If, I were only richer.
If, I were only younger.
If, I were only smarter.

Would it really matter?
What would it change?
Wouldn’t life just rearrange?

Caterpillar, cocoon, flying at high noon.
Miracles abound, from sun to moon.
What to recognize before gone too soon?

Where is this transformation
Occurring daily?
In our inner sanctuary.

Fashioned by the Divine.
Untouched by time.
A garden, one of a kind.

Breath revealing,
In our gardening,
What a miracle it is, in simply being.

Then like a monarch,
We can reclaim our royal blood.
At ease, in the palace of winds.

Unearthing the treasures
Bequeathed by the gods.
Consciousness and thirst,

The driving force.
To quench and fulfill,
The deepest volition, of course.

Reclaiming our respective thrones,
To what the Master has shown.
Seer and sight known.

This is no mere midway station.
In the midst of the endless black,
With speckled diamonds, no less.

Heralding life,
Upon the highest creation,
A crown, unlike any other manifestation.

Human being granted time,
To know deep down, the full scope
Of what fashioned, even hope.

We are the emissaries
Of the divine.
Treasures within a unique mine.

Decorating each day,
With such a bounty at play.
What a marvelous way,

To celebrate the metamorphosis
Of dirt and clay.
Brought to life, each priceless day.

Poem and photograph
Atul Ranchod

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s