The charcoal sketches in the sky
Have started drumming on the tin
That shelters me amidst the scents
Of Eden’s gardened seraphim.
She introduces, green by green,
The leaves and stems of every shape.
And meeting them with her, I see,
I’m so alive, I’m so awake.
This bonsai here of thirty years
Reminds me of the Artist’s Way:
That crafting beauty takes a life
Of mindful caring everyday.
And look, she says, a little bird!
A hummingbird, replies my hunch.
In yellow petals, yellow plumes
Are seeking Sunday’s leisure lunch.
Is that the karma of this place?
A resting hop for Time that flies.
While nodding to the rain, it thanks
The sunlight in her kaajal eyes.
Minakhi Misra 