I sit gazing at the window,
Looking at the hinges gathering rust
As my tea loses its warmth
On this lonely winter day
I sit calmly holding my nearly cold mug
Trying to find whatever warmth I could
To add to my terribly cold heart…
There is a strong icy wind coming from all sides as I take this morning walk. Fog is fading away to the golden light & I see a Praying Mantis sitting on a frosted wild rose looking at me with its glassy eyes.
Cicadas are still active with constant whirring throaty sound coming from the undergrowth. Somehow even this haunting notes have their own melodic joy.
There is fields of wilderness outside my window…Wildflowers growing here & there!
A Myna is squabbling along with the babblers onto their days mischief.
Bunch of squirrels are chattering noisily swinging their fluffy tails. Something alarms a gang of parakeets & they fly noisily out of a mango tree.
There is sunshine on my shoulders warming my cold heart as I try to sip my cold tea, sitting alone, forgotten by this world as sit trying to collect my scattered soul.
A gang of Parakeets, Mynas, Bulbuls, Babblers & few Robins are creating a riot sitting on the upper branches of a Keekar tree soaking the warmth of early sun rays.
I belong to the world outside & closer I am to wilderness more peace I get. This constant natural sounds & cold fresh air soothe my agitated mind.
I find some raised ground in the middle of this civilized wilderness & a small roadside fire on few stones probably made by some villagers who go to forest to collect firewood. I sit down by it & remember R L Stevenson’s words which I rather read in some writings of Ruskin Bond.
And this shall be for music when no one is near,
The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!
That only I remember, that only I admire,
Of the broad road that stretches, and the roadside fire.
How calm this life is.
A simple dusty road, a roadside fire, this fresh & jungle music & my favourite song on my lips.