I learned from the desert 

to grow without water 

to turn the scorching heat of the summers,

the unsparing hot loo winds

and feel their cool aftertouch. 

I learned to dig deep into the ground 

to find whatever air to survive. 

To disappear like the dead - every year 

only to come out of the closet 

when the sky is benevolent,

in the bright green dress 

and laugh.

My story is best known to me –

a long sadhna of being and becoming. 

To flower once in a while 

and sway when the wind blows. 

Scattering my seeds,

making a garden out of my own nothingness.