The Word-Maker


I write as quiet as the Dew
Accustomed then, to my private
Flower, in an accustomed inner-realm

Where I am a fictive dream
But a symbol on a page
Once white, now transparent blooms!

My words drop as softly as the stars
In less skillful melodies than before
Sorer to believe that I have a gift

The Bee of mantras is not afraid of me:
I know the Butterfly’s secret stanza-home
I race to silent woods cordially

With Brooks that laugh louder
Than the forgotten rhymes of time
I write as quiet as the Stream

Who sings of madder breezes at play
For we can only create natural things
Even in our Olympics of alphabets

Better to be a writer, than an actor on the stage –
I relate better to neighbors imaginary
Than the marketplace of the dead.

Photo Courtesy:

7 thoughts on “The Word-Maker

  1. ‘Bee of mantras’ ‘Butterfly’s secret stanza-home’: lovely images: hard work, organisation, the brevity of inspiration, nature – all these come to mind when I read.

  2. Splendid, Wuji! I found myself forgetting to breathe, such was my joy in reading this masterful work! Encore! Encore! *** 🙂 ***


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