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Nat St Poem
Do you know the joy of the flowing river of words?
And the waterfall of neat ephemerality?
Do you know the swiftness of intertwined thoughts?
Falling into the lake of language speciality?
I am the river of a different shore
And my style is not blessed with grace.
I am rapids and their power is raw
Yet contain the same motion of chase...
When a song meets a singer – they dance.
When thoughts meet language – they are pinnacle.
When a foreigner’s soul seeks a chance…
Would it find rejection or a miracle?
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Side note: I have asked this question many times before: if my soul want to express and experience this world should it be restricted by the language my mind uses? -I have no answer...
The art of poetic writing is a journey. To share such a journey with other travellers is a pleasure. And to enjoy an adventure one needs to be equipped, right? In being restricted by the foreign language (English in my case) should I stay away from writing altogether or go for it and hope for the thoughts to be eloquent enough despite all the barriers…?
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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Nat St Poem
Five Senses?
Why would I want them if
Touch is weak when it goes through the invisible body.
Smell is not offering enough of substitute for the freshness of the Himalayan peaks.
Hearing is not needed when Soul is listening.
Taste is all there is to Freedom.
Vision, oh, vision… the blessing and curse!
I'll leave it in this body, so I could see it better.
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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Nat St Poem
Can you hear the notes in the wind?
Do you know the whisper of the falling snow?
Do you feel the joy of trickling in a tiny stream?
This is how our human Souls connect with each other…
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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Nat St Poem
…And so he asks ‘do you see that distant star?
Its beauty is in the darkness.’
…And I answer: thanks to the star I know what darkness is.
Where is my star?
Can I find it amidst every twinkling dot there is?
Yes, if I would only remember
I am not a planetarium viewer.
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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Nat St Poem
In looking and looking and looking for love externally,
I feel I am seeing the light of the distant stars.
In doing so, it takes the night to be present.
In the night of human darkness,
I see the beauty of the distant Suns.
In knowing of them and in my admiration of their light,
I learn about the night of my own nature.
It is this learning that will turn my Earth round,
and it is the contrast of which I've learned,
that will teach me of the daylight of my own Sun.
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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Nat St Poem
I was looking for the eyes
And I saw their bluish depth.
I was searching for the lips
To read an emotion.
I was hoping to distinguish an expression in you…
But every time your eyes
Would blink with the frosty waves,
And every whisper of your lips
Would wash my feet with mercy.
And your beautiful face
Is remaining to be found among the atoms
Of the ocean…
Am I in your embrace?
Am I the embrace to myself?
If I pretend to be a floating bubble
On the arms of your waves,
Will you promise
To burst my boundaries
So I could see my face in every drop?
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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Nat St Poem
Which Path is the hardest?
It is not the one which we see in the mountains,
Not the one that goes along the forest,
Not the one that takes us for a stroll among the fields…
I wish…it would be…
Yet it is the Path of our daily lives.
We are always busy going somewhere on this invisible Path…
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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Nat St Poem
Vibration
Inside me.
I stop the flow
And pay attention.
The pull of recognition
And explosion!
A thought has entered my Being.
Let it be…
Am I the same as a second ago?
Have I changed with the change?
Softly, gently, attentively
I am pretending to be as solid as a mist of a thought,
Maybe then
It will pass through the web of my Soul
And remain on it
As the sparkling diamonds of dew?
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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Nat St Poem
My cocoon is made of love – the love of the Universe.
When a Soul is old enough, it is emanating enough love to sustain itself;
When it is mature - the most beautiful thing of all happens:
A Soul becomes the Sun
Of love, light, life and
It gives birth to the new Universes…
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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Nat St Poem
I have received a gift of colourful pallet of paints.
Their cheerful substances
Have inspired me to pick up a brush
And paint my world!
O, child, how blessed you are
With the radiance of your innocence!
But with every line on the canvas
The colours are merging,
They change,
They run away from pure essence!
No, please remain contoured, defined and true…
Yet the paper of destiny is calling for them…
And they flow.
Am I each colour?
Are they all me?
Perhaps, the brush of choice will know?
No, no, it’s got to be the paper
With the hidden picture of life.
Ah, but what is art of living
Without an awoken expression
In each and every passer-by of my gallery?
Copyright © Nat St | Year Posted 2016
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