By Vasvi Kejriwal
I wish to see a faraway fantastical fantasy,
where exotic, plenty pools of sunshine
streak in from a vast sea of sky above,
stream down in waltz, to mud just fine.
They snake through every nook and bend
in careful runnels, through broken windows
in slithering rays that creep the way.
It is all flushed silky satin with tinges
of blush, and molten edges of singes.
Wouldn’t you wish to see a place
where fluttering wings rule the jug of deep lucid blue
that blankets the world above our constant-at-it mind?
Or where a peak into lush dense greens, might reveal
a Bulbul nest where pearly white eggs rest;
or a cocoon cradled between the limbs
of Banyan bark, like a small realm snoozing its whims?
Seems that irony reigns rather well here,
for we are here, where we have wished to see.
But, if only we had time to stop, to look.
The cascade of sun still meanders.
Its gold still melts every bit of scape down,
while diamonds shone from trees and leaves
so that Nature is Queen and t’is all her crown.
But, if only we had time to stop, to look?