Holy Basil Poem by Sonny Rainshine
Holy Basil
Bai gkaprow.
Its Thai name is difficult to pronounce,
the way something sacred should be.
Like most herbs,
we’re told,
it grows better in poor soil;
blessed are the poor.
I sprinkle some,
like holy-water,
on a strawberry-rhubarb pie
a saintly neighbor has left for me
and place it in the oven,
.
Instantly inebriated
with the abrupt
fragrance of divinity,
thick with incense and heat,
my kitchen has
become a cathedral,
an ashram.
After dinner,
I walk around satiated, elevated,
knowing something
holy is inside me.
Isn't synchronicity an amazing thing? I recently had my first piece of strawberry rhubbarb pie a friend had brought me-yes, indeed: Holy Pie! Holy Pesto! Holy Kitchen! I absolutely love the concept of this poem- Wonderful! Thanks, Bill. Sandra, laughing with her mouth full
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 1:40:16 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Thanks, Sandra. I'm envious, though, because it's been many years since I've had strawberry-rhubarb pie. You recently enjoyed a real one-better than any versified one any time! I appreciate your comments and am glad you enjoyed the poem.