(1950 / )

Tea And Ixoras

Its Monday morning;
My hands sense the warmth,
From a flower patterned teacup;
I walk out to the garden,
To look at the ixora bush;
Between sips of green tea,
An orange coloured butterfly,
With shades of brown,
And spots of white,
Wanders across the bush;
Lightly stopping on a bloom,
Drinks deeply from a flower,
Then flits across to another,
Drinks again, then flits back
To the one before,
And does the same;
We breakfast, the two of us,
The butterfly and i;
Me sipping and watching,
The butterfly while feeding,
Applauding the ixora's nectar;
An ordinary scene,
A Monday scene,
From the theatre of sustenance.
(2009)

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Comments (2)

You made this scene so hallowed; with the addition of the last line. It's lovely and sacred.
nice poem; to sense the beauty of the universe through watching a small butterfly is a magic thing; I felt myseld drinking my morning Nescafe with both of you... wael karameh karameh.