A Gardener To Greens Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

The land you've grown on be His
As water and sunlight is;
I'm no more than a keeper
And claim to be no owner;
I reap crops blest by His bliss.

Words he weighs at every plant
That has pleasure to him lent,
Where ‘pon moves his loving hand,
Youth as meets an elder friend,
To his welcome have they bent.

He seeks welfare of flowers,
Admires beauty on bowers,
To buds in fragrant blossom,
He has this advice awesome
That keenly he now showers:

There's season O to mature,
That heeds to no haste, be sure,
Undue haste kills your childhood,
Enjoy long as it lasts good,
Nuggets of wisdom so pure!

And wither not ere your time,
Ere fragrance reaches its prime;
He then feels some tender fruits:
Do forget not, thank your roots,
Growth's fine, but roots only rhyme.

The seed and leaves and all else,
Each your success story tells,
Ungrateful O never be,
Be proud offspring of thine tree,
Bear in mind till it rings bells.

Whilst gardener's wards nodded,
Breeze pregnant from blossoms spread.
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Reflections | 03.03.16 |