Little hands reached out for the hanging fruit in the lush apple gardens on a dewy morning, across the valley of Himalayas.

The fruit was eaten and the richness was felt,

but a leaf was torn amidst all the sense,

As the innocent laid there on the ground,

Just then the soaring wind came, with a bound,

To what I owe you the pleasure, asked the roar,

‘I have become a hollow, O the mighty whole,

Let us go across, to those depths of the valley,

To the sounds of heaven and, to the blissful alley,

Take me with you to those majestic views,

For now, I have been taken away from my roots.’

The wind and the leaf took the long sail,

across the fields and, the mountain trail…