In Harmony...

'O this coolness
this marvellous state
Of waking in sleep
And sleeping awake...'
he talked with his self
Overwhelmed by the sight
Of his morning's countryside...

'The builds are far
Though still seen from here...
Do they go with this green?'
he thought looking at the pride
Of his master rising up brick by brick
Reaching the cloudy sky...

'yes they do ...kid...'
he thought he heard the reply...
That was surely Him
The man who had the world seen...
The world stagnant...the world gyrating...

'so you followed me here?'
The kid asked smiling...
'nay..you follow me...
And so we two are together...'
The old architect smiled...
'you were sleeping i thought...'
The kid confounded actually sought logic,
'but you are here...with a question...
And am I not to answer?'
The old strong man reverted
Wearing white shorts
And a white tee
With a blue ink over his left shoulder
'knowing is believing...'

The kid looked at His shoulder left
The words he tried to deep delve
Into...
'well...yes...why this structure?
Why this urban way to malign
Her...the Nature?'

At this the millionaire stopped...
He just looked at him fixed...
And then He looked at a tree standing happy a few yards away...
The kid followed His gaze...

'I am into it for long kid...
And I know what I believe...
These builds are not mine
They are not my gold mine...
They might give me copper and silver
But you know I do not even touch them
I keep them on a salver...
If you wish and have a genuine purpose
You can take them...
I have no use of them...
At least not much...
At seventy...
All these hardly matters...'
Saying this He walked up
To the Mahogany small rising up
To touch her rain filled trunk
To feel her moist wet skin...

'I believe in beauty
And Life...
And harmony...'
He muttered...
The morning breeze caressed His white hair...
His white tee flapping...

The kid felt sorry
For his ignorant query...
'i seek apology...'
The kid knelt down
On the green soft yielding ground...
'nay...rise...
It is time not to bow...
It is time to rise...
These builds are rising...
Like this Mahogany...
And they have roots too
Going underground...
They have tentacles too
Spread far and wide...
To hold them...
To help them rise....
And see...
Every plant...
Every tree...
They are part of them...
Without them these works are so useless...
Without grass and meadows and lakes
Life is futile...'

The kid still on his knees...
Tried to get the sense...
The air carried smell of blossoms dense...

'no builds corrupt a place...
We people do...however...
Builds are like Nature...
They are incapable...
To corrupt...to malign...
If they are planted as  trees...
Like the Mahogany here...'
The architect touched the skin
Of the tree again...
This time as if He was patting
The tree...
Appreciating her growing up...

The kid on his knees looked up
To see the builds...
Lights on their top...
Like little stars...

he felt humbled...

The old man was still
Talking...
About harmony...
How harmony brings refinement...
How a tree can easily send
Atomic packets of Life...
What wind flow can generate
Into an eco system
Beautified by builds...
Like running a wind turbine...
He was talking...
Rainwater harvesting...
Lakes and ponds running into rooms...
Mango groves beside a walk...
A bamboo thicket right beside the restroom...
A fountain into a bedroom...
A skylight opening up to a starry night...
And hundreds of His other ideas
Of harmonising
Man and Nature...

'you can not stop urbanity...
Our job...
Is to bring it as much close as possible
To Her...
Nature...
By being a part of Her...
Our job is to love Her
And decorate Her...
And to bring us closer
Closer to Her...
Harmony...
Between science and spirituality...
A beautiful nature further adorned
With a small sleepy peaceful city...
And people with hearts to breathe fresh air...
Oxygen...
And with feet to dip into softest grass moist...wetness laden...
Then only men can be good
And honest...
With Her...
We can only rise...
Like this tree...
A Mahogany...'

The old man seventy turning on
To embrace one more year added to His skin...
aging beautifully old...
Shone...
Like an emerald...
In the morning Light...

The kid kept sitting...
On the ground
On his bended knees...
'knowing is believing...'
He thought...
The blue ink trembled on the Man's shoulder left...
Did the phrase take off?
From there?
To catch the spirit of the cool rainy moist sleepy air?

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