The world isn’t a pie gone cold,the landmass and the sea
are finite of course, but can still hold
heaps of dross and the gleam of gold,
and a place for you; and me.
The world is broader than we knowand deeper than we can surmise;
there’s no need to prod and burrow,
to turn each stone wherever we go,
to peg a number to its size;
mark it into plot and squarefence the garden tight and strong,
sweep the courtyard clean and bare;
and still the leaves will pile up there,
seasons pour out their songs.
There’s no need to set a beatto each song that they hum -
not every garden is square and neat,
the banyan bends at its own feet
in splendour and in freedom.
The world is not a slice of piewe can loosely say, or exact,
who’s got the larger, you or I;
slice it up and it goes dry
let's leave the mystique intact.