Rich in culture
Vast in structure
Proudly
Boasts of legacy
...
Making their way home
On days
Sun shining on tropic of cancer
Satchel, on their backs
...
Away from the din of the city
In the deep woods
You hear, you feel, you see
That for which you longed so long
...
Heavily overcast sky
With dark clouds
Gentle piercing wind
Rattles oaks, deodhars and pines
...
Stoic my nature.
Plunders
Without a glitch
Ain't be shared
...
July August
Waken you up
To the whiteness all around
Which in purity abounds
...
Sense
Which makes some sense
Other than nonsense
Supreme sense
...