In the morning light
the inner gardener decideswhere to place attention and what's of concern
before he tills
the most expensive flesh-hemmed dust-
his heart
to sow his very self in the soil, to water grow
with love a baby family tree
so that it branches out in self-worth
and shares its shadow of peace. He roots out
worrisome weeds that trouble him
and mows the grass of discontent, smoothens
the furrows so that he could run
with content, barefoot. The labour-flowers
that fall smell the sweetest, enticing
butterflies of joy to flutter among them;
the day burns to be off, time is enormous.
Back west, the lying day projects
its harvest of gold shine and
meditation induced ecstasy, turning the rays
down to cosmic bliss,
as the day goes in, opening
the garden to spiritual reality
amidst charismatic calm.
Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
Read 38 times
Written on 2025-01-13 at 00:05
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