A thousand shades of green against the brightest blue,
flowers of gold on the ground form a carpet new.
Bountiful trees with their bouquets alure,
the buzzing bees and flocks of birds galore.
While the gentle breeze soothes the sweat trail;
Fluttering merrily behind the bougainvillea veil,
the cuckoo croons the old melodious tale.
My heart pauses to ask, how different can be Rivendale?
How I wish to be a melodious tune,
to be crafted by the master divine,
to linger long enough to make one smile
and then fade away leaving no trace behind.
How I wish to be a part of this paradisiacal picture!
To be a colour in the palette, a tinge in the rainbow.
To render a certain completeness to the scene.
To be an actor, rather than a spectator.
But then I am part of a celestial drama,
a line perhaps in an epic.
Inconsequential, yet of some importance.
Insignificant, yet irreplaceable.
A myriad of virtues and vices.
A custom configuration of perfections and defects.
So foolish, yet so human,
forever seeking a respite other than the ones I have been given.