A noise free evening
being a Sunday. I watch
the lane, emptiness
abides.
The vacuum before me
triggers a nostalgic feel.
a communion with infinity
an interaction hitherto not felt.
Trees stand still
Leaves keep quiet
Even the grass stays stiff.
My ears turn inert.
Tuning them I hear
a palpable sound, silence
activates rhythmic notations
similar to the song of a brook.
A sweet song permeates
a gentle up, a shallow down
goes the melody, The red ball
diffuses into an orangish hue.
Meenas Poems 