I see a fallen nest, on my way
I walk away, afraid to put it back
Lest I see two or three
Corpses within.

This is the path I pass
Every morning and dusk.

I keep your fragrance
Inside my jacket.
And, today too, I fail to smell
Scent of the moist earth.

Here people pass me
Just as they cross.
My eyes, always towards sides,
Fail to see many.

The pond is silent today
Except for a regurgitating bubble
In a corner of its square face
To show a thousand lives within.

They see the changing colour of my clothes,
My earrings and anklets
Even the changing stories behind me
My mind, oblivious to them ,
Wanders on the path and above.

The path has changed
I see the tall trees, sentries themselves ,
Silently calling back
Their tiny curled roots from the path.

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