From the forests to the seas
Great planets and beyond
Ever wanderers we
Until we are but gone

Today, I am gardening my life,
I'll root out  worrisome weeds,
Those thoughts that trouble me,
Cast them aside, those I'd never need.

I'll cut the grass of discontent
Layer it even, soft, green and sweet,
Smoothen  the furrows,
So I can run content, bare feet.

I'll water seeds planted with love,
Of friends made this year,
Friendships that bloomed,
That make life special, worth living and dear.

I'll welcome  butterflies,
And make homes for nesting birds,
With them, taste sun's ambrosia,
Soar and see the world.

I'll bask in the rainbow of colors,
Of blossoms brilliant bright,
And keep them sheltered,
When they sleep at night.

I'll capture the scented essence,
Of roses, jasmines and lilies
Place them in a jar,
My fragrant memories.

I'll love; rest and spend more time,
Under the shade of the  family tree,
Cherish every moment, every minute,
' Neath its precious canopy.

And I'll buy new saplings,
Sow them all carefully  in a row,
Of hopes, promises to me and mine,
And tend to them, make them grow

I painted my dream on my wall
and everytime I open my eyes,  
I see a star not that far away...

~~
Never ignore a woman's gift
For it's the best thing she could give
Do not underestimate her offer
Never take it for granted or leave
~
She could give you a slice of cake
But she will choose to give you a whole
Her gift could be little in your eyes
But it's the total of her heart and soul
~
A woman's gift is not for the eyes
But for the spirit of those who feel
So never ignore a woman's gift
It is for you if you are real
~~

Hear the following prayer
in the timbre of gratitude:

I've had enough with all the bags
in which I carry my things,
with bright screens that sting my eyes,
and with the musical strings.

My ears are sore from the machines
that change and amplify the waves;
so bring me the thoughts of poets and
bring me the prayers of saints.

Whisper the wisdom of years gone by,
of life spilled out in the streets.
My heart is weary, the weight of this world
has brought me to my knees.

There's only one thing I ask
for which to dull the pain;
bring me the thoughts of poets and
bring me the prayers of the saints.

He was engrossed in his performance
in the enthralled silence of the audience
catching the subtlest notes from the instrument
as his supple fingers played with the strings
erupting into the finest blend of ragas
freeing the souls of all the stress
converging his heart into his music
eyes closed as in a transcendental state.

But I could not concentrate.

The face behind the beard and the unkempt hair
was familiar.

From a long distant day
I remember those fingers performed in a different way.

The afternoon I came back from school
and mom told me her monies were missing
and he was the only visitor to her room
waiting in the pretext of meeting me
but after a while leaving hurriedly.

He confessed and the money was recovered
but never again the breached trust.

The audience rose in ovation fingers clapping
my own frigid in remembrance
of another performance.