Afternoon Magic

by Nayantara Sahgal
Sun-patterned lawn,
Soft air embroidered with street vendor’s song,
Dry curling leaves lie scattered all around,
While others on their boughs await the sound
Of whispered invitations which will charm
Them earthwards, pirouetting to the ground.
Black hedge crisscrossed with bright hibiscus flowers —
All weave a tapestry of velvet hours.
The garden and the dusty road beyond
Are slumbering under some strange witch’s wand.
This is not peace,
It is a spell designed
To quell the fever of a weary mind,
And while the mind succumbs, to slowly start
A restless languor stirring in the heart.