Rich Man Poem by Prathibha Nandakumar

I was the daughter of emptiness
until my rich man startled me
teaching the richness of minimalism,
the richness of not wanting.

I play with the gentle rays of sun at dawn
and he challenges the mid-noon ball of fire
with bare eyes. He says it is energy
and that poverty is voluntary.

My rich man showed me the richness
of now in time and here in space
amidst the abundance.
I backtrack in history.

They say a hungry woman is not free,
poisonous insects do not sting,
and birds of pray do not strike,
Kabir searched for the shop where
the merchant would say
‘there is nothing of value here’

He said he found it.
I bid my time waiting.

Presently, my rich man
keeps all the precious hugs and kisses
to himself and hands down these
big green notes, of no value to me.

Prathibha Nandakumar
20 Jan 2014