8 am, Umroi Army Station Guest House, Shillong

I find myself perched on the verandah of this right-out-of-a-painting cottage,
Listening to my favourite slow tracks,
And the rustling of leaves when the wind comes kissing them..
They seem like they are hushing secrets of some distant past,
And I can’t help but wonder how they have an uncanny semblance,
To the racing waves of the sea.
May be, just may be, if we listen closely,
The whole universe talks the same language,
And we just never listen enough,
Or with all our heart, to know that.

I gaze beyond the narrow white stone paved paths,
The tiny green shrubs and the fresh grass sprouting from the manicured lawns,
Through the window between two pine trees in the distance,
To the lovely long array of the same ones.
I find myself wondering,
Isn’t nature and music the perfect usherers of creativity,
And I realise they are the mentors of the pen that I wield, and none other.
They are the ones who always came whispering tales in my ears,
And to my heart.
In this moment all I want is to just be here,
And never leave.
Just feel this high that I’m climbing,
When the flow of thoughts come hit me,
As I inhale every gush of this pristine air..
And all I can do is breathe them out,
As beautiful strings of letters.


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