Dwelling apart, the star-signs changed,
hope lost, the living divided from the dead.
The last cinnamon dries in the apple jug,
old rue grows cold on the bookslips.
River winds keen, blowing wild geese,
mountain trees’ sunset glow, bearing cicades.
I shout once, my head turns a thousand times,
but Heaven is high and will not hear me.
translatedby Stephen Owen
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 
Well shared 👌
Thank you. He’s a personal favorite poet of mine.
You are welcome 🙂
So wonderful to see your name pop up and return a visit, Leonard. I love the powerful ending to this piece. Thanks for sharing. 🙂
Thank you. I love those last lines, too.
Beautiful. Thank you
Glad you like it.
Managing revenue is an uneasy job and can cause a lot of stress.😰
Certainly true.
So much heart touching,dear zduno💕🙏💕
Very true.
💕🙏💕💚🙏💚❤🙏❤