When the last traces of the sun,
are lost in the black of the night,
And the sky sleeps in peace under the blanket of the dark,
And small specks of light peep between the folds of the blanket,
shining merrily away,
And the air laden with the burden of silence,
Then I cannot make out,
if the weather has fallen into more of a trance, or is it me?
The wind carries secrets in her bosom,
And tells them to the leaves,
who talk of it among themselves,
causing a deep rustle in the air,
Each spoke what it had to, & seemed quite content with it,
And little cared to listen to what the others had to say.
The owl speculates with eyes wide & wise,
As the clouds come to have a chat with the moon,
the earth weeps in woe, should it be deprived of the silvery moonlight?
But the clouds soon move away,
And as a sign of apology, for borrowing the moon so long,
break & set their treasures loose,
the little angels of heaven, finally come out of hiding,
Now residing in the clouds,
Now gently falling as snow,
falling everywhere,
what moss,
what grass,
what sand,
what rock,
falls everywhere...
Happiness resides in my little world,
To the happenings of which, I am a spectator..
But this much I'll say for sure,
Grief will never have the courage,
to set it's feet here!
*****