Low Grounds
A Silenced Reverie in Free Verse
I live in my head
I do not see the world around
because they say it is an illusion
and so divine verses elude me
Because I don’t listen to the Universe
speaking to me
I listen to my self, instead
my illusory self, they say
speaking to the Universe
I sit in the garden, alone —
Well, not alone, the garden and I together
and I ask the garden to speak to me
but all I hear
is the voice in my head
me speaking to me
and the garden disappears
I need to leave my self behind
and listen,
just for once, listen —
to the varied shades of green,
and not green — the leaves
each its own color, its race
breathing the same sunshine
the quietness of the soil
littered with dry leaves
that lived their day, and now
moisten the low grounds
when it rains
the ants, diligently trudging
their incessant lines
each lost in the automated dreams
of their day jobs
the branches, and the flowers —
Oh, those sassy flowers!
temptresses of nature
in every hue, a motive
to multiply, and to die every day
I touch the grass with my feet
and I am transported
into the hallowed ground
I am also a plant now
just another brush stroke
in the portrait of my garden
But the irony, the real irony
is that I had to leave the garden
and step inside, to truly be there
With Louise as my muse today
sitting at the kitchen island
truly alone — well, except for Louise and I
the house silent, my fingers raging
the nectar flows — well, I hope it is nectar
a silenced moment of presence
in this joy forsaken world
© Unni Nambiar (Oct 21, 2023)
