Somewhere beyond the hast of commerce,
where noises sing rather than shout.
I know of a place under a canopy of emerald leaves, haloed in the sun.
Creatures come to crawl and fly, soaking the bounty growing natural.

Moments of stillness blow soft, carrying stresses away.
It's a place owned by the trees, they bend to greet travelers weary of their cage.

A place I long to stroll,
where summer kisses all that lives
and wildness sprouts within

I belong to
The gusty
Winds, that
Whisper
Sweet nothings
To me,
                  I belong to
                  The red of
                  My roses
                  And the
                  Captivating
                  Aroma they
                  Emanate,
I belong to
The soil, and
The way it
Nurtures and
Even accepts
The dead,
                    I belong to
                    The rain, which
                    Quenches the
                    Thirst of the
                     Parched soil,
I belong to
Him, who
Loves my
Soul, despite
Of the scars
Which sullied
It, and can kiss
Those scars
Back to whole.

// Belong

-Sayali Parkar