In the day’s old age,
when the sun ceases to shine,
I sit in the darkness.
As the day retires,
the sounds of nature
take center stage:
A demure and shy character,
systematic yet suave,
the soft song of a bird
sitting high upon a coconut tree,
perhaps perched
on a dark, no-longer green
coconut, pulling at the fronds
with its curved beak
that I cannot see.
Frogs fat from lethargy jumping
at the chance to flick a flying being,
lick their lips with a smack
after their scrumptious snack.
In front of me,
The silhouette of a tree,
And its leaves
Holds a wind chime,
Whistling the seven notes
of a scale.
A cool breeze
between banana trees behind me
brings the sound
of the large leaves meant for eating (on),
fluttering and flailing about,
gentle rustling against one another,
as if in a tussle.
The sound of an animal–
some animal, any animal, I cannot tell–
walking back to its cave,
crunching the crisp leaves underneath
as it passes by over the soft soil.
It is in this last moment,
the twilight time,
When I can no longer see
I open my ears.
I can hear.
My own heart beat–
thump- thump,
dup… dup–
slowing down
As is my breathe,
where I can hear all those sounds,
of the universe,
the universal sound of all nature in one.
Finally, I have come of age.