I’m looking out of the window of this heritage house,

sitting on a king-sized bed flanked by its three frames;

to my left is a sight of the palace’s square garden-lawn,

in front, a view of soft peaks and valleys of Kalimpong.

 

Swathed in the soft sunlight, birds chirping to my right –

I focus on green peaks over the front porch and drive,

that’s lined by Gladioli, Dahlias, Gerberas till the lawn

where blue, white, red and yellow Buddhist flags swirl.

 

Stray dogs are still, quiet, and there’s no man in sight,

as sun leisurely tracks the low roofs against hillsides;

in view past tender-green tartan curtains of our room –

swinging in the chilly breeze – aside white lace drapes.

 

I’ve just watched the sun creep up the hill-valleys afar –

darkness gently opening its core like a dark Rose bud

magically blooming into a white Rose to stir the world –

another night giving birth to a new day bathed in hope.