Poem by Shamik Banerjee
Brown-pointed sprays and withes hang down,
Thick boles engirdle 'round one's eyes;
From far Nilgiri hoists its crown,
Sun thrings where deep the forest lies;
A greyish trail, dense side hedgerows,
The straight view's like a curved green light,
Where more advanced, greener it grows-
A macaque and civet in sight-
On seeing tourists, little fley,
Their stunned faces ask, "Who are they?"
'Ka-Kow', 'Squawk-Squwak' above the head,
Chant the Weero and Yellowbill,
The black-nebbed Nightjar from its bed,
Of branches, hear them sing full-still;
From canopy, fast crinkling sound,
As if furred paws approaching on,
To turn both sides and see around,
Before one does, the sound is gone;
If large pawprints seen on the trails:
Elephants crossing holding tails!
A long clough 'twixt each mountainside,
Passes with River Kunthi's stream,
The view of Western Ghats that hide,
In cloudcapt ridges comes like dream;
Sweet peace here diuturanal be,
For no Cicadas crack at all,
No timbrels of cacophony,
Herefore this gorge, we 'silent' call,
And mountaintops with turquoise hue
Benamed thereupon,'Hills of Blue'.
Shamik Banerjee is a poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection for Solitude and Poetry provides him happiness.
