'Forests, trees, rocks and hills give me joy that my mind yearns for.
Each tree in the village speaks to me, it tells me, pure! complete!'
~Beethoven

My mind too, escapes in late spring
to the branches of mango and palash trees
and relaxes in contentment for a couple of hours
in the young green and middle-aged reds of fields,
after all, all men are debtors to the earth.

The afternoon, lost in a daydream
stares mutely in the distance,
it's in the past with no effort at all,
my distracted thoughts spin in the wind
and lose themselves in the call of doves
across deserted village rice-fields.

The evening, blushing with colours,
signs itself out on an exhilarating note,
in the deep tune of a song. Do you know that I yearn for that song
just like a parched chatak begs for water?