I’m the music
That ceases to sound after a while.
Broken threads or dead corals in the beach
Which aren’t arranged in a line.
I’m the sea you can dive deeper and deeper
And still not find the pearls.
Or you can wait for a winter morning
As the fog of the night clears.
I can be foretold rains
In a village cursed with drought.
I can be some dull memories or thoughts
You simply left unthought.
I love the darkness
For it suits my pursuit
Like pristine clear waters or clouded sky
So disciplinedly unscheduled.
As a stranger of the same land
Or veiled beauty of a desert women-so shy
Born of some deepest carvings or passions or secrets
Like undiscovered islands. Let them not die.
– King of Monks