Soul Poems

The Zeigermeister

My outside is in, it always has been
inside the outsider, on the outskirts of life
drifts in and out of sleep.
His long hibernation is almost at an end,
It’s dawn, the time when all the dreams
fade into the background,
absorbed into the tissue of the cycle,
the emptiness in the fullness.
Now, in on the inside, the outsider looks out,
as the insiders look in the mirror,
and the mirror is upside down,
inside out, a reflection of a reflection.
The outsider on the inside,
looking into the interior of the exterior.
Deep down inside he still feels outside.

Birds of Pray

On the Heath I heard
A fresh and natural way,
The simple song of a bird
Taught me how to pray.

I found a quiet place
And began to look around,
I witnessed wild space
And listened to autumn sound.

Then shutting my tired eyes,
I saw thousands of dots and lines.
But like the black night skies
There was nothingness behind.

I left the chaos of thought
And abandoned my daydreams,
All the burdens I brought
Were lost in the streams.

I thanked the Lord above,
For giving me a soul,
And for sending me love,
Home, purpose, a role.

Then I said sorry
For the aggression inside,
My twisted lies and worries,
And the people I made cry.

“Help me to be good
And guide me,” I said,
Still wondering if God
Was a part of my head.

“Send love,” I prayed,
“Wherever we roam,
Send love far away
And love close to home.”

“I want to forget time
And breathe with concentration,
And free my stressed mind
To speak like the ocean.”

At the end of my prayer
I finally realized
There are others that care,
If I open my eyes.

Not now sunflower, I’m busy

Seven magic syllables,
The Gita and Gandhi pray,
life is a mere wave in the
ocean of humanity.

Sunflower, melt my ego
on riverbank, ancient east
Sunset seeds will slowly flow
while your flower soul feasts.

Samsara’s suffering wheel
enlightens four noble truths.
Compassionate wisdom feels
awake in Nirvana blues.

There is no I, life is pain
And our craving is the cause.
Non-attachment breaks the chain,
So follow the eight-fold laws. 1

But sunflower please tell me
‘coz if I do not exist.
Why do they want to kill me?
And why do I not resist?

1. Right views and right intention. Right speech and right exertion.
Right livelihood and action. Right mind and concentration.

Beware of the Routine

Beware of the routine,
the mundane train
journey from bed to death.
To race past familiar faces,
places without feeling.

The routine that defines
you also denies you
your horizonless thoughts.
Remember, beyond the A to B,
there is a deep mysterious sea.

The world is an open space
enthused with a loving
pulse that keeps beating.
So take a break and breathe
out to keep your rhythm inside.

Ain Milim
(אֵין מִלִּים)

For my days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned as an hearth. (Psalm 102:3)

There are no words,
in English, Hebrew or Sanskrit
that can reach your light.
Words are finite.

There are no words,
in this Oxford dictionary,
the ancient tree of knowing,
that keeps twisting and growing.

There are no words,
no name can be touched,
no adjective makes sense,
no passive verb makes amends.

There are no words,
before my tired eyes,
on this piece of paper,
that vanishes into vapor.


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