A yellow leaf falls          
And hits me in the stomach:    
Last day of summer.

Fog and mist rising,
And then disappearing behind the peaks.
Fog and mist rising
From the lake as if
The water itself is burning beneath its lurky surface.
Fog and mist rising and dissolving into the meadows,
Painting the grassland in grey and white.
Fog and mist rising and nestling in the deodars,
Reflecting the icy surface of the water in its vapour.
Fog and mist rises higher and higher than the mountain peaks as if teasing the ***** of the hill.
Fog and mist rising and tainting the hillside until nothing is visible,
Not even the roads in haunted small towns.
Fog and mist rising from nowhere and covering the hills
In blue and grey and white.
Fog and mist rising like an old curse after the rainfall dances.
Fog and mist rising and then disappearing
behind the peaks,
Where there is only the open sky.

When judging the tree by its fruits
The bamboo proponent imputes
             That this grass’s great power
             Lies not with its flower
But deep in its rhizomes and roots

Between the blacks of bending trees
I meet the moon at in betweens
I glimpse her glories, wild and worn
Aglow atop a stirring storm

Oh breathing birches blown about
Beneath her silver silence
Beyond the fields I farthest see
Along the dark horizon

There the hymns of heavy winds
Beyond the blown and gloomy leas
Where ghostly grass and rushing reeds
Dance darkly 'round my falling feet

powerless scream
and big old trees
invaded my home

you live in my soul.

the rent that you pay,
it isn’t enough
for the mess that you make,
you damage and break

the trees stop and stare,
my home is a mess,
because you live there.

i am a narra tree
i want you to cut me down
with your sharp ax
slowly
measured breaths
your sweat
my branches
down
down
down
i go to the ground
we leave my roots behind
my body will be your house
and i will haunt you
you will want me
curved
straight
smooth
until i am in
the floor
the walls
the ceiling
my body will be your house
and i will haunt you
until you want me
out of everything
push me out
drag me out
curse me out
but remember, i was a narra tree
and i wanted you to cut me down

Listen to the trees,
Hear them rustle in the breeze.
They whisper to the wind,
As it bristles all their leaves.
50 shades of green,
Shimmer like a dream,
And the trees give out a clue,
That the wind is passing through.
While somewhere deep inside,
Ghostly figures hide.
Spirits from within the wood
Play with shadows as they should.
The trees see you passing by,
And, with a soothing sigh,
Becalm your beating heart,
And relax your roving eye.

In the quiet embrace of dawn's gentle rise,  
The sun threads golden through the branches wide.  
Between the trees, where shadows softly play,  
A dance of light ignites the waking day.

Silent beams weave through leaves' tender green,  
Crafting patterns unseen, yet so serene.  
Each ray a whisper, a story untold,  
Of warmth, of growth, of courage bold.

The trees stand tall, their roots deep and strong,  
Guiding light along a path so long.  
They teach of patience, of seasons' flow,  
How strength and grace together grow.

In shadows cast by towering might,  
The sun finds paths to share its light.  
For every heart that feels the night,  
A dawn will break, dispelling fright.

So stand like trees, reach for the sky,  
Let sunlight in, let shadows lie.  
For in each moment's fleeting grace,  
The sun reveals life's hidden place.