4th February 2017

I was reading through my travel journal for 2005, yesterday.

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The Bodhi Tree at the Mahabodhi Temple, Bodhgaya

On 16th March I arrived at Bodhgaya, for my second visit to this lovely small town. Because I was going to be away from England for my eldest daughter’s birthday, she had asked me to write and send her a poem. I wrote this in the evening after visiting the Mahabodhi Temple, and after meeting with Indian friends I had not seen for a year, and thought it entirely suitable to dedicate to her and to send her.

There is a crazy wisdom here;

I am at the heart of all things Buddhist.

Good friends make life bearable.

Gentle people give me hope.

An unexpected friend gives me unlooked-for joy.

I am here,

This is the eye of the hurricane.

The still point in the centre of the universe.

My hope for the world,

My hope for you.

Unquenchable love.

I don’t write a great deal of poetry, because I don’t feel it is really my forte, but in the light of current events around the world, it seems worth posting here. I revised it a little before I sent it, but this was the original draft.

Sending everyone hopes and thoughts of friendship, peace and tolerance.

 

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25 thoughts on “4th February 2017

  1. What a special birthday present. A beautiful poem.
    Many years ago when I was a teenager I was away for a month. I greatly missed my family. My dad sent me a letter to be opened the night before I come home. I resisted temptation and waited. That night, so excited to be going home the next day, I opened it. Inside was a poem, not written by him, but it meant the world to me. (I’ve no idea who the author is)

    Come quietly softly up the path,
    the wind will know you as you pass,
    The flowers that star the grass,
    will lift their sleepy heads again.

    The shy the furred the feather’d things
    they will not scurry from your feet,
    There’ll be no rush of startled wings,
    for gentle are you ever sweet.

    Then quietly softly ah once more,
    your foot upon the stone,
    A part of me asleep will wake,
    your hand upon the door.

    My dad died a few years after aged 52. That letter and poem mean the world to me. Don’t underestimate your gift.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. well said Mick! It’s like not having enough photography skills but being able to appreciate a good picture. We may not know the intention of a photographer while framing a shot but it is immaterial! 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I think you are a much better poet than you give yourself credit for! And thank you for this beautiful and timely poem…I’m sure your daughter was thrilled to get it, and reading it just made my morning a whole lot nicer, too!

    Liked by 1 person

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