Ohne Wörter (Flower Sermon Tanka)


I picked a flower
Twirled it between my fingers
Sat waiting, smiling
Till it divulged its secret
But it just withered and died

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on April 27, 2012, in Poetry, Tanka and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 10 Comments.

  1. Oooh, Tanka! I usually get a to read a lot of Tanka poems over at David’s page (Five Reflections: http://fivereflections.wordpress.com/). This genre fascinates me. And I love this entry. Funny but in my head your poem creates an image of a captive spy in a torture chamber who still won’t talk…


  2. Striking truth here… 🙂


  3. Simple and profound…


  4. Reblogged this on FierceBuddhist and commented:
    A good lesson on impermanence.


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