Random poetry.
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning,
when the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
and do the things my father learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
pale in the saffron mist and seem to die,
and I myself, upon a swiftly tilting planet,
stand before a glass, and tie my tie.
Vine leaves tap my window;
dew-drops sing to the garden stones.
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree,
repeating three clear tones.
It is morning. I stand by the mirror,
and tie my tie once more,
while waves far off in a pale rose twilight
crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair -
how small and white my face! -
the green earth tilts through a sphere of air,
and bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars,
and stars hung under a sea,
and a sun far off in a shell of silence
dapples my walls for me.
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning,
should I not pause in the light to remember God?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable;
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
to Him alone, for Him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence -
I will think of you as I descend the stair.
Vine leaves tap my window;
the snail track shines on the stones.
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree,
repeating two clear tones.
It is morning; I awake from a cloud of silence;
shining, I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening -
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.
The earth revolves around with me, yet makes no motion;
the stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void, I stand before my mirror,
unconcerned, and tie my tie.
There are horses neighing on far off hills,
tossing their long white manes,
and mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
their shoulders black with the rains.
It is morning; I stand by the mirror,
and surprise my soul once more.
The blue air rushes above my ceiling -
there are suns beneath my floor.
It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness,
and depart on the winds of space for I know not where;
my watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,
and the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,
and a God among the stars; and I will go,
thinking of Him as I might think of daybreak,
and humming a tune I know.
Vine leaves tap my window;
dew-drops sing to the garden stones.
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree,
repeating three clear tones.
when the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
and do the things my father learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
pale in the saffron mist and seem to die,
and I myself, upon a swiftly tilting planet,
stand before a glass, and tie my tie.
Vine leaves tap my window;
dew-drops sing to the garden stones.
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree,
repeating three clear tones.
It is morning. I stand by the mirror,
and tie my tie once more,
while waves far off in a pale rose twilight
crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair -
how small and white my face! -
the green earth tilts through a sphere of air,
and bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars,
and stars hung under a sea,
and a sun far off in a shell of silence
dapples my walls for me.
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning,
should I not pause in the light to remember God?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable;
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
to Him alone, for Him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence -
I will think of you as I descend the stair.
Vine leaves tap my window;
the snail track shines on the stones.
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree,
repeating two clear tones.
It is morning; I awake from a cloud of silence;
shining, I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening -
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.
The earth revolves around with me, yet makes no motion;
the stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void, I stand before my mirror,
unconcerned, and tie my tie.
There are horses neighing on far off hills,
tossing their long white manes,
and mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
their shoulders black with the rains.
It is morning; I stand by the mirror,
and surprise my soul once more.
The blue air rushes above my ceiling -
there are suns beneath my floor.
It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness,
and depart on the winds of space for I know not where;
my watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,
and the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,
and a God among the stars; and I will go,
thinking of Him as I might think of daybreak,
and humming a tune I know.
Vine leaves tap my window;
dew-drops sing to the garden stones.
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree,
repeating three clear tones.