The holistic view

When I woke up this morning the word holistic kept buzzing through my mind. This poem was waiting for me. It had to be written down. It had to be written down today!

The holistic view

In the holistic view,
the bird flies ahead of me,
as the lighthouse shine his light,
in front of my feet –
the beach is a quicksand.

At a crossroad,
every exit looks the same,
and every signpost,
shows a different direction.

At the edge of a cliff,
I hope my wings can fly.
At the edge of my life,
I hope my feet can walk.

The difference is the same,
The elements are a unity.

In the emptiness of thinking,
the soul finds its way,
by allowing the heart,
to be its leader.

 

 

IF

IF

If I could hide inside an orchid.
If I could sleep inside a rose.
If raindrops could embrace me.
If lighting could immerse my soul.

If I could smell a field flowers.
If I could see a million stars.
If I could walk across a rainbow.
If I could hold a beating heart.

If life would not be fleeting.
If I would have no need to breath.
If miracles would be all around me.
If my eyes could clearly see.

If strength would be my helper.
If love would be my food to eat.
If hope would keep my tears from falling.
If faith would bring me to my knees.

If the days would shine a little brighter.
If time would simply disappear.
If Heaven would be here today.
Maybe then I would be free.

 

Memories (in 2 languages)

At my grandmothers funeral last thursday, my great-aunt recited a poem that I wrote a couple of years ago. In honor of my grandmother I would like to post it here, on my blog, as well. In fact I will first post the English version (I translated it myself. Benefit of knowing two languages!) and right after it, I will post the Dutch version. I hope you like it and that you will be comforted through this poem. Enjoy!

Here is the English version:

Memories

Underneath the blue sky,
pink blossoms blow in the wind.
Entrained with the music,
they bring you to unfamiliar places,
until the wind blows them away,
and they remain a mere memory.

Colors grow in the spring,
to dress the summer in a feast.
Scents emerge,
and make the cold air disappear,
like snow in the sun.
For a moment, Heaven feels all around you.
For a moment, you forget the winter.

When autumn arrives,
and life makes the leaves fall from the trees,
there is only a memory left.
Staggering at the abyss,
you hold tight to what you know –
stored in the chambers of your heart.
But they have evaporated in the sunshine.

Then when winter begins,
and the harsh cold covers the earth,
the white flowers force themselves a way out.
The beauty of the snowdrop flowers,
allows the light to penetrate into the darkness.
The cold is silent and the darkness disappears.

The light of the Father,
that paves a way through nature,
like a springing fountain,
nestles himself deep within the heart,
and form a new memory.
Relying on the memories,
the small child learns to walk,
at the hand of the Father.

Now comes the original, Dutch version:

Herinneringen.

Onder de blauwe hemel,
verwaaien de roze bloesems in de wind.
Meevoerend op de muziek,
voeren ze je naar onbekende oorden,
totdat de wind ze wegvaagt,
en ze slechts een herinnering zijn.

In de lente groeien kleuren,
om de zomer te kleden in feest.
Geuren rijzen op,
en laten de koude lucht verdwijnen,
als sneeuw voor de zon.
Heel even waan je, je in de hemel.
Heel even vergeet je de winter.

Maar als de herfst aanbreekt,
en het leven de bladeren van de bomen laat vallen,
is er slechts een herinnering over.
Wankelend aan de afgrond,
klamp je, je vast aan wat je weet,
opgeslagen in de kamers van je hart.
Maar ze zijn verdampt in de zon.

Dan als de winter aanbreekt,
en de gure kou de aarde bedekt,
dwingen zich de witte bloemen een weg naar buiten.
De schoonheid van de sneeuwklokken,
laten het Licht doordringen in het duister.
De kou zwijgt en het duister verdwijnt.

Het licht van de Vader,
dat als een springende fontein,
zich een weg door de natuur baant,
nestelt zich diep in het hart,
en vormen een nieuwe herinnering.
Bouwend op de herinneringen,
leert het kleine kind te lopen,
aan de hand van de Vader.