Walled Garden...

I have enclosed this space

Planted trees blinds, screens, trellises

So it is private; in all race

A rare luxury in this country

No eyes penetrate here,

Only sounds;

The mindful slapping of flesh

And the mindless smack of playing cards.

Brick red the wall,

But also clay yellow

Moss black…

Mud brown

Warmed by sunlight

Chilled by shadow

Damp with ivy

Glittering with parked dragonflies.

There may or may not be

Lilies as white as the moon..

As lies…as innocence ;

A mango, a fig, a pomegranate in flower,

A serpentine folly & other gothic paraphernalia..

Looming in the moonlight

A grapevine to camouflage a washline,

A septic tank covered over with turf

A wilting pear..

A tiny blood red spider…

A gate, sweetly shut on the World..

Impossible to believe in history walled in here,

Impossible to believe in this garden walled out there..

Its slavery or evasion or can it be both..

My garden roots me and frees me…

Exhausted by evening I step out onto the back..

And there is a spill of sunlight on the bricks..

A moistness in the air

A cool blue grey sky and

Fresh green leaves on the mulberry..

And without warning me,spring from the top step

Just takes off,

Ranting silent hosannas like scabrous angel,

As if the earth & everything in it were a gift…

Meant only for me..

I come thudding down on the Garden,

Ofcourse, but the mood is still on me,

And again the Divine Madness returns to claim..

Allright!!! its Slave..

A Slave..behind the Walled Garden..!