A mellow voice,sweet dew bestowed
Trees and trees i see,flourishing
Some overgrown,their leaves drunk in serious rustling.
Some yet to grow,they have no eyes nor the brow.
They all be wood,
Some for fire
Some for unstaring at a furbished desire.
The mellow voice , remains unfilled.
Hear, those trees did speak some things
Among themselves all alive
Together building a university of sleep,
Silence deeply rooted with grounded feet
A caravan prepared in moving, dreaming deep.
They all be good,
Some for birds
Some for their nests
The repetitions are here made same
Them trees look the same,having slept. Without eyes,standing tall and wide.
No balcony door by them is ever touched
Never to ambitions do they cleave.
But for the morning dew,their rustling leaves wait to weave.
Nor have they suffered knocks,their fruit is what they give.
They all be food
Some for the soil in the soul
Some for them souls neath the voice mellow.
DAVIDJEEVRAJ. PUNE. 28102016.
