your cottage overlooking the hills...

I long sometimes, specially in search
of golden sunshine warm and bright
to be in your cottage overlooking the hills...and a small piece of land
with trees and small kind of shrubs...
having brown freckle seeds- nut like
hanging and sending peculiar rustling sounds...
and that wooden table and two benches...
cut from logs of wood...thick...unpolished...raw...
and those wheels of cart...
kept slanted on the wall outside
for weathering...and that wooden staircase
going up from the square shaped marbles...
to the first storey...a bedroom...a kitchen and a bath...
simple...necessary and so minimal...
but when at dusk and the dawn
when the golden red sun warm...
fell on the floors...
and through the windows open...
maximum love from the hills came...
and life became so blessed...

I long to go to that cottage of yours
overlooking those hills
and the small shrub filled field...
and the rustle of dry seeds in the breeze...

I long to go back to that home of yours...
where nature all her poetry poured
by days...and also by nights...
when the unobstructed sky
fell down almost upon head
with stars...moon and tiny starlets...
and buzzing of alien insects...
a cacophony so sweetly arresting...
as if an orchestra the wilderness did bring...
to play on my soul in the most pleasant terms...
O! your cottage had its unique charm...

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