The old Banyan trees,
Seem to have gathered,
The wisdom of the world.
Dropping down roots ,
From the branches,
Racing up to the skies.
They have a view above,
And to the underworld .
People sit under the shade,
Those big old meeting places.
Hear the morning chirps ,
By night time the bats come.
Some mutter tantric chants ,
A medium to the underground.
A daytime playground to children,
A noose by night to some,
They've seen life and death,
And yet stand strong.
A safe haven by the morning ,
An eerie space by the dark.
Old banyan trees,
Seem to have gathered ,
The wisdom of the world.