At the Neem Tree

August 12, 2007



I walk to my Friends in silence,

Drop my bag and jacket on the way

Carelessly let loose my hair.

It is the moment,

As I sit,

When I’m not asleep,

Yet not thinking,

Which is silence.


I wonder if I can,

As I’ve done before,

Be my Friends again.


I hear the Peepal rustle,

The breeze touches my face

And the sky is a new blue.

Twigs fall, and leaves;

The trees are still, yet so alive.



Small movements

Butterflies and scattering leaves.

Distant sounds.

My hair blown back.


I am now

Too much an Individual to be the trees

Though I still love them.

In my memory,

They’ve been me;

My solace in pain.



The dry leaves fall in so many different ways

They are one with the wind

Yet different.

They don’t hold on to that moment

Or stray tune of the random whistle.

Can’t capture the courting yellow butterflies

Or the hovering dragonfly. Only

Feel and let pass.

See also