SHAIRI 008
The Garden We Called Empty
A poem about the abundance we sometimes forget to see.
The table held a place for us,
the lamp was lit, the water poured.
Yet we kept staring through the window,
convinced there must be something more.
It wasn't wrong to dream of better,
to want a life beyond these walls.
But we began to call it nothing
because it never came with applause.
Some love arrives without a trumpet,
some peace has never needed praise.
A steady hand can look like nothing
to eyes trained only on display.
We wished for doors already open,
for hands already holding ours.
We called a garden empty ground
while walking daily through its flowers.
The music rose. The crowds grew louder.
We chased each promise dressed as new.
And made a stranger of the kindness
that every morning followed through.
Perhaps the richest kind of seeing
is not to cease to want or roam,
but learn to notice, in the noise,
the thing we've long been calling home.
Cosimo von Batie
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