A still picture
Swampy, moist, green, invigorating,
Staring at her brought relief
To my tired, burnt eyes of the city...
Blue jeans, backpack, white tee, sneakers,
Move away from me bit by bit;
Following the trail,
Amidst the woods,
Stretching my ears to get to the tune
Of the white tee and blue jeans humming all her way upfront...
The road was narrow, uphill,
Full of the adventures of the wild,
And of trees of unkown smell,
Yet so calming...
And I moved slowly,
Unaccustomed as I was,
To the region and the trail...
At one point she disappeared
From my sight,
I looked all around,
Only to see the trees standing like
Ascetics buried in deep thoughts;
I thought I should call her by her name,
But the trees...
They stood firm,
Like philosophers from the past,
I felt it would be a sin
To call her from behind,
To break the wild beauty of the place;
So I stopped
And forgot to call,
I just stayed back,
I just left the trail untouched by my feet,
I just waited...
For I knew that it would be a sin,
To create a furor,
In the midst of silence so pure...