My Commonplace Book V

Alba
Italian for dawn
Scottish Gaelic for Scotland
I always thought it very onomatopoeic
(If dawn light had a sound for me it would be alba)
– Kim French‏

The silent mind touches the world without naming, without grasping and what it finds is only Love.
– t.k.

WHEN POETS DIE…
I have written
My last line
Watched it turn
Burn into a roaring fire
Sizzle down into
A whisper
That floats
And settles down
On your window sill
Transformed into a snowflake…
I have felt
My last emotion
Watched it engraved
In my book of life
I have
Braved a winter chill
Felt it
Drizzle down into
A shower
That rejuvenated me
And washed away
All my pain…
I have felt
A feeling of lying still
A corpse burning
On a funeral pyre…
When a poet dies
A soul is lost
Wandering through
Forests and woods
Without a destination
All that I had felt
Now rising up
To a crescendo
And the music plays on
Rises
And falls
A cascade of emotions…
So, let me bid adieu
The day is done
I have carefully wrapped up
My last feeling
It will lie with me
A solitary blossom
In my coffin
When a poet dies
I die, too…
– Anita Limbu Moktan

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