I sit on a quaint sill
Over lush, green hills
Nestled in a quilt of verdant shade,
Rolling fields, and grassy glade,
Oblivious to the slight chill
Seeping through the window sill
And as the wind blows and blusters,
The serene scene barely shudders,
A stolid patchwork of manicured fields,
Chequered by hedges and lined trees,
So picturesque and still…
I almost forget
That an ancient sprawl
Of wood, brush, heath,
and flower thrived,
Until,
It was tampered and trammelled by the plough’s will
So as I sit on my cottage sill,
Charmed by pastoral idyll,
Sleepy fields, and wandering sheep,
Far from din and concrete,
I’m lulled into a beguiling dream
Of returning to the peace
Of primordial nature and being
And yet,
Rueful reflection reveals,
How tilled loveliness pales
Before virgin woods and vales!
Like Rumi’s reed,
My soul yearns, seeks,
Essential, true, beauty and being,
Evoked by beauty green
As all in darkness seek dawn,
To pure, essential beauty,
I’m irresistibly, immutably, drawn
But perhaps,
Just as I’m inclined,
To idealise country charm over nature wild,
I might also be misled
In beauty’s spiritual quest,
To seek gloss and glitter
Over the divine grace and splendour
That is the true source and perfection
Of all light and beauty!
Fatema Valji | @poetryf
