796. Hazel Are My Lady's Eyes, by Nazim Hikmet

Hazel are my lady's eyes,
with waves and waves of green—
gold leaf overlaid with green moiré.
Brothers, what's the story?
For nine years our hands haven't touched:
I got old here,
she there.

My girl, your thick white neck is lined,
but we can't possibly get old
—we need another term for sagging flesh—
because people are old
only if they love no one but themselves.

(trans Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk)

Source: Poems of Nazim Hikmet

797. World, by A. R. Ammons

Breakers at high tide shoot
spray over the jetty boulders
that collects in shallow chips, depressions,

evening the surface to run-off level:
of these possible worlds of held water,
most can't outlast the interim tideless

drought, so are clear, sterile, encased with
salt: one in particular, though, a hole,
providing depth with little surface,

keeps water through the hottest day:
a slime of green algae extends into that
tiny sea, and animals tiny enough to be in a

world there breed and dart and breathe and
die: so we are here in this plant-created oxygen,
drinking this sweet rain, consumed this green.

Source: Collected Poems 1951-1971

798. Travelling, by Henry David Thoreau

If e'er our minds be ill at ease
It is in vain to cross the seas
Or when the fates do prove unkind
To leave our native land behind.
The ship becalmed at length stands still
The steed will rest beneath the hill.
But swiftly still our fortunes pace
To find us out in every place.

Source: Walden, Maine Woods, Essays, & Poems

799. Your Soul Is So Close to Mine, by Jalal al-din Rumi

Your soul is so close to mine
I know what you dream.
Friends scan each other's depths;
Would I be a Friend, if I didn't?
A Friend is a mirror of clear water;
I see my gains in you, and my losses.
Turn away from me for one moment
My mouth fills and chokes with gall.
Like a dream that flows from heart to heart,
I, too, flow continually through all hearts.
Everything you think, I know;
Your heart is so close to mine.
I have other symbols, even more intimate,
Come closer still, dare to invoke them.
Come, like a real dervish, and dance among us,
Don't joke, don't boast I am already present.
n the center of your house I am like a pillar,
On your rooftop I bow my head like a gutter.
I turn like a cup in the heart of your assembly;
In the thick of your battles, I strike like an arrow.
When I give my life for yours, what Grace descends!
Each life I give gives you a thousand new worlds!
In this house, there are thousands of corpses.
You sit and say: "Here is my kingdom."
A handful of dust moans: "I was hair."
Another handful whispers: "I was bones."
Another cries: "I was old."
Yet another: "I was young."
Another shouts: "Stop where you are! Stop!
Don't you know who I am! I am so-and-so's son!"
You sit destroyed, astounded, and then suddenly Love appears.
"Come closer still," Love says, "it is I, Eternal Life."

(trans Andrew Harvey)

Source: The Rumi Collection

800. Dialogue in a Dream, by Ryokan

Begging food, I went to the village.
On the road I met a wise old teacher.
He asked, "Monk, why are you living
among the white shrouded peaks?"
In return I asked him, "Why are you
growing old in the midst of the city's dust?"
We were each about to answer, but neither had
spoken before the bell shattered my dream.

(trans Dennis Maloney and Hide Oshiro)

Source: Between the Floating Mist: Poems of Ryokan