They
fascinate me with their beauty,
They
motivate me with their heights,
For reasons unknown,
They
attract me always,
The
roads coiling around their bellies,
Beckons
me,
Come
along my child they whisper,
The
voice which only I sometimes hear,
And
when I can’t resist the urge to meet them,
I follow them,
Drawn
like the mouse to the Pied Piper,
But
do they drown me?
Oh
yes they do,
In
the myriad boles of the stately deodars,
In
the rugged branches of the friendly oaks,
In
the song of the magpies and the whistle of the thrushes,
I don’t
mind getting lost in the milky mist,
As
the ethereal affection descends on me,
Caressing
my face with that sublime touch,
And
when I begin to regain my senses,
The
resinous smell of the pines takes over,
I pick
up a fallen cone,
And
like a child delighted,
With
an elusive toy coming his way,
I
walk again,
A
little lost,
A
little dazed,
Till
I reach a road again….
(Pratima
Srivastava)
