There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a rapture on the lonely shore – Lord Byron
Here I walk in the haven of my dreams,
Where modest frangipani and wisteria,
Form an arcade above me.
Pink cherry flowers strewn on pathways,
Adorn them in summers.
Where rivulets run hastily during rains
As if to meet their beloved,
Also to feed submerged paddy fields.
And the music comprises of
Orchestra of frogs and crickets,
Inhabiting that marsh at night.
Where during long winters,
The morning air smells of
Pine resin, lemon, and jasmine.
And the sterling silver sunshine
Nurtures small herbs and trees alike.
Where evening emerges adjusting,
The pleats of her emerald green gown,
Flips her auburn tresses of clouds
And welcomes ferns and wild creepers
With an endearing floral face.
Where the subjects of animal kingdom
Like silver langurs and bears,
Are tranquil and considerate,
To distribute the produce of orchards,
Among themselves and other species.
Where rooms smell of softwood
And old hardbacks.
The gifts are of local fruits and saplings.
The talks comprise of revered philosophies,
Where wisdom is like a rhizome,
And one doesn’t have to dig deep to find it.