From my window…

Every morning when I wake up and see the sun rising ,I feel a new hope in my heart. I feel happy when I see the white butterflies fluttering among the green trees. The golden Orioles add color when they flit from tree to tree. When the Angsana trees are filled with yellow flowers,the Orioles become an extension of the blooms as they flit from tree to tree. It seems as if the flowers are hovering and are on the brink of fluttering their petals and moving out of the trees.

The Angsana Oriole

I saw the Angsana flowers take flight
And become a Golden Oriole bright.
I soared with the Oriole
And saw the flowers
Colored by the sun
Turn yellow in pure fun.
I saw the water lap the trees
And felt the warm sultry breeze.
The grass below giggled
And wiggled,by the breeze tickled.
I saw speedboats’ cruising rippled
The water into big waves.
All this I saw with the Oriole
Before it returned among
The golden Angsana flowers
Again a part of the sunshiny ,yellow towers.

Indistinguishable….lost….part of the whole.

Joy

The Flame of the Forest and the Angsana did a merry dance
And out of it was born a vibrant new plant.

All came to see
As the blooms outdid the other trees
Phoenix like ,red and yellow,
They seemed to rise
In a fiery guise
And reach for the sun.
They shone with gold
Outdid all flowers of old.
In a burst of purple flame,
They seemed to rise
Eternal birds
In their endless flight towards a happier time.
With their red and gold, they foretold
Of a future where all are bold.
Where there are no fears,
No need to wipe trouble torn tears.
No boundaries drawn,
No limits sworn.
Where the flowers can turn to birds
And rise,flying towards a paradise.
Singing…
…Singing
… Songs of infinite life and harmony…

Meditations

When I look at the waves running at me
And sunshine dripping off the trees
I know I must have done something right
To have the privilege of this lovely sight
To look
To see
To have the ability
To put together
These things
And realize
Our blessings
In the turn of each leaf
In the drift of each breeze
To put them into words
And sing for
The Eternal Bard
With the gift of his own song
That gushes out in a language
Made by Him
I am privileged
To see
To write
To sing
None of this is mine
Don’t you see
It all belongs to Him
The Maker of waves
And the Painter
Of sunshine on leaves.
All this is a part of
Eternity
You. Me.
Eternity.