Ramila follows the wind
as it blows gently,
a breeze so to say,
She runs behind the flow
Is she being crazy? I wonder.
No, she cries, it is my practice.
She traces the flow
with an accuracy, even
a weatherman cannot do.
Tuning her analytics, she continues
the current raps the trees with a knock,
kisses the flowers as it crosses,
takes turn with the tides
ripples along with them
dives through the oceans
roaring with a bark, jumps
over to the hills, penetrates
through the thick vegetation
with a ooh! ooh! sound
rustles and rhymes with the
habitation right there.
finally slows, a breathlessness
sets in, decibels falling
to the lowest.
Ramilla turns ecstatic
as she defines and draws
the orbit of the current.
Meenas Poems 