Not A Mere Tree.

The tree over there 

rustles in the wind

with its branches moving

and the leaves making a noise

that is so minute  and soft

not heard by many

but those who lend their ears

get an inordinate delight

as if some music is on

accompanied by the cadence of wind

punctuated by the movement of the branches

added up by the cackling of birds

backed up by the humming of isects

all beckoning you to a fete ‘

that goes unheard all the most

as we be preoccupied in our nest

held up by the daily chores

glued to the idiot box

addicted to the computer

missing the ecstasy  there

that is being convened yonder

not very far from our precincts

where we pay nothing at all

but gain a lot   with no interrogation

appeasing the mind and body.