THE SUBLIME HUES OF PEACE

HUES OF PEACE

Ah, is that me, under that tree

Next to the boy by the water

As Paul Gaugin looks on with avuncular warmth

 At the child of his creation?

 Filled with elation I flit 

And invisibly sit
 Along with the hidden butterflies in Van Gogh’s flowering garden. 

Ah safe haven

In a state of trance,

 I inhale the fragrance

And watch the butterflies dance

Green, white, black and blue

Who has turned me into a butterfly I have no clue.

Then again I flit to a corner of the garden at Montgeron, 
where Claude Monet watches from the shadows, trees swaying

 A smile on his lips merrily playing.

 He beckons me in his unique style

I follow him, yet another mile  

Unquestioning I tow along with him to the Tulip fields at Sassenheim

He takes me to the Waves breaking ,
which thrash the rocks and serenade them with their soothing strokes 
 Flaunting  their depth glassy , and music classy.
Ah, is that the magpie of 1868
  Solitary and  black perched on a gate,
 While the light of the sun colors the freshly fallen snow in hues of blue.
 To a wonderful clime
 Has it traveled in time?

Then towards the lane with poplars I head

Happy my tread

 Ah, has Van Gogh reappeared?

 With one stroke of the versatile brush

 All these colors coalesce and merge

 And on my mind converge

I am transported to  my homeland, Kashmir.

To  float with the clouds, 
Roll with the pebbles,sway with the poplars
 luxuriating  in the feel of the mustard field

Happy at the rich yield

The tulips laugh and sway

And greet these painters    

Who in the days of yore  had probably visited Kashmir in their dreams

 Now they are here for real, it seems

 To paint their masterpiece

With the sublime hues of peace.