Ranting in the solitude

How many times,

I wonder

Have these winds and trees

Been my silent companions?

This very corner of the balcony...

Missing the mundane simplicity

The feelings, and this 

Yearning for normalcy, 

Felt them over and over

Until, (like all feelings

That I'd wrung out)

Somewhere they became 

A part of my being

Meeting friends doesn't feel enough

Not supposed to either, perhaps? After

All the hours and days and years

Of growing up in the same classrooms

All the years of childhood 

All the years of meeting everyday

(Was perhaps, just a routine)

Still lingering, in my thoughts...

The winds, as ever,

Listen in silence, 

A tranquil silence;

Oh, their patience with me...

Can they sense when I'm done? 

When my ramblings stop...? For

Now the roaring winds come,

They leave, a lullaby...

Never too strong, 

These gusts of compassion; these winds

Know me, ever so prone to a cold

So they keep blowing,

Gentle and soft...

There was, somehow,

This warmth... In the winter coldness

A solitude that wasn't so lonely 

I kept observing

With tired eyes, but

A peace inside...

The trees, the street lamps, 

The winds (or perhaps,

Their effects; leaves twirling down

To silent tunes)

The midnight sky and the hazy clouds,

The nocturnal birds, the strays' howls,

All the sounds... 

Of a slowed-down night...

The lights, both artificial and from

The skies above, 

Tyndall effect, somewhere?

The creeper leaves 

Swaying lightly, like the little political

Flags adorning the block centre.

Thought of counting the trees, but

Perhaps I'd better not,

Than leave out a single one...

And then, again,

These winds 

Washing over my being

Thank you

Is all I feel, tearing up

(Gratitude, is it?)

A lone bat whizzes past

As I'm called inside...