Lingering lights of a lazy noon,
creep into my garden nook,
Green and golden rays on me,
trace patterns on my book.
A beetle; curious creature,
climbs onto my bandaid knee,
Wisely peers into my face,
and wanders nonchalantly.
The lightest warmth is teasing,
I smile and close my eyes;
My book shakes off my drowziness,
and the sound of dragonfiles.
The fragrance of our Mother earth,
The smoky scent of swept leaves burnt;
The aroma of old, ancient herbs,
Memories of my lessons learnt.
And then I hear a happy call,
come calling out to me,
It is my darling Grandma,
and she's calling me for tea!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem