An Old Man’s Garden

B P Sharma
The Netherlands

As the Autumn sets in , I sit in the garden
Surrounded by Angeles of nature ,
Who sing the songs of the green Earth And the blue oceans
Flapping their wings in the breeze
And disappear silently
Unlike the wrath of gods whose commands
Seek to fly their glory from men and women with stupidity
At churches and temples
With virtues of humility and obedience.

Cukoos sing in my room and fly away
And come back with smiles in their wings

Let me drink some drops of poison for a while
Spilled by the Holy Books let alone devil’s wine
I won’t die , let me drink again
Out of curiosity
Singing the hymns of humanity
Never ever sung by baggers in desolate streets

All gods are drunkards dancing in the sky
With their sweet goddesses sitting
In their palms,
Who want to have their Goblets fill up with human blood
So splendid and worth – living
Decreed by the God’s mercy
As if the space is their casinos
Unaware of why I suffer on Earth
Why I cry for food, love and compassion
Why mountains and hills and rivers and and snows and buildings suffer
Though I seek blessings at holy places for for blessings
God is everywhere but nowhere.

Butterflies don’t pray for their beauty of their own
And yet they love my garden where an old man
Sits admiring their beauty and existence !