How Much Good?

More. Do more.

[setting: a seemingly overgrown garden]

She kneels, stooped over the majestic greenery,
sweat building upon her brow.
She doesn’t take the time to wipe it off.
This garden needs tending urgently.

Was that a healthy leaf?
Was that really a weed?
The sun, beating down with its overwhelming heat and light,
doesn’t give her the opportunity to reflect.

Continue reading “How Much Good?”

The Garden (A Collaborative Poem)

The rain keeps the garden flourishing till forever and ever!

Come to the garden, the heart of living souls.
The trees provide their oxygen for thine lungs,
And the flowers make thy nose feel so blessed,
And the sky smiles at the clouds for preparing water.
Oh, thou must look up, and embrace the joy of coming-
The rain keeps the garden flourishing till forever and ever!

But if the rain stops flowing
And the sweet scent of petal-tinged petrichor dissipates,
That is when thou must take matters into thine hands
To ensure the continued thriving
Of those flowers–
Of those trees–
That give the oxygen to fill thy lungs
And beauty to fill thy eyes.
Thou know then what thou must do.

Water them, oh, thou’ll go and fetch 
A bucket of water–
And while I am in the garden,
Thou come back and pour water out on me
From the bucket that thou carry.  

Water the flowers,
Water the trees,
Water thyself,
And water me
And altogether the garden will be
Once again a sanctuary.

For the garden will return
To the time where was all beginning.
Oh, bless the time that dwells for no one
But for the sanctuary.

Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash

This was another collaborative poem with my dear friend Ismael Mansoor from This Engrained Heart. His stanzas are in italics. Go check out his blog!

Our other collaborations:

If you are interested in collaborating with me, you can reach out via my contact page, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.

Rose Garden

letting it wrap us in its
painter’s palette
and confuse our senses

The world is a rose garden
full of hues of fuchsia and coral,
of cream and ruby,
and we can do nothing but
stand in the midst of it,
letting it wrap us in its
painter’s palette
and confuse our senses.

A gust of magenta and emerald scent–
that sweet, earthy aroma–
breezes by
and we breathe in deep,
letting that petal-and-leaf air
color our lungs,
so that we may be
vibrant, too.

That wind whooshes
in sounds of
scarlet and sage and pearl,
its voice
loud and piercing and haunting,
lush and rich and deep,
light and tinkling and mellow,
calling us to stoop
and pluck one of the flowers
to gain a closer look.

We reach and grab one
and hold it near to us,
knowing that the stem
tastes of green bitterness,
of growth and newness and vitality
and of loam and apathy.

We know what the thorns feel like, too,
but just to test,
we press one firmly against our skin,
feel the crimson spilling from our wound,
and smile.

Photo by Adrianna Calvo from Pexels

This poem was inspired by/written for the theme of colors and senses for this week’s Thursday Poetry Competition at Penable!