Last monsoons the Champak tree
Was all abloom
The breeze lightly swayed the branches
The heady fragrance wafted through the air

The monsoon showers
this year
Wilted away the flowers
too soon

Less is more, I do believe
As the blooms wilted away too soon
Now the tree laden with fruits, ripe and red
Inviting birds of many species
Mornings are especially beautiful
Waking up to chirps and tweets
Of many a mynahs, bulbuls and
purple-yellow sunbirds

This morning as I watched them feast
To my surprise
There was, Indian grey hornbill
Beautiful and majestic as it can be

I am a feather adrift on a breeze.
Awash in golden rays of sun,
Floating on the softest of summer winds,
Free to travel but happy to simply follow the gentle push and pull of the current.
I am happy.

I am a rock jammed into a mountainside.
Visible only to those who look closely,
Hidden by dust and dirt and age,
Strong and permanent and there.
I am happy.

I am a tree planted deeply into rich soil.
Illuminated by the sun above,
Nurtured by everything and resistant to toxicity,
Bright and happy and free to grow stronger and taller and wider.
I am happy.

I am the feather, but I am also the rock.
I am the rock, but I am also the tree.
I float and I sink and I grow, but above all else,
I stay happy.