Mother Earth

The Universe is vast with trillions of stars
And even more countless are the planets.
But the one that’s the most beautiful of all
Is the one that brought us into existence.

As the ladybug sleeps in the tree bark,
She wraps it in warmth and protects it.
And deep in the heart of the rainforests,
She taught spiders how to weave webs.

When a wildflower blooms in the velds,
It is She who fills it with sweet nectar.
And in the dry hot dunes of the desert,
She gave the camel a hump for water.

She birthed every creature big and small
And wove them all in the circle of Life.
And, in doing so, a lifeless space rock
Transformed into a world that’s alive.

She’s Mother Earth; She’s the connection.
Through Her, the Universe seeks expression.
Without Her, we’d be just specks of dust in motion.
With Her, we are the privileged ones – Her children.

The River

The river knows.
She withholds no secrets.
About all she has seen as she flows,
She spills the beans as the witness.

The fact that her speech is incomprehensible
Is a completely different matter.
As absurd as it may seem, this is possible –
All rivers have a voice that chatters.

Rivers also remember.
Not just the route they take,
But the people and events they encounter.
Memories are formed in their wake.

And when she can take it no more,
Her lyrical gurgling turns into a roar.
Waters rise as they overflow
In an effort to purge all that they store.

Then, everything in her path is cleansed
Even if it means resorting to Death.
Men, women, children, and animals
All succumb to their karmic debt.

When the floods subside, Life goes on.
The ones that are lost are forgotten.
The river reverts to her peaceful form
Preaching away to those who can listen.

The Garden

In the garden of my mind,
There grow flowers of every kind.
They bloom in all shades and hues
Mirroring my emotions and moods.

The Cockscomb, with its brilliant red
Screams of passion and excitement.
But as it stretches out in excess,
It brings anger and is dangerous.

And the dainty yellow Billy Buttons
Spread joy, warmth, and optimism.
But every so often, their color leads
To feelings of worry and anxiety.

A patch of Himalayan blue poppies
Gives root to loyalty and peace,
But at times, as they overgrow,
Loneliness and cold take their hold.

And the purple Lily of the Nile
Births ideas of the creative type.
Whereas the bright orange Lion’s Tail,
Spawns enthusiasm and friendliness.

There’re also the pink Anemones
They show playfulness and innocence.
And the White Egret Orchid is so elegant
As it exudes purity and truthfulness.

As a companion to all of these,
Abound leaves in shades of green.
Signaling growth and harmony,
They’re also the harbinger of envy.

The Black Bat Flower also survives.
In a secluded corner, it thrives.
Shrouded with powers and mysteries,
It can heighten sadness and fears.

In another spot is Miss Willmott’s Ghost
With its pale grey blossoms
Flourishing with authority and dignity,
Along with those, boredom, it breeds.

You’d say my garden is a pretty one
With every color under the Sun.
But I, and only I have come to know –
That which I heed to is that which will grow.

The Seed That I Sowed

While traversing through the woods one day,
I met an old and wrinkled woman on my way.
She said my luck would change for the better,
And gave a magic seed in exchange for my heifer.

Excited, I skipped to my home at top speed,
And in a pot with moist earth, planted the seed.
In a few days, I clapped with joy unbounded
When two tiny leaves shone as the seed sprouted.

I thought I should keep the pot on the window sill
So that the sunlight would help it grow as well.
But that night, I saw quite the scariest dream
In which the plant was stolen away by a thief.

Afraid, in another room, I hid the precious pot
Away from prying eyes in a safe secluded spot.
There, I poured a mug of water in it every day,
And for it to bear the magical fruit, I awaited.

Each day, I spoke to it about my soaring ambitions.
I was so in love with it as if it were my own creation.
Days passed, and the two leaves turned to four,
And, then, the entire plant turned a pale yellow.

The leaves fell, and the stem drooped and wilted.
It didn’t take me time to know that it was dead.
O! Woe! The magic with the plant was snuffed,
And the thing that did it in was – my excess love!

My love for the plant had transformed into greed.
My possessiveness and protectiveness had blinded me
To the extent that I could never recognize nor see
That it was actually smothering the life out of the seed.

A little sunshine and rain were all it needed
To grow and bear its magical fruits unheeded.
I wish I had understood this much much earlier,
But now I’d lost the magic … as well as my heifer.

The Mountains Are Calling, And I Must Go

Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow,
Through the darkness of this smog-ridden concrete city,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.

The voices voyage through valleys high and low
Inviting me to green meadows with flowers so pretty
Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow.

To a peaceful place where fresh, cool winds blow,
Where there’s no space for stress and negativity,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.

The mountains hold the warmth of the sun’s rosy glow,
And the leaves in the trees whisper a slow and soft ditty
Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow.

The winding trails reveal secrets I long to know.
As I seek to break through the hopelessness and self-pity,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.

This monotonous city life is so dreary and hollow
Like a drive on an unending desert trail that’s gritty.
Across the veils of mist and streams of melting snow,
I hear the mountains calling, and I must go.

PS: This poem is a Villanelle