Surroundings

 Wind-chimes in the verandah

have started singing the sunup song. 

Discarded ones

hung on the curry tree,

are jiving too, albeit gently. 

And the lawn is spotted

with tiny little winged friends. 

Beautiful. Distinct. 

I don't even know their names. 

Some have a magnificent tuft. 

Some have striking colors,

some, a mesmerizing plumage. 

Each one busy, singing it's own song. 

There, 

midst the frangipani and electric power pole, 

a squirrel is creating ruckus,

Constantly gnawing and squeaking.

Its tail going up and down in tandem,

with its chatter.

And the greens are, literally, swaying

to this outstanding composition 

of mother nature. 

And attuned to this riveting opus, 

is the mortal man's daily routine. 

Someone is praying. 

Someone is sweeping, 

dusting and brooming.

Someone is busy managing the laundry. 

And someone... 

well, someone has already begun 

the day's dash.

I have also attempted another version in Punjabi

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha