Harmattan
Dust kicks up its legs
as it dances the Harmattan waltz.
Eyes sting and blink away tears.
Lips taste gritty.
Sand paper conceals my skin.
The night carries a cool air
and brings relief from the heat.
The music plays on.
~ me ~
Lomé
Waves of colorful people
Streets paved with cars and motos
Hurry, hurry
Ashes fall like snow
Humidity sticks like glue
Bureau welcomes with open arms
Reprieve
~ me ~
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
~ Rumi ~
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