Krishna, trims the hedges.
An artist in heart he shapes them
creates three tiers, the bottom one big
the center small, the top one medium.
Fortunate to have him as my gardener.
I watch Krishna from the patio
He cuts humming a hit song
of yester years
ammavum neeye , appavum neeye
The same way the playback singer sings,
The hedges turn lovely, each one
depicting a pattern, The song flows
without any interruption. Krishna, is tired,
Rests for a while.
Wiping off the sweat, he looks
at his work. Says Sabash,
rises up to finish the remaining.
I gaze at him with wonder.
Krishna is almost the same age
as I am. I complain of my worn
out knees, and walk the barest minimum
while he stands for hours in the sun.
Hard ways have made him strong,
The comforts I enjoy have let me down.
Who is better off ? I ask myself.
It goes without saying.