored flatterers on his side.

the first bench was his permanent place
from where shone his haloed face
when the teachers spoke seemed it thus
there was only him in the whole class.

all questions he took the answers he knew
solved hardest sums others had no clue
not once an intruder could invade his space
he shined in glory of his flawlessness.

from him was never unfinished homework
ruthlessly made on exams his mark
was taken for granted he would win first place
the rest of the herd would just run the race.

the teachers indulged him the pride of the class
but you know all fame are fragile like glass
it so happened a new teacher joined the school
unbiased he was not to blindly toe the rule.

he asked the first boy if he had ever flown a kite
played marbles on road picked up a fight
if ever he had walked barefooted on the grass
stole a look at sky bunked even one class.

if he had ever chosen to close the book
hid him alone in the scariest of nook
scanned the horizon to catch first moonrise
counted the stars bamboo grove's fireflies.

he looked nonplussed didn't utter a word
anything than studies he hardly bothered
had he answered it would all have been *no
to him most precious was his place at front row.

he bowed his head down with ashen face
for the first time in class he failed to impress
what happened next was no riddle to guess
that teacher was gone without a trace.

My father talking to an irate neighbor after a football landed in his flower bed(circa 1947):

" Your grass, and your flowers, will grow back. The children  grow only once. Let them play!"

copyright: richard riddle: July 21, 2015

in the land of the white
live too the black men
apparently with equal right
but with covert disdain.

why couldn't the world be one place
when we are all from common gene
where humanity is the only race
across the color of skin.

in the land of the black
live too the white men
apparently of the same pack
but on a different plane.

why couldn't the world be one landmass
when we rose from one origin
where being humane is the only class
across the color of skin.

in the land of the white
live the white men
among them aren't equal right
exist disparity and disdain.

why couldn't the world be one unit
when together we all once had been
where brotherhood is boldly writ
across the color of skin.

in the land of the black
live the black men
among them oneness they lack
the inequalities still remain.*

why couldn't the world be one creed
where mankind lives as one kin
the white and the black can only read
love across the color of skin.

Teachers of the spirit
advise scant minimum
of words to
approach more closely
the real truth..
Word and sentence
divide contemplation
subject and object dualisms
splits and names
mind and ego
a bucket of worms..
But we must
speak and teach
make concession to ego
to cleanse visions
climb from the pit..
Silence remains
encloses all separation
and waits to be found
with assist from those
words...

Her wails rent the air

O God how unfair you are
to have snatched him from me
the only man that truly cared
never treated me badly.

Without him is a life to grieve
empty meaningless
take me too O God relieve
this pain of no redress!

Shouldn't we bring a costly cot
of mahogany or such wood
asked the men what was her thought
about carrying her man so good.

Shouldn't the pyre be of sandalwood
the fuel a pure ghee
your husband ma'am was a man too good
to be burned ordinarily.

She paused a while frowning dark
a shadow passed her face
a hint of wince made its mark
a pall of uneasiness.

He's gone to never return
the onus is now on me
to run the days with meager earn
and not spend wastefully.

ordinary wood would burn as good
kerosene would do well
prudence demands not one should
be lavish in funeral.

In a place that never existed anywhere,
leading a life that never ever happened
sparks of fire of wanton imagination,we are,
that will appear reflected in eternity's mirror
all these dreams are created by our illusory mind.

I am a Christian.
Do not look at me differently,
Do not roll your eyes or scoff.
Do not lump me in with every other Christian
You have ever met
Or heard of.
Do not assume that I am like the Westboro Baptists,
Or that I only believe what I do because of my parents.
Do not question my sanity.
Do not assume you know my views or my reasons,
But please, ask.
Do not suppose I will be extreme,
Or that I live under a rock.
Do not think I am naïve or a saint,
Or that I expect everyone to live
By what I think is right.
Do not presume that I fit your stereotypes, whatever they might be.
Do not take for granted that I have no idea how to have fun.
Do not associate church or my faith with being boring.
Do not suppose that you understand me or the depths of what I believe.


Please just do not assume that because you know one, you know all.
I am a Christian.
Ask me why.
Ask me about my thoughts on the world,
Or on political issues.
I will gladly tell you whatever you’d like to know.
Ask me about the wonderful moments of God I see around me.
Ask me what evidence I have.
Tell me all about what you believe.
Talk to me without reservations or awkwardness.
Ask me what traditions my family has, or how we celebrate holidays.
Ask me what makes me different.
Laugh with me about the children I babysit during Bible study.
Cry with me when someone passes away.
Look with me to see the ways God is working in the world.
Give thanks with me before dinner.
Join me at church one day to see what it’s like for yourself.
Love with me all the lost people in the world.
Love yourself.
I am a Christian.

She was in love
With old books.
She was in love with
The way they smelled
As she flipped the pages
And felt the air hit her face.
She was in love with
The rough texture
Of the paper worn over time.
She was in love with
The yellowed tint of the pages
And the crumple of water spots.
She was in love with
The broken and tattered
Binding that crinkled
When you touched it.
But most of all,
She was in love with
The stories that not only
The words written in them held
But the stories behind each
Coffee stain and torn corner.
The idea that this book
Had connected with
So many other people
Enchanted her,
And she wondered if
Maybe she wasn't as
Strange and odd
As people told her.
And she thought that just
Maybe she wasn't as
Alone as she felt.