a journal in the simplest words

In 2005, after reading Sei Shonagon's “The Pillow Book”, I started a long journey in the attempt to discover the Japanese poetry. The temptation to write something similar was huge. As a result of my searches I understood that my poems, although well received by editors and readers, were not haiku. After a time of wandering, I met Fiona Robyn, her “small stones”, and here I am, with all my literary belongings, under the roof of the “fragmentary writing”.

Sunday, 23 May 2010

emptiness

Our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and the ugly in us, but our emptiness. The hardest thing to hide is something that is not there.

-Eric Hoffer, philosopher and author (1902-1983)

traces so faint

We meet only to part,
Coming and going like white clouds,
Leaving traces so faint
Hardly a soul notices

Zen monk Ryokan [1758 - 1831]

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nobody will read

I am not a writer and do not expect readers to be impressed.

Why do I write?

Writing is...my lavender sky, a sip of fresh water, a medicine, a plump pillow, a snowdrop in January, a deep breath, a lullaby, a light window, a dandelion fluff...

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"...language for hiding our thoughts"

"...language for hiding our thoughts"
or for revealing them.

Who cares?

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