A moon rising
In the middle of the noon
When he stands across that table.
He, gently discovering his eyes
To the unprepared world or just the unprepared me.
Then I wonder
How wonderful would it be
To be near to him
To see the world in his eyes
Those very eyes who are treasure of the world
I see my self in the mirror
Then I think
He, the abode to all abundance
A void to all plurality
Can even be an acquaintance.
Along the seashore
Even the indifferent and tasteless sea,
Plunges fro, rages to touch a lock of his hair,
Roses bloom, tulips ring and sunflowers follow his face
I stand afar
With the tall teak behind me
That tries in vain,
To reach the moon
With its bleak flesh-less arms.