'Armfuls of Poetry, Drops of Sunshine'
Poem by 🧡Thich
Nhat Hanh
"Sunshine rides on space and poetry on sunshine.
Poetry gives birth to sunshine, and sunshine to poetry.
Sun treasured in the heart of the bitter melon,
poetry made of steam rising from a bowl of soup in
Winter.
The wind is lurking outside, swirling.
Poetry is back to haunt the old hills and prairies.
Yet the poor thatched hut remains on the river shore,
waiting.
Spring carries poetry in its drizzle.
The fire sparkles poetry in its orange flame.
Sunshine stored in the heart of the fragrant wood,
warm smoke leading poetry back to the pages
of an unofficial history book.
Sunshine, though absent from space,
fills the now rose-colored stove.
Sunshine reaching out takes the color of smoke;
poetry in its stillness, the color of the misty air.
Spring rain holds poetry in its drops
which bend down to kiss the soil,
so that the seeds may sprout.
Following the rain, poetry comes to dwell on each leaf.
Sunshine has a green color, and poetry a pink one.
Bees deliver warmth to the flowers from the sunshine
they carry on their wings.
On sunshine footsteps to the deep forest,
poetry drinks the nectar with joy.
With the excitement of celebration,
butterflies and bees crowd the Earth.
Sunshine makes up the dance, and poetry the song.
Drops of sweat fall on the hard ground.
Poems fly along the furrows.
The hoe handily on my shoulder,
poetry flows from the breath.
Sunshine wanes away down the river,
and the silhouette of the late afternoon lingers
reluctantly.
Poetry is leaving for the horizon
where the King of Light is blanketing himself in clouds.
A green sun found in a basketful of fresh vegetables,
a tasty and well-cooked sun smells delicious in a bowl of
rice.
Poetry looks with a child’s eyes.
Poetry feels with a weather-beaten face.
Poetry stays within each attentive look.
Poetry—the hands that work the poor and arid land
somewhere
far away.
The smiling sun brightening up the sunflower;
the ripe and full sun hiding itself in an August peach;
poetry follows each meditative step,
poetry lines up the pages.
Discreetly,
within closed food packages,*
poetry nurtures love."
🧡
* "At the
time that I wrote this poem it was impossible to send money to Vietnam. It was
impossible to reach the poorest children, the elderly people. The government
forbade our social work and charity work.
The work of the School of Youth for Social Service, that we had set up
in Vietnam to help mend the wounds of war, was stopped and the director was in
jail. Many social workers were prevented
from doing anything. Yet we found a way
to provide food to the poorest people
in Vietnam...
At that moment all Western medicine was blocked from
entering Vietnam. So we bought French medicine and each family received one
kilogram that they could exchange into 300 kilos of rice to nourish the
children. Sister Chan Khong and myself and others wrapped the medicine and sent
it everywhere in Vietnam.
We sent thousands of parcels like that to thousands of
families. A parcel like that was like a gift from heaven; it could nourish the
whole family.
We did that work with a lot of love."
🌼Dharma Talk on Poetry and
Interbeing, May, 2002
https://www.parallax.org/mindfulnessbell/article/dharma-talk-armfuls-of-poetry-drops-of-sunshine/
'With the deep look of a practitioner every moment can be
poetry, you can see very deeply and very far while dwelling in the present
moment.'
