Let it Mingle in Green,
With the Feeling of Optimism within.
I eavesdrop the Hilly waterfall,
As the birds give a random call.
The Nature is a Mystery,
Astonishing heap of Treasury.
From Sunny to Cloudy,
Each form represents beauty.
The Mountains Stand tall,
Shadows they provide overall.
Fresh Water Flows down,
Quenching the Thirst we Prone.
Blend of Multiple Shades,
Nature is indeed a Wonderful Maze!

© Biswarupa Purkayastha.

A day off the map
no lighthouse hikes
no ferry tickets in my pocket
just the cabin walls
the pines breathing slow outside

I roll up green quiet
let the smoke curl through
the screen door cracks
the air tastes like lakewater
and cedar

a chapter or two, maybe more
the book heavy in my lap
but light enough to drift away from
when Ethel Cain's voice
slips into my ears clean and close
like she's laying right beside me

no rush, no reason
the world can go on spinning its errands
while I stay here
in bed,
half ******, half reading,
all the way alive
in the hush of Tobermory

waking up in the morning
to find bright light on the face,
there are birds chirping near the window
and in the next scene water dripping from the faucet

the silence i feel in the countryside feels
bigger than the world out there lying-
awaiting for me to step outside
and nothing else but to watch buildings?

ravishing summer morning,
a reminder to go out and
play by the river or
spend the whole season listening to music

One misty, moisty morning,
   When sun was not shining..

Deep in the forest,
  When sky was though greyish..

Wandered lonely in the cloudy,
   With the breeze and dews;
        on meadows

Walking in the shadows,
Deep in the forest
With side by side of river,
   Flowing like water..

With the flowing sounds of river,
   Refreshing smell so soothing..
That makes my soul so relaxing.

With the vibes that make so peaceful,
That filled my soul with grateful,
    That chilled me like a graceful,
Made me feel like in heaven..

That misty moisty morning,
  When walking deep in the forest..
     And listening to the birds;
        that sing so melodious..

All that made me rejoicing,
That Mighty God is amazing,
Who created nature so relaxing..

A scenic beauty, to view 🏞
A cup of coffee, to drink  ☕️
  And a paper, to write ✍🏼
   To make the passion, to go..
     Is a marvel of shore..
      That opens new door..

Such a blissed and blessed,
     morning sight..
That God made this place,
   with auspicious grace of light..
Where mind and body relax
  with sounds that sooth,
        in the nature’s realm of bright..

I crave you...
like a dry lakebed, thirsts
to be quenched
with a deluge, of rainwater.
I long, to hear your laughter, sing,
through my screen
like droplets of rain,
on a tin rooftop.
I pray, to feel the ripples, of you
run up and down,
the contours of my body,
like crashing waves,
as we rock, and writhe, in shared ecstasy.

I think, of you:
my darling...

dearest you,

and picture your face,
glowing, like a halogen lamp,
beneath mine...eclipsing the sunlight
as your hands, move,
like currents, while you swim with me.

Your eyes, are reflecting mirrors
bright pools, that I can see myself drowning in,
and liking it, as I struggle to breathe,
and asphyxiate
as you circle, around me.

I wish you could touch my smile,
and feel it transfer,
to your own face.
I wish you would pull me tighter against you,
and wear me, around,
like your favorite sweater.

I wish I could just hold you,
until the thunder stops,
until the lightning, in your head,
ceases, flashing
its alarum blue...

until we are pulled out of orbit, together
and splashed, like paint
across the blankest,
brightest,
canvas

of stars.

The morning dew drops fall to their rest,
Little stars gleaming with moonlight’s reflections,
Each a prism of distant dimensions
Where water weaves its timeless art.
...
On the tapestry of earthy green leaves,
A universal ballet begins its dance.
...
Spinning fractals sway to rhyming crickets,
Their choir humming a classical strain,
Soaring high as ancient redwoods
That tower over dew drops as they plié
Into a pirouetting waterfall,
Its crash a cosmic pulse of percussion,
Rising swift to a triumphant crescendo.
...
Then silence falls with dawn’s first light,
Transforming the dewy pantheon
To diamonds ablaze in golden rays,
Their stance defiant against the sky’s vault.
...
Back to the heavens from which dew wept,
A forlorn mist yearning for cloudward flight,
Yet bound by gravity’s tidal embrace,
Turning mist to rain, falling as stars.
...
Droplets destined to meet the lonely night,
And dance again in the dew drop ballet.

ephemeral laurels,
those lullabies of may,
became fungi while i was still asleep;
none preserved for the non-punctual
who dreamt of spring through spring–
another missed migration.

i walk along the ridge alone at noontime,
songbirds seemingly on strike against the straggler–
the prairie warblers so persistent in july
have gone, with august, silent,
nestled against the mountain walls
of cicadas’ seventeen-year symphonies,
those long encores–

i listen but do not hear.

i press my ear to the escarpment
and feel i’m missing something–
like ice ages are whirling still within the cool conglomerate
in spite of summer and sweaty palms,

like the passenger pigeons blurred
and smudged into oneness under the strata
have become,
without my knowing, the stratus clouds above–

or perhaps there is no spite in spindly evergreens
that flower for flowering’s sake;
that wilt to wilt;
that winter with or without listening.