Whisper of Leaves in a Concrete Dawn
Bhubaneshwar, India
2025, Senior, Poetry & Spoken Word
Morning light spills across concrete and tile.
A stray cat, ankles wet from a recent shower,
licks its paw on the threshold of our shop.
I stand at the doorway, listening—
counting the stillness.
The elevator ceases its grind.
Beyond the flat roofs, a lone courtyard tree,
veined and ancient, spreads at daybreak.
It reveals its pulchritude in new leaves,
tiny and bright, unfazed by glass and power lines.
Taxi horns and laughter rise from the street.
By noon, a patch of grass in the park
feels miraculous—ordinary,
a deep-green postcard in the city patchwork.
Friends of my ilk gather here,
hovering over a tangle of roots,
and for a moment, we are quiet.
On these sidewalks,
a ragpicker pauses to tie a thread around his sandal,
making me think of vestigial trails
running under the pavement,
the hidden river, the farmland
long engulfed by concrete.
A dusk star appears in the still sky;
between wires and lampposts,
the sky will vouchsafe this small light.
In the warm glow of a neighbor’s lantern,
a mother and child water the potted fig on the balcony.
This hymn neither engine nor silence can drown.
Tomorrow we will plant a sapling where, dust was idle.
We will dream of water in the tap, and a green road ahead.
From inside and out, from soul and street,
we bend toward each other
as the built world learns the gentle language of leaves.
Reflection
I began with a quiet morning in my own courtyard, watching a small guava tree stand tall amid the concrete chaos. This tiny island of green gave me the idea for the poem – it suddenly felt important that even in a busy city, life and beauty find a way to grow. The images came naturally from my everyday walks: a patch of grass between sidewalks, a stray cat dozing in the sun, a ragpicker pausing to pet the cat, and a mother and child tending their rooftop plants. As I wrote, I felt Tagore’s spirit, remembering his belief that the same life flows through every living thing. Creating this poem felt deeply peaceful. It was like meditation, a quiet conversation with the city around me. I discovered something new about our theme: looking inward helped me find nature in my own thoughts, while stepping outside showed me nature in surprising city corners. I realized I am not separate from these moments, but part of them. My message to those who read the poem is simple: notice the small wonders. A child watering a plant or a woman singing softly by her home garden connects us all. If Tagore is right, the same life-threads run through us, the trees, and even the ocean. I hope the poem reminds viewers that in our bustling lives, nature is both around and within us, quietly offering beauty and connection if we pay attention.