It’s where the trees grow
their boughs entangled
With roots – long and mangled
Gnarled fingers, knuckles bent
Varicose veins gripping the earth
Holding it tightly as if a woman’s girth
And others hanging loosely from the top
over-used strings on a house-hold mop
A witch’s hair knotted; unkempt
Its where the leaves lay scattered
Unswept; on the soft, wet mud
And wild red berries fall with a thud
A brown canvas with purple, pinks and white
Colors splattered; vibrant and bright
An organic platter for those with wings
And scurrying feet in search of nibbling things
Bricks and mortar for their homes
Twigs and leaves, sand and stones
It’s where I gently tread
And take care not to skip
a step, lest I slip
on the path laid out, up and down
winding around
Strewn with leaves and wet with dew
Visited by the romantics, few
Its’ ‘The Woods’ alright
No matter what the board says- the one that’s on site!
~ Smitha Vishwanath
Mumbai, India