The flaws of the nature seem to be ironic
Like how the rustling of leaves sounds poetic,
When it's just the gentleness of the zephyr on the greens.
But just like the sand is for the philosophers and words are for the nobles
They are for the poets but a way of articulation.
Alas! But when the shades of the rhododendron falls on the earth
It cannot but instill a series of battles in the psyches of their brain.
And when the canary admires its beauty in the river bed agape,
They reach out to the talk about the tales told in the ocean bed.
Just like that the dusk disappears amidst the dawn,
And you still won't believe how beautiful the place is.
For how can the alchemists and legends be wrong when they spoke?
That the rustling of leaves mean more than just the wind playing its role.
It's like a play that surrogates your attention,
Making you believe in the miracles of life.
You will then start seeing that smile on a face and waves of the ocean has much more to them,
That the platituted one-liners are clichéd for a reason,
That believing in their insaneness makes life more beautiful
As widely beautiful as the collisions inside your head.
Shreeraksha Naik
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