The night is a little late.
Neighbours calling their dogs
have discomposed the ibis roosting
in their tree.
Their cries have not yet abated.
Soon though calm will be restored.
Then it will be Mozart's piano sonatas;
the whirr of the computer's cooling fan;
crickets cree-creeing in the background;
the tap-clicks on the keyboard,
and silence filling all the empty spaces.
This moment in time, of course, is passing;
but let me only be fully aware, listen intently,
not for something else (though something else may come) -
this moment counts for everything -
it always does.
Mozart, cree-cree, piano notes, melody,
intrusive thoughts disturb the harmony;
though they discord they have a right to be.
Everything has a right to be.
One other sound:
gentle breathing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem