I was reading through my travel journal for 2005, yesterday.
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.
Amen, Mick.
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Indeed. Thanks, Frank.
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When I saw your post about my country…I am really feels proud..Thank you so much Mick Sir!☺
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You’re very welcome! I love India!
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And I Love Your Smile face…😊😊 Thanks Again..Jyoti!
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Friendship, Peace and Love to You, and Yours too, my Dear Mick! 🙂
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Thank you, Swami. All the best.
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🙂
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Lovely poem, Mick. I find myself wavering between hope and despair these days. Thanks for adding a little beauty to my day 🙂
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Thank you, Diana. You’re very welcome!
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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.
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Thank you, Tric, that is so lovely! I certainly don’t underestimate it – anything personal in that way is special! And what a lovely thing for your fatherr to do.
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I’m not in poetry, as well but sometimes I love how the words makes sense and it fits the whole scene. You don’rt need to be poet to appreciate the words!
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That’s very well put, Arv. I don’t really do poetry, as I said, and I don’t know all of the rules by any means. But sometimes the words somehow slot together and just make sense.
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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! 🙂
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Yes, well put, Arv.
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Well said Mick. I think you should consider writing more poetry. This is a lovely poem filled with truth.
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Thanks, Bernadette. I can only write it when the inspiration strikes, though. And it doesn’t come visiting too often, unfortunately.
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This is a beautiful poem. What a lovely gift to your daughter and to us. Thank you.
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Thank you, Kim. You’re very welcome.
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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!
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Thanks, Ann. I definitely don’t think of myself as one – very occasionally they just seem to work.
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Your daughter must have been touched and delighted to receive such a heartfelt poem from you all those years ago, Mick. It sometimes easier to express tender emotions in writing or verse than it is face to face.
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She says she was pleased, Bun, although she also tells me she had forgotten about it. Oh well!
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Kids, eh?
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