The Silent Monk

In his silent breathing
He grabs holds of his tools
Wetting it with the springs
Of the green desert
to begin our regular classes

Talking to me
With the pulse of his heart
He showed me the path of peace
In the nakedness of the mind
With his gentle guidance
In an aura of silence

Not uttering a word
In the golden moments
I hear every words spoken
As Minutes speeds into years

The Silent Monk
With his golden words
Scribbled in silence
As he Furrowed my garden
With the perfect cuttings
From the parchment laid
On the silk table

My mind sings on
In the midst of it all
As the wind of peace
Blow my heart away

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About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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