Restless souls craving muses.
“Lay your feet on the crisp grass,
Feel the wind so fair, the sun so warm.”
And fainter grow the voices of nature.
Helpless beings trees are.
If movable they were,
I often do wonder,
Would they shift,
Like the cart that shifts bricks?
Yellow, red, green, and brown,
Colours taken for granted.
Trees, they say, “Our leaves fall,
Stop for a moment, smile...live!”
For their fate is iron clad.
Those memories they held, rooted deep,
Perhaps they stand firm to this day,
Telling us, “There is no place like home.”
The tranquil fresh air,
The music of the breeze.
We will mourn the emptiness,
Mourn indeed.
For they love us humans,
They would lay their branches,
And trunks would be bared,
All for our convenience.
Maybe some scorching day,
Someone will stand there and lament,
“Something is missing…
Something that was so wonderful.”
Little
did they know,
A faithful friend had they,
Who now is forever lost.
Modernity comes, but at what cost!
Photograph Courtesy: Anjan Behera
