Dewdrop

Been in despair...
stuck and sucked
in life's quicksand
of weary care.

Groped for help
here and there,
on internet, books,
with strangers to share.

Sat wretched at a door
when my gaze spied,
a dewdrop on a leaf
was in sight.

Tiny, ephemeral,
suspended and slight,
contained, complete
and lit from inside.

Wings unfolded,
my heart took to flight,
soared far and high
till I was out of sight.

Sitting in Silence

Today I wandered through my garden and sat in a corner, in silence.

I heard:
A chorus of the morning birds
A distant cry of peacock
A faint rustle of cool breeze again the coconut fronds.

I heard:
The rhythm of my breath, against
the percussion of pulsing blood, and
a deep silence singing in my ears.

I heard:
Flap of butterfly wings
Sunbird alighting on a passion vine
morning dew rolling off lotus pads
gutteral calls of a hundred micro-frogs.

I heard:
wind scatter rose pollen in golden dust
jasmine nectar intertwine with wafts from yang-ylang
guppies frolicking in the ponds
dragonflies alighting on grass tips
crickets rubbing their wings in glee.

I heard:
Sun waves lap warm against my face
a waning moon come tumbling down
invisible crystal stars swirl heavens in an eternal sufi dance
and... the stillness of ether.

Today I sat in my garden in silence and I became alive.

Fresh Canvas

I have a bunch of fresh canvas sitting in my loft/landing - a space upstairs that I like to think of as my art studio. Their presence there fills me with a sense of hardly contained excitement - an endless joy of possibilities - awaiting me. I move about my life, my duties, my daily chores in awareness of the fresh canvas - which are mine.

I also have an empty garden - that I have started filling up. Very much like the fresh canvas upstairs, an empty piece of land beckons, filling me with Gauguin gardens - tropical, wild, exuberant gardens of flowers, fruits, birds, bees. In sheer delight I cave in, digging, planting, playing in mud - drenched in fragrances of jasmine, neroli, damask rose already blossoming in my head.

And so it is with life. I am busy erasing history, past, habits - wiping my slate clean. This act of erasing, of walking away, of starting with a fresh canvas is already reviving, renewing, life-affirming, filled full with the joy of possibilities of 'what next?' How shall I paint my life, my day, this moment? The choice is endless. For the moment, I just hold my breath, waiting, before I choose.