UNDER THAT BANYAN TREE

Picture Taken By Martin Coombes







Whilst out walking I spied this man musing in quiet repose
What thoughts lay in his head, ones that he only knows
Did he care that his shoes were odd, his snowy beard unshaven
In the shade of that Banyan tree content in his private haven
For a moment I despised this man, was it jealousy
How I wished that I were he, under that Banyan tree

I would turn away, I would leave this man in his blissful state of reflection
Where would he be, where would I be if we had followed a different direction
Was he happy was he content, this of myself I have pondered
The truth, this perceived reality would have to remain unanswered
Was he merely passing the time in the knowledge that he were free
For just a moment we were we, under that Banyan tree

I glanced down upon his face to see, this man he had awoken
I noticed in his sunken eyes thoughts best left unspoken
There I saw grief, I saw loss, his body scarred from physical labour
Realisation, then pierced my heart with the force of an invisible sabre
I noticed there in his eyes that familiar despise, was it jealousy
Did he wish that he were me, under that Banyan tree