The Listening Trees Can Make Noise...

Thousands of butterflies, Holding me with their tiny legs, Fitted with knitted spiky stockings, Taking me all around the shrubbery, Where the ants parade with six podia, Not get tired of inflammation of joints, The cochlea holds the soft mussels, Not complained over the burden of shells, That has to be carried all their life, The walking bird, so small and has sharp beak, Walk with swift movement for the worms as food, The butterfly feelings in my head and stomach, When you listen to all my stories and blabbers, I fly to the clouds to roam in ecstatic pleasure, When you respond with kindness in your eyes, Let us gossip about the love that we have upon each other, Let us go to the tip of mountain where our ancestors visited, Let us prance through the hills, valleys and rivers, Where the humanity begins to end to begin again, Let us talk about the woe to get over the pain, Our ears can listen and our mouth can speak, Why the deaf ears and dumb mouth in the able sensed, Refrigerating the pain will induce more when thawed. When you and I listen to the spoken troubles, We may have wings to fly without boarding a flight.