Musings

Now the leaves are swaying, now, my heart is cold,

The wind has come to its senses, and is singing like before,

Dust and fallen leaves and sunlight dancing in its yard,

The water from the hosepipe is showering on dried plants.

Is there any meaning in the shadow play of trees?

Or the tiny flies buzzing excitedly?

Or the eyes that watch the limp leaves somersault?

Or the ears that hear the wind sing the noisy summer song?

Or the mind that inhales the damp earth, soaked in water, soaked in love?

Can there be any value assigned to these musings?

Can the playfulness in nature, this beautiful symphony,

Be heard above the din that our race knows as living?

The Song of the Sufi Masroof