By Prasenjit Ray
Off the beaten track strolling.
If I blend in the pines and mist,
amid the lush green thicket,
smelling deep the mildew,
drenched in gentle rain,
basking in the tender sun,
down the mossy rocks,
listening to the rumbling stream.
Don’t go looking for me.
I might just sit staring at the startled deer,
sensing a predator on the prowl.
I might just roll on the grass,
soaked in morning dew.
With the chilling mountain wind,
whistling past the valley.
Slumped on a rocky bed,
hunched by a fire,
I might just be sipping beer,
listening to the crickets and the unearthly creaks.
Drowned in the spell,
of a pair of sparkling eyes,
and mischievous lips.
Cozying up under the dark canopy,
and a constellation of stars.
Oh, don’t go looking for me.
Though I'm no man with a chequered past.