Rainy world.
-Minu Jasdanwala
My patch of land does not have
tall oaks or yew trees around me.
It has a little swing for two
and a blank wall like slate across it.
I have tall Mast trees
on which I conduct
gentle nail scratching like squirrels :
a failed attempt to enter the tree bark.
There is no battle of music
between rain beats on the roof
and a cow bell jingling in the breeze.
Beautifully they compliment.
My swing is controlled
up and down I go.
Up and down again.
I have mastered this meditation.
The rain and tea excite my godown of memories,
the pen inks them
and the obedient blank paper
welcomes everything.
I have swing,
I have music.
I have memories,
I have words.
I have imagination,
I have rain.
I am not generous
to give away any.
