The dancing tree...

Photo: Hainault Forest by Teynmoli Subramaniam

I like to sit by my little garden,
and look a far at the dancing trees.

As the wind blows,
It tells me a story,
A story that only I can hear.
The lush leaves is brushing each other,
and dancing to the rhythm...
Dancing to the rhythm of the nature.

The nature whispers light,
It tells me to not think too much
Or too deep but just listen.
Listen to its mellow song
and rest.
Think nothing...
Think nothing but look,
Look only at the dancing tree and seek.
Seek and be lost in its ever prodigious charm,
Think nothing but just cherish.

Nature tells me its secrets-
It's secrets to how to be serene;
Serene and at peace,
At peace with  my docile self.
My docile self whom  is lost-
Lost in the worldly matters.
Matters of temporal that never ends...
Unfinished and will never be finished.

The self I know struggles to find me,
because the surrounding has stolen me ...
Stolen me away from thyself.
But this tranquil moment,
The tranquil moment of truth,
Finds thyself from the lost.
I  find thyself,
when nature told me to listen.

Listen and start to listen...
I Listen to the whisper-
Silent rhythm of the dancing tree.
In that tranquil moment of thyself,
A moment that only belongs to you and I,
I finally heard thyself of myself.
I heard thyself speaking,
Speaking to me,
About me...
About you, the the child in me
and the child I was and my dreams...
My dreams that I  lost
In the hustling adolescence.