Isha Trivedi


Nature's Senses

My hands scale the tree, avoiding the ants' trails,
Chipping off dry bark, pale and grey as smoke.
The gentle curves of cream yellow, fresh green leaves,
Brightened by the remaining rays of evening sunlight.
Transforming the sky dotted with clouds to a rainbow without green,
Which is replaced by lush trees and leveled grass.
I distinctly hear the crunch of dry leaves under my feet,
Feel a soothing breeze engulf the field.
Sense the trickle of water down a steam path,

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