A room full of air is empty and cozy:
The settee, the frames, the TV set, the chandelier,
Are beauty taken too far, and when far, it’s not beautiful anymore;
The curtains too are drawn ajar; the sun loves to steal a glimpse.
The closer the sun to my head, I become the more tempted to touch,
With my dancing stems carrying black and blue branches.
An empty room is a dream come true-
It is true because it’s not a dream or reverie or anything at night,
No sounds and no silence; No light and no darkness,
No devil and no God; No laughs and no cries;
But the short vase that stands tall in the middle,
Carrying accoutrements of flavor;
Some singing the song of love in their hearts,
Others dancing the dervish with their legs,
But none of that impedes its emptiness.
Even God’s inaction are more than his actions,
Perhaps, God is in the emptiness, the quiet and the spatial,
And the vase is the mirror, through which God sees his eyes,
His nose, his mouth and everything in his image.
If the room was full you won’t see the vase,
And if it was half full you will only see half the vase,
But in an empty room, you will only see the vase;
The vase carries love in a mist
It carries incandescent candles,
With which it illumines the empty room.
If the room was full, you won’t see the candle,
Or the leaf I stole from a poplar tree on Friday,
Or the compassion I have added to my hearty dues.
You won’t see the tears dropping from the eyelid of the vase,
Or that the vase is lapped by a tape in its base.
You won’t see that the vase is not made of glass,
Or stainless or ceramic or gold or anything like that.
You won’t look at the vase and see a singing heart,
Of a loving man with accoutrements of flavor.