Longing stirred for earthen grace,
A home that held the forest’s face.
Not walls alone, but skies and sun,
Where days could slow and dreams could run.

From Kanha’s huts, the soul took flight,
To frame a world in mud and light.
With courtyards deep and gardens wide,
The past and present danced inside.

Adobe rose from husk and dung,
Bamboo beams in lattice strung.
Tandur stone, in quiet hues,
Met khadi drapes and timbered views.

The pool embraced the lawn’s soft sprawl,
As twilight spilled through windows tall.
Each breeze, each beam, a tale retold—
Of lands once loved, of roots grown bold.

A bungalow built with time and toil,
A modern nest in native soil.
No tigers here—but still it roars,
With nature living through its doors.