An orange tree,
Ready to bloom,
Under rays of sun.

A happy child,
Smile on face,
Open hands to catch,
In search of dancer butterflies.

A simple sense,
stretched over, awaken in a small space,
In centre of a clay,
Named heart.

In lust, in desire,
To live a life without a reason,
Once for all.

Oh, how much I love the beginnings,
Effortless attempts of life,
With no shape or form,
Grow in womb of time,
No rush or try,
To reach or leave,
To conquer or surrender.

Like a sacred hidden well,
In depth of spirit,
In heaven or on earth,
Patiently makes still water,
from sparks of the unknown beneath.
Write a sonnet
of dance of bobbles,
Lovingly give a birth
To unconsumed
illuminated honey wine,
To full empty jars,
Left align for recycle day,
In front of temple of love,
Approaching from
Comtemporary or traditional gates,
Make no difference.

In each drop of honey wine,
A real dream comes to surface of life,
Unfolds through million dreamers
Connected through web of light.

If I was older or wiser,
The question could be, asking my age
When I stopped dreaming,
How old am I anyway?!
Life expands as far as
My dream’s hands could reach.

If I wouldn’t trapped in my tiny personal game of gain,
Not blinded by my mind superior advise,
I could have seen,
Catch the dream that I was,
The places I could have reached,
With each breathe of love,
With mystery of my smile.

Master maker is the dreamer of all,
I learnt it a bit late,
Now I live backward.

Embrace your beginning,
It is not too late for you,
Catch your dream,
Live up to what you are.

© Serena Devi, Feb 2010, Thornhill Canada