Banyan Time by Monika John
(Rishi Valley, India)
Time is neither day nor night
not hours or measure of man.
It is uncounted birds
singing in the banyan’s shade.
It is the seasons’ winds
rushing through its leaves.
It is another vine
rooting in the ground.
It is ten thousand moons
reflecting in its crowns...
and to dangle my feet
from tall stone benches
in the shelter of an old banyan tree
is to relive a time when I was small
and the dome of a cathedral
was as close and as far away as God.
Art by Stephen Mack
Recommended listening: Yemaya - Kele Okereke
Links of the Day: Salinger's Nightmare Inside the Mumbai Deaf Community’s Unique Public Transit Culture Life During Wartime, collages by Guy Catling + Surreal Collages by Hüseyin Şahin Finding magic in the remotest corners of the Earth