To hear the nattering notes
Of melody from carefree birds,
Poised in majestic state,
Upon the highest boughs.

To prosper, in sighting
The emerald grandiose, softly
Spread in sheets
On eye-bright slanting knolls.

From the far place,
The fairy lightness
Of that afternoon, shimmering
Over the meadow-sweet pristine Church.
The King was Who?

The King was Who?
The well-born garden,
The roses, or, the tremulous trees
Stretched out high in solidarity,
Holding to their twisting roots!

2005

Geeta Chhabra