Meditation Before A Fire

 
My soul, my very
tired soul, you
are restless, you are
angry, the
to and fro of
your anger, my
soul, it is like the
sudden death of a
sprig, the
blistering of stones
against the might of
the waves, anger
like meat burning in
the pot, a sudden
change in religion
from kindness to
defiance
too quick, too
much, too
angry, my
soul
pray

the lines in my mind are horizontal, they are at rest, between them are dabs in baby colours of blue, pink and green, like the garden in the early morning after the rain in the night, and in my mind I could hear the humming of the cups made of brass and I remember where I had seen them before, many years ago, and this is when my soul stops to see what is in my mind, to listen to the singing of the cups, to sit still and forget its anger amidst the peace of its observation.