AT THE ASHRAM

Garden drunk in the quiet and the brush
of valley lush
A lake, a boathouse
A circle of dark trees
The silence heavy, witnessing
The air sharp, tickling
the nostrils
Bare feet tingling
on a corridor of sun across
the wet grass, showing
dewdrops on the blades
strung like cobwebs
iridescent;
touched, they disappear

A rabbit appears, scuttles off
in busy fear
Keats remembered
An airplane drones in the sky
reminder of cities and business
We sip hot chai
before heading to our choices
I find a spot, enchanted
by its aloneness
I chant, absorbed in
The Self
My eyes thus, bathed in
light, remain shut
to the world outside …

Refreshed by divine essence
they mirror my soul
when I come to
I look at people with liquid love

Millicent Danker

18th June 1999

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