Garden

Looking out of the window I see nothing. View to eastern hills, Blocked by lorries, carrying soldiers In combat-fatigues, My town looks like a fortress. In my room, Cramped with books and history, Surrounded by dusty calendars, I wage a war for freedom From captivity, Wishing for a breath of green air. In this prison of thoughts, I close my eyes and remember Golden calendulas, cactuses with tiny red blooms, Whispering orchids and giggling ferns You once tendered in distant time, In a faraway garden. Thus I ignore the walls.