The winding trail that makes a road
Follows me with its ghostly tremor
Of wintry dryness
Of fallen papery leaves
As the naked trees lift their arms
Up to the sky
A rapture of Indian classical dancers
Embracing their bare beauty
The smell of the forest
Captivates me for a while
I see a stork
Resting on a stone with pleated wings
Perhaps taking in the enthralling smell
And embracing another life
While others sit silently, meditating
Or flying little heights to rest again
The magical river and Mayong hover over me
They compose some mother’s love
In rhinos
Feeding and eating, without care
I stare at migratory birds for a while
I had migratory birds for friends
I look back at the winding trail
It follows me with its rustling love.
