onaono Nov 2013
I’m not the one who sails with grace
Tempestuous seas
broad as the moon

I’m not the one who stood in her firm legs
Sorting waves of ambition with equilibrium

I’m not the one who resisted equable
before unearthly weather
I’m not the one who faced bravely
A simple stormy header

I’m not the one who surfs
oceans of emotions
I’m the one who swims from dot to dot
I’m the one who knows who I am not.
onaono Nov 2013
a bird sings
flying above my head
          
             all my respects
yes
action and consequence
but what brought me here
is also blessed help

thank you i love you
thank you i love you
thank you i love you

I hear some happiness
far above my head
a bird sings
  
                   inside
onaono Nov 2013
she broke a glass
in the kitchen

at the moment of rupture
an earthquake somewhere else
in her stomach
he’s not writing any longer
a crush
she didn’t know that he had her
he didn't know she didn't know
nor intuitively
nor pragmatically

a spillage of warm expectations
and wedding plans
in sharp pieces
lying in the floor
a broken glass
an open door.
onaono Nov 2013
we can all see galaxies

in a cup of black coffee

may we all be ready for the shock

of immensity

cold and new,

breathtaking,

familiar.
onaono Nov 2013
aim
change my name

letter by letter

any musical morning

for a name that is light and free

change my name for this is spoiled

change my name for this has a vice

change my name for this is desiring

change my name for one that is composed

with the letters of kindness

change my name, and let the new one humble by the bliss of being useful.
onaono Nov 2013
This things are made for idling
transparent in their quotidian splendor:

A Buddha statue at the receptionist desk
golden skin, red robes
welcoming all yogis with its gaze
eyelids closed

The candle, a guardian of an aim
an intention that moves within a flame
over the palms of the wooden hands

Incense smoke dance softly around the entrance
like a dream seen from wakefulness
immersive enhancer of the humor
filling the place with soft calmness
Nag champa smell
and serious air

The bamboo doors
from Monday to Sunday
open the way to Indian sounds
and the voices of blooming teachers
guide the way
until shavasana
when practitioners become gently moving statues
and glowing air goes
breathing in and breathing out
daily efforts and daily hopes.
a poem inspired in Amma Yoga Center (Mx)

— The End —