The monsoon season has passed
And the sun with fierce gladness
Kisses the land to gold-green splendor.
The wind, heady with ripe warmth
Of awakened soil, blows trees
To frenzy and bends slim stalks
Of holy basil near to breaking.
Blue sky, earth and everything therein
Cries – I have returned!

Returned from the bleak time
Of lead-bellied clouds so close
You could touch them, and teardrop
Pools that hold in their mirror-gaze
Drowned other worlds. A wrong step
And you would lose yourself
In vague lands a shade darker
Than our own. Now in the sudden
Shining of the sun, you wonder –
What is the source of this joy
That stirs pale feathered grasses
To gracefulness?

The dark and the wet is where
Dreams of flowers slumber before
They burst into passionate flame.
The zebra haworthia sends a raceme
Budded with promise into the sun.
It will bloom into fairy bells
Translucent as pearls, lavender-tinted,
Chimes too pure to be heard. Tell me
What strange and impossible flower
Waits to bloom in the rich depths
Of your soul?


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