In The Stillness Of Trees Poem by Laya Bajpai

The morning unfolds
like a slow breath —
light seeps through the mist,
softly, as if asking permission.

A leaf trembles
not from fear,
but from the joy
of movement.

Somewhere, water murmurs
its secret to the stones,
and I listen —
not to understand,
but to belong.

Every sound
is an invitation
to remember something
I've forgotten —
the patience of growing things,
the art of simply being.

I watch the sky change color
without ambition,
and realize how quietly
life keeps happening.

The tree beside me
has seen more seasons
than my heart has endured,
yet it stands —
rooted in silence,
open to the wind.

I think I, too
could learn from it:
to hold without clinging,
to bend without losing form,
to let light fall through
and remain whole.