Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Eighteen Verses in a Garden
Dr Abe V Rotor
1. Red, red, oh, the bleeding drops of red,
Stain my palms and feet and my side
And I shall never doubt Him again,
2. Euphorbia splendens, that name is honor
for your lowly kind with cruel thorns,
for you surpass the glory of the Sequoia;
bestowed a throne on the head of the Holy One
flows the color of your flower,
flows the faith of a multitude.
3. Touch me not.
Yet I did.
Shy to my touch.
Touch me not.
4. They say you are a False Bird of Paradise
left behind after the Fall;
with one sweep of the mighty sword
to smite the sinful, you survived,
and now bear the color of that sword
as golden as your soul.
5. Yellow bells:
in the morning
of your full bloom?
6. Lantana, odorous yet amorous
in many mysterious ways,
leaving scent in the misty air,
trails for some beautiful wings,
a kaleidoscope of sun rays.
7. Wings, wings - they are not all that fly,
or they fly in the mind, like fragrance
riding in purest colors, as dewdrops
become nectar, and nectar into dewdrops,
greeting the morning sun,
sinking, sinking, gone.
8. I like the fig; it is mysterious:
its flowers ensconced inside its fruit
become seeds by the wand
of a wasp, a fairy in disguise
to bestow the humble a prize.
9. Grow, grow fast with the season,
Ride high on the southeast monsoon;
Grow, grow fast and hide in the mist,
Before the caterpillars have their feast.
10. Dress up quickly and beam with valor;
Youth is fleeting for both frail and bold;
Play with the sun in rainbow's colors,
After the equinox, the wind grows cold.
11. Mimicry's the name of the game,
all in survival's name;
defense and offense,
conceit and deceit -
cloaked in beauty
12. We love to play the flower game"
"Loves me, love me not." It's also sane.
If I ask, "What do other creatures gain?"
Ask the butterflies, the bees and the bane.
13. Bromeliad - trees would be bare without you;
You hang on their limbs, and blossom, too;
Deep in your bosom some little ponds lie,
Oasis to fish, frog and dragonfly.
14. How sweet it is to recall
memories beyond the hall;
the meanest flower of the vale,
the simplest note that swells the gale;
the morning sun, the air and skies -
it's keyhole to Paradise.
15. There is a beautiful maid, her bonnet velvet -
it is all but in the mind enslaved:
Annals of suffering clouded into the night,
Soon die with this pretty sight.
16. Jewels in the morning designed,
to rave the sensuous mind;
in the morning they sparkle,
at noon droop and wrinkle,
bleated and dry and blind.
17. Frolic while it's May,
before the sun's last ray;
blessed in the blossomed hour
of an ephemeral flower.
18. "Do sheep eat flowers with thorns?"
Asked the Little Prince a grownup.
Roses may have the answer,
But we humans miss the point.
x x x