Whistle
Whisper
Speak
Conversations in discrete
In the morning air,
The trees do seize.
Warming
Wishing
Embracing
The dawn's sun kissed skies bring
In to each voyager's heart
A tingling.
The wild undergrowth giggles,
The canopies sway,
A natural dance they create
In a waking mind's estate.
(Written on 15 July, 2011 on a train to Bangalore.)
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