Scent of the soil
Fragrance of the half-ripened mangoes
Bare small feet touching earth
The sweet moisture honey upon mango leaves
And licking the honey with a tiny tongue
Is what childhood bliss was!
And now a dream of a solitary farm house
Near a river bank nestled among the mango grooves
Haunts the vision..
Where the dusty road wounds like a ribbon
And hums a song with the chorus of jungle birds…
That comes flying from the stiff mountain
To meet me in the backyard…
Again bare foot touching the earth with live tendrils
I will root in and become a tree there..
Flowering…blooming…holding fruit,
Sheltering them-these varied wild life-especially birds…
Will embrace the slow Breeze
That makes my eyes half closed
With the wild scent of herbs and stones
And count on the lazy, thought-less and blissful moments of
the earth!
When You become the soil of the farm-house
And dance with the wind…
Like a unbounded spirit…
A lotus pond near by…
And a small temple in the middle of it…
The tinkling bells from it’s sacred yard
will break my afternoon siesta
And the occasional trumpets of the elephant in the night…
Will make me leave the bed and run to them
In a pre-arranged rendezvous…
To learn the silent and sacred pulses of the world
That runs through vibes…
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