By MAYA GREEN
Somehow I find, that I like the call, of the wild
On those, alas definitely rare, occasions
When I can steal some time, making a planned escape,
Perchance, I told myself — to seek some needed relief
A needed repose, from the frenetic pace, and pressing demands
Of the so called modern life style
But only to find oneself always seeking — for refuge
From the hustle and bustle of city living
I find comfort in the whispers of the trees
And the gentle caress of the soft breeze
As the touch of the wind, gently moves through the trees
Swaying the leaves of green, which, waving to and fro, uplifts my own tired soul
Often, a knowing smile and happy grin,
Like clockwork, colours my face,
Drawn, as it were, by some innocent child artist
Whose slate is still fresh and pure
The paradise of innocence
It’s the hope, the calm, being always present
And the aliveness and the passionate spirit
And the wonderment of it all:
Allen, Ali and Ah Hong
Well, my name ain’t matter at all
In this paradise
I am all in all
