I am A travelling stranger Stopping by. Catching my breath On this unused bench.
I look around– Tall trees Arch into a languid sky. I feel a rush of rest, Like I belong Here, In the arms Of this ancient Banyan tree.
I’m tiny, As I nest under This giant sun shade, Old, old, As can be. Thick and silver Knotted branches Spread low, low, Just above my head. I can reach out, Touch its rough Aged, ringed surface. Rest against a branch U turned into the earth.
My body echoes the deep sigh Released by Hanging roots. Like sculpted pipes Pulled straight down By gravity, Into crusted black rocks And boulders In search of earth.
A soft breeze rustles Resting leaves. They move Before turning over Into sleep. The sky, Clean and washed, Sparkles through Each green leaf cluster, Fresh and silently watchful.
The sound of squirrels, Bird calls, tweets and chants Break the stillness. Now and then Wafting shrub scents Tease the senses, Which have gently settled In a rare repose.
I breathe, The tree breathes. It’s just a moment In a sun drenched winter garden, Painted with wild colours Of Hibiscus, Bougainvilla and ferns, High in the hills of Abu.