A poet writing in Jaisalmer

Outside a Jain temple, in which photography was prohibited.
The silence of the camera brought out the sounds of what felt like peace and a small poem

Squirrels are shy and they fly like a fly
Hiding themselves promptly from human appearances

In their world, there is little food to eat
And they nibble and eat while you skip a beat

Their best friend is peace
They can escape into any crease

The birds, the trees and the breeze are their accompaniments
No poet can give them enough complements

I found them in the golden city of Jaisalmer
And met them up close which is very rare
Squirrels are shy and they fly like a fly.