Happenstance

The river may owe its amblings

Of the night

To the leisure strokes

Of lunar plumes

Elated by the rustle of

Long dead leaves;

(To this imagined applause)

The koels may owe their song

To the bashful flight of clouds sans reach

The mountains may owe

Heightened majesty

To the breeze that plucks the dew

And drops it to the ground

The ants may owe

The thrill of the march

The graveyard may owe its

Deepened silences

To the wisdom of spent pyres

To its terrene love for the stars

The earth may owe

The ebb and flow

Of endless waves of grass

To thy visions

My poesy may owe

Its existence