Shinto by Jorge Luis Borges
When sorrow lays us low
for a second we are saved
by humble windfalls
of the mindfulness or memory:
the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,
that face given back to us by a dream,
the first jasmine of November,
the endless yearning of the compass,
a book we thought was lost,
the throb of a hexameter,
the slight key that opens a house to us,
the smell of a library, or of sandalwood,
the former name of a street,
the colors of a map,
an unforeseen etymology,
the smoothness of a filed fingernail,
the date we were looking for,
the twelve dark bell-strokes, tolling as we count,
a sudden physical pain.
Eight million Shinto deities
travel secretly throughout the earth.
Those modest gods touch us--
touch us and move on.
3 comments:
Hey Yoli wanted to thank you for your visit to my blog. I have a few links to other Cubans on my blog, and I can tell you the most whacked out place I found another Cuban was Iceland. She was adopted, and did not know her roots, but noticed everyone commented how she spoke really loud and always used her hands to express herself and was very passionate when she spoke. Eventually she researched it and found out. All the best,
Daniel
Oh how I have missed you! Glad to see you back.
Awesome post.
Lea
xo
What a gorgeous photo. I feel calmer just looking at it.
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