feet travel only as far as the mind will lead them
each step full of spirit and strife
golden rays of sun illuminate me as i walk
the natural world is only seen by those who want to see it
the trees spoke words of encouragement
roots reminded me that i am a creature bound to mother earth
leaves showed me how we must make sacrifices for others to live
branches offer support and strength
eastern travels lead to immeasurable mountains
nordic nights of cold blue and purple
western landscapes painted with watercolors
sanguine sunsets in the south
my voyage is infinite
earthly attachments do not bound me anymore

~~
Then it became a blue afternoon
while came to evening
They were the realities of her farewell
Glowed in the dark blue,
what an abstract shadow cast!
Floating Autumn Clouds,
away the red hibiscus grew gray
heard a vague weird tune

Then one morning
Along with a purple flower
red hibiscus saw inset
and the dark chorus of a clay oven
covered her face
away in the loft several gourd hanging
walking,
walking down the way
at the end,
stood beneath a banyan tree

Doors opened in the silence
southern wind followed
to move in the room
randomized the bed cover,
poetry books,
morning news paper
while closed the door
opened the northern windows

The tireless long night
while I left the room,
wandering as the lonely clouds
went through the garden
where the sky came down
wanted to say life
walked on foot
A long sleepless night
saw the stars fairs
heard a vague weird tune

At that April's night,
Caught the sight of
dry dropping leaves
The smell of gardenia
to bring me the new ideas
of poetry
touched the sky
wandering on a raft of clouds
filled with
see you decided to

Then it all went down together
in the dark with blue
anyhow a golden sun bought
a yellow day
and all the red flamboyant trees
singing
while standing beside
the two sides of the road
with the wind in breath,
my dying

And instead of go with them
mingled the ways of life is changed
when the ways rolled along a curve
One January morning's mist
coming off the sun on the dew
I liked to walk barefoot
in the soft sun
with a woolen blanket covering

At noon,
the river flowing
with streaming sound
took flock a small Sampan
toward upstream
uprising mind grew cool
with stream
Today is just going to get lost
beyond the horizon
Feel to see back,
Slowly known nature
grew small with time,
after some times
shadows mingled
with a dark space

While came the night
Footprints remain in the dust
of shadows
after millions of years
to become fossils
In the mind and
In the deep heart of
the Milky Way

Her fade face is still
to come and go
Over time,
in terms of conservation
of energy
Again when I opened the window
At a long sleepless night
Saw the stars fairs
Heard a vague weird tune
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

Have you ever noticed how moody we writers can be?
Notice I said we because I am including
myself in this observation
It is like our creative juices are at constant play
even when our body is at rest and this may cause some of it.
Other times, like right now I am trying to work on a poem
for my sisters as a surprise Christmas present.  
It is like the more important the subject of the poem
is to me the less I can get it ~ just right
I know that the words will come to me when they are ready
but the words never come to me when I am ready.
Another thing that gets me moody is when life takes me away
and I cannot seem to find the time to write.
I can feel my hand just a twitching and my mind just a racing.
I need to get the thoughts out of my head but cannot.
We Wizards of the Word get moody
When we cannot create our masterpiece.
Houston we have a problem and step one is admitting to it :)

~~
This is called a bed, a bier
All the faces who have
gathered in the windows have blurred
The lens is worn around
Still, I am going away from
the bottomless star

They have moved away from road
Sounds become smaller sighs
Anymore I do not see,
The yesterday's busiest bird
Alone in the silence,
The haze pine forest standing  

It is a pleasure to wait for the bird
while close the eyes,
Springtime in the gray forest
My hand in her hand,
In the late afternoon's soft light
Strong wet black hair smell

All that is going
To move away from my sight
Pull together in the dark
The childhood, her hand, the drunk smell
Covered with a black screen

I'm going up from the CoT
Are mixed in the air,
moving clouds, rafting
unfamiliar tunes of fair, anywhere
At Times, Unseasoned, without any reason!
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen