The tree is still
The ground beneath
Is a fertile time
Keep changing colors.

Observe the leaves,
Don’t be surprised
If your eyes played a trick
While changing
The images kept in your mind.

Silence declares  
It’s unidentified
Tasteless self,
In constant pulse,
Out of time,
Out of space,
In stillness.

With mind empty
An atom, a dot,
a cell,
the observer
Are the mirage,
The illusion
eyes must stop indulging with.

Stillness is the tree.

© Serena Devi, September 2010


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