With no cover ups, let me be frank
At times my mind goes utterly blank
When I sit down to write a poem
From topic to topic, my mind does roam
But nothing comes to spark off a rhyme
Often I feel the words do not chime
Today as I sat down to write something
I ended up conjuring nothing

No thoughts came to stir up my brain
And no topic I found save my strain
But I wasn’t ready to willfully give up
And waited impatient for my mind to clear up
I thought I shall settle with ‘Compassion’
But alas, it was charged with no passion

The urge to write had grown into a fad
And I felt I was growing altogether mad
Plagued by a fiery fancy to express
And a tormenting desire unable to suppress
With a mental state somewhat fierce
I climbed up and down the stairs

I stood upside down and raked my head
So that a little poem, into it would be fed
Feeling dizzy, I stood suddenly upright
But on my head hung a heavy weight
I poured some water over my head
But knew my fever hadn’t fled

Madly pacing across the room
I tripped and fell down on a broom
Rising, I screamed with all my might
Making the household ring in fright
‘What the hell is it?’ I did shout
And wriggled in pain as from gout

In mad frenzy, I ran round the house
No one knew the reason for my fuss
Soon it dawned on me that I needed some rest
For I was far more than stressed
So I sat down and closed my eyes
Thinking, attempting to squeeze out a poem is unwise

I don’t know how long I sat in meditation
On waking up I got a fresh direction
From the grip of an entangling rigor
I restored my sanity and vigor

The sun had gone out of sight
And the moon was beautiful and bright
It was already growing late
And I put off my futile fight

Far away in ancient Jerusalem
Stood a garden, long, long ago
Home to giant oaks and figs
And plants and shrubs of every kind.

On every season, from time to time
Merrily they would burst into bloom
Filling the air with fragrance sweet
And fuelling the hearts with joy and cheer.

Amid the riot of flashing shades
Where Poppies and Pansies held their heads
In a corner, there a Lily stood,
Sans scent and sans grandeur.

A poor loner never once noticed
Nor skilled to steal the show,
Those, brilliant in shade and shape
With contempt openly quipped

‘It’s such a shame
She grows among us
With such pallid shade
And nothing to rave’,

‘Lilies are such lazy lot
Giving only seasonal blooms’

Rang aloud their haughty comments
Rashly blurted out and blunt

The poor Lily wilted in shame
Wishing she had never been born.

Late that evening, through the garden
Into the newly dug up grave
A band of people came with lights
Bearing someone cut and scathed.
With blood oozing, drop by drop
From wounds, left by piercing nails

The body, carefully wrapped in linen
Was the body of Jesus - Son of God
The one who bore the sins of the world
And courted the most accursed of deaths.

The body embalmed was laid inside
And sealed with a giant block of stone
Soldiers posted to guard the tomb
And every vigil so prudently kept.

Early by dawn, three days hence
While it was still very dark
From inside the tomb had come
Rumbling sounds and a blinding light.

Flowers en masse blinked their eyes
Beheld a man, gently walking out
The wounds still fresh on his palm
And the linen that swaddled, lying behind.

As they watched this queer sight
In awful amazement, they did see
A host of Lilies, white as snow
Far more beautiful than any of them
Bowing their heads in reverential glee
And singing Hosanna to the Lord of Life.

All the flora in silent shock
Sighted from whence the Lilies came
They sprang unforeseen in those spots
Where drops of blood from his body fell

Then onwards, without fail
April sees the grandeur and grace,
Of snowy lilies - those delicate blooms
Sprouting suddenly from the crust of the Earth
Joggling their heads in whiffing breeze,
And giving delight to all who behold.

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Happy World Poetry Day

When I think of trees
I think of strong, majestic, massive
but even trees
need help standing up...
Roots are amazing
they hold up the tree both physically
and by helping nourish it.
Asking for help from our roots
doesn't mean we are weak
We turn the rain into energy to sustain
Using the very tears from our cheeks