Poetry 'n Prose

Krishnamurti’s Garden

Earth smells rising up,
Weeks of rain unbinds

This winters meadow, under
Foot left sleeping there

In groves, I knew him once
Coaxing fruit or yielding

Some esoteric scheme
Stirring the inside, out of life.

The city closing in could not
Subvert my longing to be lost

In this unpathed garden
Walking with you, alone

And we have so little time
Amongst the fading light but

While I can take these steps,
I’ll embrace the light in you.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

2 replies on “Krishnamurti’s Garden”

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