HarshaSatsangh Magazine Poetry

by Jan Barendrecht

Frail Flowers

frail flowers abound
the gardener is sound asleep
my mind, the graveyard

joy, tears and laughter
the gardener woke up again
the mind, a great yard

no joy, no sadness
spacious as the vast blue sky
no yard, no graveyard

no mind, no gardener
the garden of the unborn
frail flowers abound


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