As I sit here,
Sound pervades, a jazz flute,
hitting sweet notes, here in India,
Who would have thought it.
Divya the matriarch, is busy with lunch,
I got a hunch, that with love,
there’s no such thing as too much.
Noni the boy, mixes milk for Lalu the red dog,
and I’m alone, the good kind that brings real joy
The joy that sits at the top of your stomach where the breath tickles.
The place where each breath brings more joy.
Lalu wanders past me satiated,
What’s happier than a full dog on a warm Sunday?
What’s happier than a man with a pen surrounded by beautiful music on a warm sunday?
What’s happier than a wife seeing her husband after far too long?
What’s more joyful than a fresh bite of love of life while you eat beside friends?
It’s pumping joy through my body, the thought of seeing my beloved again.
This lone thought brings me more joy than the smell of food being cooked,
even for my hungry stomach.
The energy of friends is a dynamic shifter ratcheting up my appreciation of this very existence.
I’m so glad I’m real,
I’m glad I get to experience drought and rain,
I’m glad for heat and cold,
I’m glad we have each other.