The visitors.

🐞🐝🐞

 

I am visited by butterflies, when I walk into the garden.
Yellow butterflies flying off little yellow flowers as if the whole bunch just grew wings.
Urging me to raise my arms to touch them but in vain.

I am visited by a tiny 🐦bird, when I walk into the garden.
Little black bird residing on the tall green bamboo🎍, chirping as if the bamboo found its voice.
Startling me everytime it flies away.

I am visited by ants 🐜🐜🐜, when I walk into the garden.
Tiny red ones, building anthill in a quiet corner as if  the garden were their kingdom, protecting them from rain.
Stinging me, sending shivers up my spine as soon as I step on the grass.

I am visited by strange small white  frogs🐸, when I visit the garden.
Jumping to hide in the hedge, making it shake as if the hedge acquired dancing feet.
Making me jump back, petrified their predators🐍 may follow soon.

I am visited by droplets of water falling down from wet leaves.
Creepers bowing, shaking off their flowers on me, greeting me in the mornings.
Reminding me I am alive and awake, when I visit my garden.
                  🐝
                         🐝

🐞

                                                                                          🐞

Morning stroll 3

The sky burst open like a volcano, spewing  lava in all directions, spreading, flowing like river of death. Consuming everything in its wake and its path.

It burst open like a heart, broken  into a million pieces, bleeding pain. Consuming the one whose was broken.

It's just a way of looking at things,

for the sky exploded with warm gentle sunlight, spreading, flowing like river of life. Reviving everything in its wake and its path.

It exploded like a heart, into a million pieces, with joy that could'nt be contained inside anymore. Revitalizing, disburdning, whose burst.

It's just a way of looking at things,

For even if it were lava, time turns the fields of destruction into most fertile lands.
For even if the heart were broken, time gives ample opportunities to heal and repair, turning it into flourishing abode.

It's just a way of looking at things.

Morning Stroll 2

Amber

A huge amber in the making, fossilized resin with tree inside.
Tree resembling a twig, a leaf, branches resembling veins dried.

Precious gemstone waiting to be formed, valued priceless.
Adorning heirlooms of memories, to be passed on to generations.

But only the resin being the golden orange sunlight, but only the amber our world.
The heirloom a morning cherished and saved, in the locker of our hearts impearled.

                     Photo Credits Go To Zubin Oommen Ittyerah

The morning stroll

                           Photo Credits Go To Zubin Oommen Ittyerah

  Walking hand in hand towards rising hope, welcoming a new day.

   On a road uncluttered and clear made of faith.

   Cool, calm breeze ruffling the hair, could turn into a storm.

   Reminding, urging to be one another's  pillar of strength.

   Flowers of prosperity blooming, filling the heart with contentment.

   Finding joy in each other's company, feeling safe.

   Street lights , the guiding lights, like the trust within.

   For life will happen everyday if we have each other.

Morning by the lake.

Sheet of water with depths unknown.
Thousands of secrets in its core.

High mountains surrounding, in eerie calm.
Holding the water, as if, in their palm.

Trees standing guard, erect in a line.
On the banks of the lake divine.

Sunrays peeping from behind the cloud.
Waiting for sunshine to explode.

New hope, new day.
Fresh start, fresh ways.

Photo Credits Go To Shaishav Agarwal