FEATURE ARTICLE

Sunday, June 16, 2019
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SITTING BY THE FOREST BROOK (POEM)

ll objects in nature do speak,
all in their diverse languages,
difficult if not impossible for
the finite brain to grasp.

Desire to understand the language of the brook
drove me to the wood.
Eerie winding footpath
carpeted with a family of fallen leaves
led me to the site.

I sat on a hilly ground
to savour its scenic view.
Cool and serene evening
as I watched colourful butterflies
flutter lazily, and dragonflies
as they mated enjoyably
amid birds; call echo
of shimmering rainbow of sounds
from the forest canopy.

Aroma of therapeutic herbs
blotted out my grassy thoughts
and offered spiritual serendipity.

I gazed and listen
but unable to divine the grammar
of the gentle murmuring brook
as it bubbled over smooth black rocks.
But its monotonous rhythm
exuded hypnotic effect.
I visited a world within the wider world

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