Offering me lessons. . .

When silent existence becomes unbearable....Revolt and revolution becomes the way...

monsoon reverie ~

Rainy Midsummer

The habit of writing poems once started with looking at these skies. However, as years pass writing a poem seems an avoidable task-wherever you look there's a poem already written ~

benign smile

days after

the thunderstorm ~

the earth tenders

a benign smile to the clearing

skies

Nature. . .

"Nature always wears the colors of the spirit" ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Listen. . .

"Everybody should be quiet near a little stream and listen."

the storm that was. . .

May - the time when cuckoos return with their songs. One of them was probably nesting in one of these trees, or may be it just loves the amaltas, and perches on there and sings...

After the storm yesterday, the bird, the song...is all gone. 
Birds ~ such masters in impermanence. . . .