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Photo by Parker Hilton on Unsplash

I ride a Bengal tiger

striding across the Saharan sands,

my faithful entourage flank me

to both the right and the left.

sentries guard my tent

in the chill of the desert night

while I record the day’s transactions —

twelve bolts of silk,

eighty tins of spices, a multitude

of rare birds, poisonous snakes,

gold, salt & ivory —

preserving the glories

of our pilgrimage

in a leather-bound journal,

every page rimmed

in gold leaf,

every word, homage

to our wide-eyed wanderings.

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I hear the choke in his voice —

he’s been undone by his students,

their accolades ring in my ear as well

I’m so proud of my son

he’s a good man

despite a great many stumbles

and hardships he never deserved,

his life is a great achievement —

he impacts the lives of others

for he is a teacher

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she thinks in terms of color,

texture, line and symmetry

though she’s drawn, sometimes,

to the charm of the asymmetrical.

she sees an image in her mind,

then tackles the brush, the paper,

her watercolor paints

as she endeavors to create

a happy infusion of heart & mind,

hands & soul & the subtle curiosity of sight.

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in an ocean

of potted soil,

others linger

*

just a bit more,

beneath the surface

soon, to pop up

*

seeking fresh air,

spring sunlight,

the refreshment of rain

*

these tiny buoys

of soul-nourishing

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