Struggling to survive in a foreign land
I met an old lady, working on a small piece of quilt.
“Lovely”, I remarked.
Proudly she showed me nine more pieces made by her friends,
Those were going to complete the mosaic of her quilt.
Nuance of her wrinkled face filled with cherished memories of a lifetime.
“Do you have friends?” She asked after a pause.
A quilt needle pierced through my heart.
“No,” I said quietly. “All were left behind.”
Tears rolling from my eyes,
I longed for the placid familiarity of my homeland.
For the warmth of a friendship quilt.
At midnight moon came out smiling from the clouds.
In its pellucid light from window pane
A checkered pattern emerged on the wall.
The flat white squares on the wall
Were dappled with the leaves and tree branches hanging in the sash.
Silhouette of a perfect quilt breathing life in still room
Made me smile through my tears.
I opened the window.
Standing in the dark room, listening to the quaint causerie
Of stars and moon, of wind and leaves
I watched the ebullition of benevolence from clairvoyant Nature
Sweeping through my backyard.
A sylph mumured in my ear,
“You are not alone.”

Savita Tyagi