Inside The Bus

Inside the bus,
the old, familiar music sprung up
suddenly, from nowhere,
the words wearing the
garment of tunes,
of inexpressible beauty,
gently drifted near
my ears, giving a
tickling sensation like
a bunch of white feathers,
that float in the
vast ocean of air.
My mind drifts loftily
to the colourless
river, that is sandwiched
between the grass plots,
The wild roses bend
down eagerly, to quench
their thirst, The cedar
trees stand silent without
making their rustling
comments to the river
that chatters about its
duty, joyfully as well
as anxiously. At
certain places between the
trees, I see angry fires
obliterating the grassy
plots of my sunlit life,
Yet, the trees stand
strong, even as the
snow, sets the cold
white flame on the wings.
Somewhere, at some
point, drops of honey
gently settle on my
skin and roll its carpet
of sweetness around
my tongue. The
final thread of dew
dropp settles on the
plant, on a cold morning,
where the sun hides
himself behind the
moon, who silently pulls
down the curtain of
my dream to an end..............

by nithya raghavan

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