Soft cushioned hill
top of brown leaves,
An inch for breeze
between old oak feet,
And straightened
stance, with perfect base,
A wakeful gaze I
made, down into valley low,
Warm blow rustled
away resigning leaves,
Merry birds hovered
high, with chirp and chants,
Shady tree blessed
thus, on hot lazy noon.
Hoping though,
serene unblemished move,
Yet imperfection besieged,
And within quest for
deep single mind,
My labored lids
softened weighty down,
Head bowing low to
soft angle snooze,
Bushy beard brushing,
chest warm
Guards of shelled
lids’ shutter closed,
I breathed faint
murmur, then a comfy trance,
An hour lifeless,
yet not dead,
I forgot base, and
gushing breeze,
Needless even, for
air I breathed,
I was formless, and watch
sailed plain,
No fragranced today
or tinged tomorrow,
Who was I then,
whose body I cherished?
Was I really me, or
one with empty space?
A mirror that
reflected ideal, I wished
Neither pain
triggered, nor poisons lead,
Naught thus maturing
age longed,
For sensual flavor,
Or to my
acquaintance, no hustle charged again,
A moment of transient
bliss, semi lost,
Alike calm midnight
pond and stainless sky,
Or extinguished
fire- potent fireless,
Partial death,
through trance I glanced
And learnt to grasp
wisdom borne deep;
“How flawed was it
to say, I own myself,
How flawed was it to
say, I praise difference,
How flawed was it…”
