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Image: Water Lilies by Claude Monet via Culturalist

Luminescent as a wild nocturne,
his eyes are brimming cool blue pools,
sparkling like the sun
with a touch of moon shimmer.

He takes in the moistness of the grass,
the ache in the bud that may never bloom,
the stars swirling in the sky…
and laughs.

I glance at the pond of water lilies.
Do you paint lilies like Monet?
He shakes his head. A little smile appears.

There are only spirals and mandalas,
an altar of rocks and a mud-born
Saraswati decked in red.

His name is a sacred reality,
the whole breath of existence.

What brought you here?
Fluid red strokes
Grace appears.

The smile deepens and reverberates.

As we part, as with everything else,
his gesture is spontaneous.
He gives me a geranium,
plucked from his garden.

I hold the universe in my hands.

I look back, he is just as I first saw him,
meditating on Monet’s water lilies.

Once again, I reaffirm my faith in all that is beautiful and true. And yet, I know that the gift was not of memory, but of presence.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2016

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Comments
  1. mukul chand says:

    Great Poem and pic too

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