Where the little road bent...

Riding down
Purring low
Slow
Taking the moisture in
me arrives one morn
Near the stream
And following the water on flow
For a few miles...
A turn arrives...
A sweet turn of the little road...
A smooth country song like
There
She goes meandering
To the woods...

there is another godly exist
An exit
Route like
A banyan quiet...
Hanging her branches small
Upon the stream
As if she there plants her ascetic dreams...
Over the water,

me stops right there...
O a country song fair,
A little banyan
Branches her being swept and cleaned by monsoony fresh air...
And a stream, flowing flowing sans cares...

'Is it not the right place?'
me asks myself,
Taking in the moist
And the green green scene
Like a trance of a dream
Far far away from the bustle and the din,
As if city pent soul mine echoes happy
The woody tree's soulful life so sappy...

And
Getting down
The blue
me sits under the hanging rustling feel
As if me be comes
There
The air
The moist
The green,

And
desire
Under the elm
Kind
Country green song like me
Gets rekindled...
By the Silent...
(On a different beat though,)
On a differed varied beat
Of ethereal music
Sure...

Right one morn
A country song
Thus taketh me in...
Amidst the purest green...

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