The trees start whispering as evening comes.
Birds return, one by one, into their nests.
And then, night falls, and all is still
Except the falling leaves and rustling wind;

From my window, I look through the branches
Of the Oak tree into the starlit sky;
An owl hoots in the dark forest,
Leafy, mysterious, the cry of the night;

I stay up late, sleepless, windows open.
Time is tripping by as the soft wind blows.
The voice in my heart hums with joy.
All is well: the world just as it should be.

Diptesh Ghosh