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