Walking in the garden,
Slowly.
Ants on green leaves,
Working.
Seen when not looking,
Everywhere.
A bug lands on this phone,
Unfamiliar to these eyes.
Washing his face,
Watching closely.
Typing,
He flies away.
All around is beauty.
In stillness is seen,
The rusty light and hook with string.
Trees through rooftops and archways
Beyond this is another tree.
The crows sing and fly to other places.
Friends of the garden,
You play as I walk.
The hot sun.
Dear dragonfly messenger,
Your colours change.
Are your feet dirty too?
-A.Lord
Sivananda Vendanta Ashram
Kerala, India
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