Under the vast sombre sky,
marooned by dull,sheenless wall,
imprisoned by cast iron gate,
a garden with a thousand blossoms.
Tall,lifeless trees beside
stood in rows and columns.
Leaves from their unsteady branches
wilted and fumbled in air.
Dusty,green leaves everywhere,
inhaled and exhaled the languid air,
zephyrs blew incessantly 'round,
causing gales of sorrow and solitude.
A thousand young flowers stood,
fluttered in zephyrs that blew,
fell to the ground one by one,
unable to endure the madness of gale.
Amidst the excruciating gale,
and the obscure,rancid air,
stood one blood red blossom
without bowing to the inclement wind.
Spines protruded in air,
from its meagre,long stalk,
to fight the obtruding gale,
withot heeding its infirmity.
Under the sky in the sequestered garden,
beautiful prisoners fell dead.
One brave blossom stood upright,
the red solitary blossom.
The hall echoes with the drone of
ecstatic chants and gongs,
‘midst a jungle of jasmine and red lilies.
Steep stairs of tread worn,
silica-laced granite and
indigenous red brick meander.
Yellow-jackets buzz,
and red-robed women with bound hair
and tightly laced hearts
jump rope like children.
Ornate caterpillars crawl fearlessly
among humanities most beautiful hearts;
waterfalls thrash in ecstasy.
Acolytes place the earthly remains
of florescent black and turquoise butterflies on alters;
in tribute to the Osho's garden.
wikipedia.org/wiki/Osho_(Bhagwan_Shree_Rajneesh)
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