Existence

 

It is night.
Rain pelts the roof.
The soul awakens
to a flooded Earth –
a sea of storm 
roaring,
then passing.

In that short moment,
shirting lines and shapes,
fleetingl
barely seen.

Before the passing moment tilts
and falls to melancholy,
laughter sojnds
in quiet raindrops.

                                                               Thich Nhat Hanh

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