This is the lane where the butterflies fly
Unafraid of the admirer
And the cool breeze
Bring the soul filling smell
Of wet earth
That cajoles a heavy heart.

This is the lane where the night holds friendship
And memories unfold
Of the faraway happiness
While sitting beneath
The shadows of the tree
When the eyes see just the
Silhoutte of the other
The night camouflaging the pain in the eyes
The voice reflecting it
Now words are shared and emotions understood
While the butterflies sleep
And the ants busy themselves
In their household chores.

In the imbroglio of emotions
Once again
The night immortalises
An aquaintance and
The imprints still remain
Indelible
On every vein
Of the fallen papery leaves.

This is the lane that provides refuge
To the castaway souls
Searching for
A glorious glimpse of a moment
That cannot be shared by all
But by minds of the likes
And thoughts of similar thinks
Glimpses:
Of looks that is carried
Nowhere by the winds
Of words that reverberate
Then and there
Of touch that brings branches to stop- wary and alert
To start swaying again
Lest the small tired bird
Wakes up startled.

This is the lane where there is no rush
And no halt
Where life goes on beside
And behind
Above and below
Where wonder never ceases, perhaps does
And the cry of the heart is perhaps understood
Or overseen
But the hope presides
The breeze eludes, perhaps brings
The fragrance of closeness
The eyes search, perhaps find
What lies beneath
That serene brow
And laugh lines.

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