Wind And Waves

“It is not our job, discovering the ‘secret’ of the red rose,
Our job maybe is
To, float in the magic of the red rose
To camp behind the knowledge,
To wash our hands in the ecstasy of a leaf
To pass by singing and to be born again when the sun rises every morning.”
~From “The Footsteps of Water” by Sohrab Sepehri, modern Iranian poet and painter

Half of A Halfway Poem by Spirits of the Red City

“a sun
a sun
sunlight is on the ground
a cool light in my hands
blindly
blindly
blindly i walk
into the tall grass….”

 What is the relationship between insignificance and death? I wonder?