The wanderlust rode me to the woods of Satpura
Where the round radiant sun sits atop the hill
Where the sedulous hillbillies dot the landscape
Where time itself is part of the sempiternal
And there lays everything at a silent standstill

Ride me back to those ancient woodlands
Where eyeballs too become motionless
Where everything is as ossified as those rocks
Where the many chinkaras greet and bless
And there I where yearn for a windowsill