The Master Gardener

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From bud to bloom
To the final doom.

Perhaps it’s not linear after all.
Birth, life and death.

We think in terms
Of years on a line.

Going
Forward.

What if morning is the budding?
Afternoon is the blooming.

In the evening,
The rose comes to a close.

Capture the fragrance
With this divine wind.

The perfume placed perfectly,
To intoxicate the senses.

Come close and inhale
The master alchemist’s creation.

Sight, touch, scent
Engaged in unison.

Partake, my friend,
Of this transitory blooming.

Within each day to appreciate
The rose in a different way.

Cloudy to sunny.
Morning to evening.

Ever changing.
This extraordinary lighting.

A lifetime spent collecting
A rose of gratitude each day,

May one day find you enjoying
This most splendid bouquet.

With all the weeds, thorns,
Soil, and toil,

To have the focus
On the essence of the rose.

Enamored now,
By life itself.

All the elements
In a lifetime,

Gradually gaining greater
Depth and subtlety,

Of this magnificent enterprise.
Oh what a prize!

Regardless of when
The journey ends,

This bouquet of roses
Unique in all creation,

Was in reality,
A gift to yourself.

What words can even
Come close to express

The gratitude
To the One?

Who so long ago
Defied logic,

When he asked
You to dig a hole.

With all the preparation
In place,

To bequeath
Those precious seeds,

That would be the origin
Of this bouquet in your hand.

This metamorphosis
Would not be possible

Without the guidance
And persistence

Of his masterful hand.
Helping you focus

To fully participate
In the blooming

Of your
Innermost garden.

The gift of
Your living understanding,

Along with
Your living assistance,

Brought to life,
By your living love.

Fortune beyond measure!

Reunited with
This heart’s living treasure.

I offer this rose
Of gratitude.

Blessed indeed,
To be a part of this garden.

Tended to by none other,
Than the master gardener.

Atul Ranchod

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