The Wooden bench
by R.G Shivakeshavan
The wooden bench had an occupant of no significant mass.
The bench had been there for years for many to rest on…
It was set in a small park a mile away from the city and surrounded by grass
The park was not frequented but for those who knew its location
Trees to a side and the steep rocky gradients to another,
What would have seemed sleepy to an adult was the answer to a child
And in the center the bench stood, venerated by nature
It was a god to the small creatures who watched in awe from their wild
They watched in wonder for they had observed the little human, who sat
The little human who cried and clung to the bench, till streams flowed
Streams of sweat and tears that salted the bench, and wore off the paint
The little human who sat watching, as the sun over the horizon bowed.
They stared in wonder for, as the time went by, that solemn child of man,
Started singing and laughing to himself, looking at the moon peeping upon the purple skies.
They stared in wonder as they noticed that child of man soon kissing his own hands.
They stared in wonder as that child slid off the bench and muttered something like
appreciation before heading to where its home lied.
Then it would seem the old bench would stare at the back of the child,
It would seem that the bench's planks creaked in satisfaction in the wind.
The squirrels would then say a silent prayer and the doves a coo or two into the wild
For was it not that only god could ease by not speaking but by reaching into your mind.