At a table in a dim confined space
it is only a simple raki shop
stone and cement and labour
The eyes take in a table
the laminate top displays a centre
no, a polished circle
Chipboard shows a timeworn surface
polished by play
ivory oblongs share ebony spots
Brass rivets aid the spin
like spots mate
tabac shared, raki
A FLOWER’S TEARS
A taverna, back of nowhere
strong spirit to ease the soul
a small child with care drawing
pencil slow in motion
Just a moment of nothing
a few moments out of time
to glance at the moving pencil
and the graceful hand that held it
Such care and concentration
whatever could her picture be?
to move the head a little closer
to see what eyes could see
Eyes took in her heart was crying
for a life that would never be
hers’ only toil and birth
and the misery that is Earth
Some they bloom in springtime
the mountain crocus blooms in fall
yet this was the very first time
the eyes took in a flower’s tear
Pale orange sunlight
dancing upon Osumi’s waters
western mountains shadow
eastern icy clear
A wind touches as a fly’s wing
gentle, yet with some irritation
a moment nothing more
that stirred the imagination
THE WITCH STONE
I am a wisdom for one who sees me,
For I am the secret whose nature was fashioned without fingertips.
For I am a rock, and from me the spiritual meanings flash.
Yet I am one who conceals my self modestly from view.
Before him a jet-black crow arose and said:
I am the body of lights,
The bearer of the receptacle of secrets,
The receptacle of quality and quantity,
And the cause of joy and sorrow.
I am the leader who is led.
Sense and sensible are mine.
Through me appear traces of existence.
I am the source of figures,
And the likenesses are struck accordingly.