A White Sheet
Today a white sheet is my day
it did not arrive
from the labyrinth of life,
detested from the monotony,
from the half and full details of humdrum life,
neither it has come
knowing the eternal truth, the dharma
my subservience to it,
or the pain of bondage
one would like to break.
It is one fine morning in September
when the dry air
has just cracked the shrivelling bud
the pond is filled with
dried leaves and algae
an egret has left a feather
from the journeys
I have heaps of sunshine in my backyard
where the pages with moist stains
of Darjeeling tea has written the list
of tasks grown in hierarchy,
I am not retired
my enemies have forgiven me,
my tasks are now descending with freshness
it is the who I am
among the legends
spoken for.
About the Author
Comments