Clouds in the valley...

Despite all the steps we take, There will be journeys that were never made Not because of want of shoe or track But because time had never enough said – Never whispered, that we won’t be back Not to that windmill on emerald hill Or those autumn-filled melancholy eyes, When wanton time, it never stood still   That unseen sunrise on an alpine lake Still wakes us on a restless dawn, That temple with Boddhisattva’s eyes still calm us When we want to cry, be reborn That little boat still waits to take us to the coral isle Where the sands are silicate fine, Unspoken lines in the bookstore wait That day, to douse us in our twin sunshine   These paths that we did not tread - Alas, seen only when we cross the bridge of time Eternal companions that will always rise Not because of you or me or anyone’s crime They are the souls that fuel our dreams The songs that guide on a cloudy day The colours that dusk our horizon To take one more step...

These shivering, chilly, hillside nights That mist in winter cold, Often take me back in time, To Lucknow’s days of old The early classes meant the warmth Of the blankets had to wait, The day would pass in page after page The dusk would come by late The nights ran long, with endless reads, So cold the books would mourn With a broken heater in a hostel room Fighting winter lone But the days would turn to weeks and months Time left quickly as it came, When life offers a track to run Who seldom stops to blame? Where came the warmth, I wonder now Was it just the speed of life? Or was there more, beyond the seen In the winters’ edge of knife Was it the warmth of elaichi tea? The salami sandwich strong? That the mess offered till 2 of night (Which even today I long) Or was it in the halogen lamps That fought with a retro light? Or the retired army men all strewn, Awake in every night? Perhaps more than all, it was the strength Of the friends there by your side Each soul in every ...

  This morning, I find I’ve missed sugar in my tea, And yet, there was I, Sipping it happily   What changed, I thought The fog this winter morn? A catharsis? An epiphany? Was I newly born?   But then I found the reason, An old, green shawl of mine, Tattered in many places Now left without a shine   And yet there was warmth In all its memories past, Each thread now a story That will sing, everlast   From the rare Mumbai cold To the days in Karur lost, And then Paris on the other end Draped in winter frost   From an island in the Pacific, Where the Norfolk winds do rage, To the Snowy Mountains white Or Aotearoa on a page   From winters in Lucknow To far the Himachal vales, A Coffee back in Calcutta Oh Just so many wonder tales!   The warmth of the winter shawl Was sweet with memories Transcending all to the cup I held, In the early winter freeze   And the day was ...