a dust storm

A dust storm and harsh wind..
looked out of my window, it was dusty but it wasnt hot...
the wind was running somewhere,
passing through the trees,
it was shouting that there was some rush...
the trees shook.
a few branches broke here and there.

i stared at my gulohar,
scared it would break a branch as well...
but all i saw was strength.
and thats the way he saluted the mighty wind.

the wind is easy now and its not dusty anymore.
my tree must be tired, though it doesnt look so.
why dont i understand the trees tonight?
they are not telling me anything ..
they are talking to the wind.
and the wind is speaking through them, through their branches and through their leaves...

The sky has an orange tint...
as if its laughing and turning red..
some say its rage...
i think its just strength.

it will rain in a while,
my gulmohar can smell it and so can i.

the sound of the wind rushing..
is reminding me of the swift Ganga gushing...
wasnt it the same sound?
the one who is singing is different...
maybe its composed by one.

Silent Birth

--Ruskin Bond

When the earth gave birth to this tree,

there came no sound:

A green shoot thrust

In silence from the ground.

Our births dont come so quiet-

Most lives run riot-

But the bud opens silently,

And flower gives way to fruit.

So must we serach

For the stillness within the tree,

The silence within the roots.