Liniște toamnă-iarnă…/ Autumn-winter serene


“The peace of the gardens and the kindly lights in the windows
poured a tender influence into his restless heart.”
― James Joyce


How do I color
what hues do I give
its fine wings,
and how do I paint its soft pulse,

the peaceful murmur it brings?

How do I draw
its sweet heart,
and where do I pour
its sweet essence
when the seed of its miracle soul

sprouts like a mystery presence?

What do I call
its deep tones,
and when can I muster
its answers
if the scent it leaves in its course

feels like a gossamer dancer?


Cum colorez oare
ce nuanțe să îi pun
pe aripă,
și cum să-i pictez oare pulsul,

ca murmur de fiece clipă?

Cum desenez oare
ce-i bate din soare
când sâmburii vii de tăcere

țâșnesc sublimă prezență?

Cum să-i numesc
tonul cald
și când să îi caut
dacă orice plecare și drum

înseamnă pe loc și sosirea?


Plimbare înflorită colorat pentru provocarea plină de Liniște de pe WordPress Daily Post de săptâmâna aceasta.


Tranquil and colorful stroll today for this week’s photo challenge on the WordPress Daily Post – Serene. 



16 gânduri despre „Liniște toamnă-iarnă…/ Autumn-winter serene

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    • Cumva… pot spune că știu?! Ce nu știu este ce ne poate oare împiedica. Cel puțin aici la mine mereu sunt petale culoare, chiar dacă nu zilnic. Poate cele câteva poze dintr-o postare pot face față celor câteva zile distanță. Să ne fie, sper eu, o lume mai bună! Pentru că frumoasă… spun eu că este.


    • Thank you beautifully, then. ^^ And you, saying… palaces from thin air, that is beautiful too, poetic beyond any question or answer. You’re welcome, Francis, this poetical walk made me remember a nice poem I once read, quite glad I could find it now:

      “I keep running away,
      As if from something,
      As if to something.
      I keep running away,
      As if from myself,
      As if to myself.”
      ― Jenim Dibie, The Calligraphy of God

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      • Is very nice indeed. Coleridge once made an incomplete poem of a dream he couldn’t recall well, probably you know it. The palace of Kublai Khan. So he extracted a palace from the ethereal reality of a dream half recalled into the woven of his words. ^_^

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        • I read and studied that poem years back, yes, though in the meantime somehow forgetting about it, surely, there are many and nice that I enjoyed, imagery, symbolism… thank you for reminding me of it, Francis. ^_^ What feels intriguing sometimes is that dwelling, subtle, on the fine line between the imaginary and the real, dream and daily life, imagination, art and the artist, and society, life as such… how these complement each other but also somehow being at odds. Seems poetry can walk that line in quite a lovely way, almost like when turning a place into a palace, a kin into a king… or ink into a link? n_n Which also reminded me of a question I happened to read these days, from Plato, „How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream, or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the walking state?”

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