March 17, 2008
Spring Aphorisms Told by a Sunlit Rock
By Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore
If you comb your hair forward over a bald spot
don’t expect the wind to cooperate.
Slick ice horizontal is more fatal than slick ice vertical.
The mane of a rose doesn’t make it a lion
If stairways appeared in your mouth would those who enter
descend into fetid cellars or rise into solariums of light?
Eyes reveal what words conceal.
Words conceal what the heart feels.
The heart feels what distant meadows in
absolute solitude do at the
break of day.
Orange sunlight in shafts of gold hit the
heart’s meadows damp with dew.
The Iron Age was human beings hammering out
a few tools a lifetime.
Does technology have to lead to such gluttonous excess?
The jaws of the desert open wider than the
stomachs of forests.
Each inch of rainforest is kissed by acres of
rainfall leaning into its green mirror.
A mist wipes away cosmetic glamour.
King Midas couldn’t eat a seed, or drink a
drop of water.
At least poverty partakes of the wisdom of the dead —
everyone inhabits a pauper’s grave at last.
The wristwatch is our personal Doomsday Book.
There’s no song like the present
that began before throats first opened
and goes on when the last ear has been sealed.
Death is Spring spelled backwards.
Spring is a sunlit rock.
-Seasons Journal- Zaytuna Institute.