It was luck
that took me to the first line
that creased the face
when worry constricted
the bones at the chest
The threadbare day
spun yarns from empty tales
when I could not choose
between the sea and the mountain
Both were a gateway to another life
Most times space turned inward
to the remembrance of light on the skin
stretched to the radius
where the sun distilled colors
on the flowers
as the leaves
held the conversation with the tree.
My Garden
Uma Gowrishankar
