On Sacred Ground Poem by Miraj Raha

The tall Firs stand as cathedrals,
A plethora of colossus, eyeing their
crest for the heavens. Gaze ever
watchful, surveying their realm
as silent guardians.On this sacred
ground, life reveals an old phenomena,
that of discovery.Conspicuous to
the watchful eye, a woodpecker
tattoos the heart of an old Fir,
a feathered artist who works
simply out of passion.Not far
away, avian flocks return home
after the day's adventure, they
chirp in symphony with the
crickets, an eternal awakening
into the primordial night.As dusk,
settles in, the dreamy landscape
starts its nighttime adventures.
Nymphs and dryads sing in chorus
with the nightingale, their heavenly
voice echoes in the heart of the glade.
Primroses and Casablanca lilies spread
their perfume under the command of
the night breeze, and carefree fireflies
adorn the forest with their glistening
hue.In this hallowed land, names of
forgotten gods are chanted by ancient
cultists in temple ruins, weary traveler
takes shelter and the archaic moon
in mellow demeanor silently waits
for the stars to come out to tell
their stories.