Clouds in the valley...

In Heaven, when exiled We long in melancholy, Our mortal life on earth, That was neither winged nor free   This longing, for the roses The cloudy days and sun, Is for all that we had lost, Even though we had won   For the smiles we never saw, The tears we never dried, The unheard sniffles, sobs And the voices that had sighed   For the thunder days that passed When we never drenched our heart, For all those lonely stops When we never made a start   For all those unwrit lines, The poems and the songs, For all the rights bypassed For the gilded lonely wrongs   But most of all, we long for A past though harsh, unkind For that little part of ourselves That we had left behind   The little part who saw beyond The truths and all the lies, He who never cared, To wear a fake disguise The little part that never cared For rules of heaven, earth For who, existence was enough More than death or birth ...

  White pagoda in the hills Spreads the hope of peace, Surprise, that even in God’s abode, Harmony comes to cease And we need a message carved in stone, Whiter than the Kanchen peak, Wherever ‘tis we spread our wings Peace plays hide and seek   The golden Buddha stares within, Could we be all like you? Could we all trade our gilded lives To seek what is that’s true? But if we did, would we be here? No, neither you or me, No emptiness would drive our will This world anew to see         To find Gaya in Darjeeling, We need to go astray, Life hidden in the silver lines In the folds of a cloudy day; What else be there in our muddled lives, If there was nothing left to seek, One day, for all to come together – Pagoda, pilgrim, peak…   25 th February, 2023   Inspired at the Peace Pagoda, Darjeeling that perhaps offers the best view of the sprawling city guarded by the Himalaya. I have seen ...

Ten years, it took me To visit the white mountains again, A decade of brooding memories In exiled sun and rain   I wondered then, this time, What would be Kanchenjunga’s last view That last image I would carry Until this journey would renew   Every dawn in Darjeeling, I’d ask If this morning's is the last, If this is the view I’d come back to, When I would think about the past   But Kanchenjunga was too kind – He showed Himself each day, Reminding, in thousand hues of sunrise red, Of the ten years I had to pray   But He stopped not at the hilly heights, I saw Him in Mirik again, And even towards the journey end, In the hot and dusty plain   The train chugged off from the foothills He was still there in the frame, The horizon ‘blazoned all in white For the pilgrims all who came   But as that vision blurred, I heard A voice from that snowy bluff, Will a million times work at all, If once in not...

  I stare and wonder, How we have chosen old for the new, While here you are, Enlightened one, Blessing just the handful few - Those who care to come To your doorstep here, at old Ghoom, The rest of the wearied travellers Ignorant of your gilded room   Do I hear Him whisper In the chants that come and fade - Are you worried who’ll enlighten you In the days that come ahead? Look within - the cycle of time stands true Maitreya awaits from the past, already inside you…   12 th Feb’23   If you visit Darjeeling, you will most likely visit the new Ghoom Monastery, not far from the Batasia Loop. It figures on most tourist trails and features a brilliant statue of the Buddha. However, a bit farther from the city centre, lies the old – and the original – Ghoom monastery. It was built in 1850, making it one of the oldest monasteries in Darjeeling, and was heavily influenced by Tibetan Buddhism, the head lamas originally having arrived to Da...

I was amazed, Here, in the heart of my bustling city, Was this quiet soul from Seoul. And I wondered, What brought her here? What made her stay? What ambition and what goal?   Here, in this land, Shim Joo ran a quaint saloon, Amidst the heat and noise of a dingy mart But who could trade, I could fathom not - That Hondae home for Kasba’s dirt?   She smiled, Could I understand, What was it that filled her heart, ‘ The people,’ she softly tried Somewhere they make you see the end, And then somewhere else a start'   ‘I left home For I had to find a home anew, Until here I found - a Spring after a Fall. This city gave, More than I could ever ask - smiles, warmth Above all, a heart to fit us all.’   I smiled, The city of Joy, home always Not just for those who grew up here, But for more, Souls from western and eastern shores Who despite the mess, found a bit of care   The skyline reminds, With all...

There’s something ‘bout those flickering lights That hug the hillside slope, Those little huts of hillside men Filled with pain and hope   Pain for all the daily strife, For the highland life is tough, Yet hope from all the simplicity Where little is enough   Their struggles in the mountain air, In seasons hot and cold, A river dammed, a slip, a flood And many a tale untold   And sons and brothers far away To send some pennies few, In the army here, some factory there, A story that’s not new   Yet, every face harbours a smile, In each a glowing sun, Is it the wisdom in the mountain air, That we city-folks can’t learn?   Then at night, when darkness falls, That sun keeps glowing still, A little lamp in a little hut, And lit is every hill!   I stare upon those flickering lights, Those distant hamlets stare, Mongpu, Sittong, Tinchuley, Layer after mountain layer   Some sparkling from ...