The boy

 There was a boy,

once upon a time,

who used to love the woods,

and at the very first chance,

that he could, 

he would take his camera and dash.

Away from the city's

maddening chaos,

away from the clutter and noise,

and with the tormented despair

of home sick geese 

returning home, 

he'd rush to the jungle with his friends!

And there they'd spend the mornings, 

trekking the anguish away,

clicking, capturing, shooting,

every little pebble, 

every twig and tree on the way! 

And in the afternoons

they'd lie

resting quietly under a tree, 

watching rainbows springing from the grass, 

under a clear blue sky, 

amid the sacred humming of crickets,

and pretty little birds singing songs of joy,

swarms of bees flapping their tiny wings, 

like in an orchesteral interlude! 

And when the Sun would set 

in the distance, 

they'd raise a toast to it, 

to the everyday miracle 

of life in a jungle, 

and to all the beauty that there could be! 

Each day, 

a clay vessel,

soft, unbaked albeit, 

brimming with beauty,

bursting almost at the seams!

And so on a misty morning, 

as he stood gazing at the sky,

like a love lorn doe;

a magical sky, 

folded twice over, 

a half of it still draping a light grey veil, 

embellished with fading stars,

and a receding frail crescent,

while another end,

slowly, stealthly, surreptitiously, 

turned an optimistic orange,

like a soft satin drape on fire;

the spirit of the jungle appeared,

and said, 

let me grant you a wish 

to come true right away,

fame, wealth, power,

mystries, 

it all lies hidden in the jungle,

all of it and more,

but the boy just smiled

and looked at his camera,

'grant me a poetic lens!' 

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And while the spirit of the jungle granted the boy a poetic lens, exactly as he had asked, the two girls who had lost their way in the wilderness, and had cried their hearts out upon looking at the little rainbow the boy had pulled out of the grassfield, crying, untill it was forty days and forty nights, crying untill they set the night sky afire with a thousand shooting stars, a sky ablaze with hope, and filled the ponds and rivers with incessant tears of joy, and filled the jungle with their laughter, like a spell of beauty cast upon the dying soul of time, they were granted each, a poet's soul and a lover's heart, and granted each other's company, to bear and to cherish and behold!