Smooth sounding rain

Smooth sounding rain stroked manifold layers of green quivering leaves

.

 

Smooth sounding rain stroked manifold layers of green quivering leaves

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Smooth sounding rain stroked manifold layers of green quivering leaves.

Silence within the great symphony of rain.

 

    Silence whilst listening to a thousand voices of cold tropical drops smashing into leaves and edges.

Silence that is grey;
      
profoundly incomprehensible.

And a voice that wraps things full of wonder with words full of emptiness. 

 

   A sight that dwells endlessly on a dream planet, a dream life.

 

A layer of skin that pierces darkness and absorbs the world into a

       nugget of perception.

To breathe in awe of all surrounding perplexing forms, a close connection with improbability.

 

Then it stops, the ever-changing new turns old and rigid. Common, ordinary minutes.

Then again and again there is a plan, a prospect.  The vertigo of wonder disappears

routine conquers anew.

 

Echoing thunder is heard far beyond the touchable. 

             

 

                    To be one with what has been,

    

what is

 

what will be

As mountain ranges

What is the soundtrack
   to this constant disorder
and while the curve of this orb
    sings the tune of its oddity
I am crushed by every second of perplexity —

The white impermanent clouds
      the bus ride
all the new babies

The bullet chases me since birth
   when the kingdom of noise prospered
I see streaks of light beyond my window

I’m not my own voice
    fear is of the length of words
peace is murmuring for me
       as intensely as undisturbed rain
                over wide mountain ranges

Cloud of Haze

 

 

If the world has no love
No sweetness nor sorrow
If the days would rain
Like featureless water
Bountiful and boundless
What purpose shall we serve
In this cloud of haze –
In breathing without air
Dreaming without dreams
We find ourselves choiceless
In this flame unlit
With nothing here
                       Nothing indeed

Poem in rain and cosmos

 

Why must raindrops fall
and stir my soul like Debussy’s piano,
delirium in an orchestra of round ripples
each droplet unites with the puddle
in this unknown street of Nygårdvej
Why can I not resist this temptation
Of studying the motions of a
                                           fluctuating universe

I raise my head a few meters
a different world comes into view
a realm so close but so inexplicable
of these men and women of modernity;
so you see two worlds bound together
One as ancient as numberless time
The other new by cosmic comparison

And worst of all, I must confess
this thing frightens me above all:
the road mankind has fashioned for itself,
that relentless evolution of man’s world
not long ago we lived flat on a finite earth,
now the cosmos has expanded to insane proportions
we are a micro-dot in a cold dark shadow

Are children aware of our ancestral roots
before we were in trees, but now
riding in motorized wheels
is there a Nostradamus among us
who will reveal the end of our obsessions,
or will it never come to an end,
like this puddle should turn into ocean
                                       if these drops from heaven
                                                                   never cease to fall.