A windmill stands by a lake,
breathless and so powerless.
No music it makes, so quiet.
No smile it gives, looks pale.
A requiem sounds worthwhile.
A love leans against absurdity,
spiritless and so motionless.
No word it bears, speechless.
No meaning it offers, useless.
An evident end is on the way.
Love might resemble a windmill
that has beauty when it is turning
between the blue sky and the earth;
is faithful just to a single axis forever.
Love needs an axis of understanding.
What is a windmill with no wind?
What is a love with no expectation?
The windmill is just a mute monument.
The love is just a feeling with no sense.
They are both spiritless and motionless.
(Self-published. Please contact author directly to order.)
Enter the pages of diaspora in quiet introspection. Bathe your thoughts with subtle humor; synchronize your spirit-sense with history-in-heat; fall headlong with eyes wide open into
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