Beneath the cedar hush, it stands—
this tablet of time, moss-inked and worn,
where rain rehearses its calligraphy
on every solemn groove of gray.
Kanji breathe with quiet resolve,
each stroke struck with monk patience,
the language of remembered stone
recalling forgotten rhymes anew.
No voice speaks, yet meaning lingers—
an impermanence beyond permanence,
while each becomes each other’s rhyme,
and both become the poem itself.
And now I must consult Google…
I’ll be back.
Back-
Sutras: Sacred religious texts
Kanji: A Japanese writing system
And now I can read your poem as an informed reader.
I felt the reverence in your words, S. As if I was there, your imagery allowing me to feel the same solemnness.
Is this photo from one of your travels?
Thanks… so glad you felt it… this is an AI generated image… but I just got back from a month in Japan… a solemn retreat from things… got a lot of writing done…
Sounds wonderful
Masterfully penned, S. Another phenomenal write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian