Chased away by the human bazaars
Silence fled in to the hills
Time flows like water slipping
Out of the fingers
Seasons like spiders weave
Lines in the valleys of the eyes
Drop by drop when I sip the silence of the hills
I cannot even excuse my own heart
Which pulsates disturbing beats
I measure the forest with the song of a bird
Or with the meandering stream
When saffron flames run amuck
Like a crowd of sanyasins in the forest
I embrace the bodies of trees and listen to
Their heart beat, I cry loudly –
-Seshendra Sharma