Gardens

My gardens hold no trace of man
Wherever he comes he builds burdens
He tries to grow racism or casteism
But my gardens do not have any plants or trees with names
Scattered around are statues of fauns
and satyrs in my homegrown gardens
Apsaras and houris may gambol
gently on its lawns, unmanned
My gardens do not belong to any nation
any class or gender or time
They do not understand the use of the word my
They are gardens, always in their prime.
My gardens are God’s gardens
My gardens are your gardens
Everybody’s, yes, our gardens
My gardens are the only ones in their prime

© Ampat Koshy