Nature is quiet, yet never still,
A whispering stream, a wind on the hill.
It carves out mountains, smooths the stone,
And sings in voices all its own.
The trees don’t speak, but they reply,
In rustling leaves and reaching high.
They breathe in silence, stand in grace,
A thousand years in one still place.
The ocean stirs with moods unknown,
It loves, it breaks, it stands alone.
Beneath its waves, both life and dread
A cradle deep, a hunger fed.
The sky wears colours none can name,
Then weeps or burns or stays the same.
It watches all with open eyes,
The patient canvas stretched high.
Nature destroys, yet tends and grows,
It buries seeds in winter snows.
With brutal hands, it clears the way
Then paints the earth with flowers in May.
Its nature is to shift and spin,
To shed old skin and bloom again.
It teaches us, if we would see:
To bend, to break, yet still to be.
Ramesh Chandra Pradhani
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