This garden is so bright and sunlit
Each flower seems to blossom completely
...
My window stands above the patch
And looks down at those gold delights.
...
Crushed leaves and grass,
tasty tangy smells of summer.
Trees are full and plush.
Fruit are succulent and ripe.
...
Vague log cabins speckle the yawning valley
against the rapture of majestic mountains.
...
The Garden Of Childhood
This garden is so bright and sunlit
Each flower seems to blossom completely
Exuding generous fragrances and hues.
With shy buds clinging in anticipation.
This garden is so cool and shady
With patches of sunshine on the ground
The trees whisper furtively to each other
Sharing incidents from eras gone by.
Bare feet dodge the lady birds
And skip over the ant hills.
They find easy knobs on the tree trunks
To help them climb nearer to the outgrowth.
The moist morning grass cools the heels
And sends fresh ideas to nomadic minds.
Carefree unbashful laughter rings around
As ruffled uncombed heads fall back in mirth.
Unattended scraped knees brave the races
While mellow voices confuse the Koyal
The soft breeze builds fruity appetites
and lets discolored hands feed the hungry mouths.
As the sun sets
The air becomes staler and fragrances fade
The laughter gets controlled and conscious,
the shadows grow longer than the trees
Leaving less space to run around freely.
I should come back again in the morning
To feel the moist breeze against my face
And to aimlessly argue with the Koyal
From atop the old mangrove.
Maybe in the morning my feet
Will not tread on the struggling lady bird and
I will see the shy buds stretching out their arms
Filled with fragrant promises for me.
Evenings are dull and dreary in this garden
I should certainly come again in the morning.