(Dedicated to Mabel and Manu)

In a garden like the poetical expression of God
I strolled along with dreams and fancies of a child.
I dreamt many a dream, conjured many a fancy unreal
That was lost due to my pride, the pride like the fallen angel.

The seeds of trivial resentment were sown in the heart
In the holy sanctuary of the poetess in me, creating a desert
Of desolation and desperation, an uninhabited wilderness.
In the cool breezes that wafted gently rejuvenating the roses
And the blooms everywhere, the nectar that I sipped freely
Endowed by the benevolent nature’s affection so motherly
Was dishonored when I tasted it, it became as sour as my soul.

The hands offered in friendship were met with my
Stiff icy death-like grip, the Satan in me heating their spirits.
The Bible filled with the Psalms and other godly texts
Were only words, just words to me and the beauty of truth
Was lost in my idle search for a position in the poetical journey.

Poetry is the art of divine expression, a poet its devotee.
The world is His creation; the gate of His kingdom is before me
Where I prostrate in all humility and seeking forgiveness
On His merciful altar, hoping for a cure for my cancerous soul
That is taking pleasure in consuming my heart and my faith.
The burden is thus lifted and eased in these words I wrote,
Wiping away my tears and the pleas of this poetess is heard
By the ones, I hope, to whom I wrote these lines of verse.