monsoon casts a spell,
nature  subdued hibernates;
but wild is the wind!

Heat settles like dew
forming waves
above glistening tar
summer's slow breezes
are but a rumour now.
Birds fly amongst the blue
their song irrepressible,
chimes through the haze
as bees bustle busily
past parched pavements
to gather the nectar they crave.

hurriedly speaks rain,
sounds like a foreign toungue,
in distant night land!

Through the country paths, I lazily loitered,
watching Nature in its changing hue
straying farther into the interiors,
sundry and sublime vistas came into view.

in response to zephyr’s warm embrace,
the silvery leaves joyously fluttered.
the bees busied themselves collecting pollen
and birds on tree tops merrily chattered

it was the *** end of verdant spring.
summer’s sun stood behind my head.
bleat of sheep was heard from far.
‘Good day to you’….. Someone said.

There stood on the hill, a boy around fifteen
obviously he was of tribal breed.
with a beaming smile, he greeted me
but on walking to him, he ran like a steed

I saw him disappear behind the trees
and enter into a hut tiny as a nest
he lived in the lap of Mother Nature,
far from the city and its sooty dust

being coaxed, he hesitantly came out.
my tone of assurance and pleasing smile,
seemed to have won his confidence
as to a friend, he shared his eventful tale.

pointing to the sheep grazing in the *****,
he said, he earned a living caring the flock.
he stayed in the woods all day long,
feeding and tending his master’s sheep.

from dawn to dusk, through woods and meads,
he leads his sheep, calling them by their name.
un vexed, with simple pleasures he is content
and with a nomad’s life, he seems to be tame

he said, at home he has his invalid mother.
bringing her back to health is his mission in life
on referring to his mother, I watched his eyes glitter
nothing other than her illness posed to him a strife

from every utterance, I could sense his filial love.
even in abundance, while shadows line many faces,
on his visage, hope lingered as a dancing flame
to me he seemed above many, rich in other graces!

While parting, I handed him a little money
pausing unbelievably, with moist eyes
he accepted it, when a breeze passed caressing us
as if over a kind gesture, Nature seemed to rejoice!

The clouds, spreading themselves across the sky
As spontaneous brushstrokes upon the canvas
And the trees, having found reassurance from the evening light
Steady their bows
And reassure the creatures, who now -
String their melodies across the canvas,
Whose eternal patterns appear now -
Not so erratic,
But rather the careful brushwork of some grand design.
And now we wonder - a chapter of the change
"Could there be, after all, one first mover?"
(but without capitals of course).

Now these years of rational thought
Dissolve at the sounds of the soft dusk
And sights that are everything - or nothing at all-
Or the exact words of the Romantics
Whose verses skim across the sky like the clouds themselves-
Or infinite other things.

At this moment
The body, not resentful - but still static
Lets forth instead the mind to project its frame across the sky
And through the white waters - suspended.
Now we wonder "How could there be pain or hate below the clouds - " despite having just read the evening news.
And from the world absorbed, we let forth
An infinite stream of thoughts that unfurl
Across the darkening sky.

Two wrens, a couple of birds with intent,
Lit on my new magnolia tree;
The blossoms are full,
There's ants on the leafs.
It's mutualistic, and communalistic;
All thrive so well.
I wish the world could bear witness
To this simple tree.