Monday, 30 April 2012

Did you hear the haiku when they knocked?

Dreams.  Wistful marigold petals
strewn on the holy waters
of sleep.

Men at my door, their heels
are cracked with long journeys
over dusty days;

they wash at the tap outside,
as they clean up their feet emerge,

turn out just ordinary men
glad of a meal, and a place
to sleep.

Think nothing of it, I’m not
searching prophets
to solve all my puzzles;

they leave, rested; and later, there are
lotus marks leading
from my door.

When you wake in the morning
you can’t know what poems
the day shrugs off;

what marigold petal, which jasmine
or lotus shred falls
by your gate.

I looked for nailscars but got
lotusprints facing away
from my door.

They knew me for what I am.
Or maybe they’re men
with oddly scarred soles.

Facts can’t be changed by poems and
no rhymes intervene in their

I heard no haikus on the breeze
when they knocked, I hear none still,

except blankness made into
the lilt of the still lake where
no-one walks

but I now have doorsills, mud
in lotus patterns till
the next rains come

as though I too am a pilgrim,
a torn petal on holy


  1. My dear friend.
    Wow, i really love the ending. Yes, well written with tender emotions. Thanks for sharing.

    1. Thank you, my friend. Poetry is really the best vehicle for any strong emotion, and all ordinary ones as well :)