Clouds in the valley...

Scores of hands, plastered in time, A signpost - of all who passed this ridge, We, amazed onlookers, only stare As we walk this sandstone time, a bridge   Red and ochred, prints of palm Here, in this land of the Darug clan Now, what remains are hidden signs - This mountain too was conquered by man   And I wonder - how every palm is a story lone Of a rambler in these hills of blue But wherefrom they came, where did they go How I wish those tales were captured too   Sometimes, perhaps, if you are in luck You may see the ribbon of time rewind, There, an artist of the Mountains’ muse Leaving red a mark behind   Spitting from his teeth in stain, One more mark, this was their land, For thousands of years, before we came But will we ever understand?   He looks at us, in chagrin, shame And finds no hope in our future eyes, He hastens - let at least his mark remain A truth in times of a million lies   So th...

  …and every day, at 8 o’clock The world for me would stop, I’d strain to see La tour Eiffel – Rather, just the tower top   But that was good enough – it was Requited, timeless love, Shimmering stars in mortal lands Reflecting stars above   There she’s be at dusky 8, Come rain or storm or snow, Sparkling with a million lights, In gilt and gold, aglow   Shining spangles, Paris sky Bokeh of hope alight, To make me smile - For you, this much I can always stand and fight   And all the homesickness there be Would melt in amber lights, And timeless peace would fall upon Cite’s silent nights   In a place with dreamy lights like these, How could you not love and cry? So much that years have passed, and still I yearn and smiling sigh     That the city was not a soul alone, She was an emotion, A universe of a thousand muse, The lights – her strongest sun   A lighthouse in the darkest...

  Beyond the Richmond plains and vill, The asphalt steep ascends, Another way through the Mountains Blue With sinuous turns and bends   Not as full as the other one – Where lively towns abound, The Bells Line is the quieter one More full of Nature’s sound   For beyond the orchards - Bilpin’s blooms, Beyond Tomah’s garden patch, There’s wilderness of the gumtree groves That cannot find a match   That emptiness of human touch That solitude in the bluff, Where melancholy floats through lonely clouds, And the silence is enough   Mile after mile of emerald hills, Cockatoo specks of white, Untouched, as it was aeons ago Under the same sunlight   As if, under some rocky arch You’ll find the Darug folks, Foraging in winter hills of time Wrapped in possum cloaks   Or even beyond, from Gondwana A giant bunyip stares, Or a phantom cat that still today Plods and prowls and dares   (And yet,...

  Every time I walk upon The meadows of the Farm, Hope stirs up from deep within Pensive, yet so warm   The meadow greens remind of home, Of the alpine bugyals there, And I long to smell its grass again - I say a silent prayer   Gorson, Chopta, Chenap Vale They call me from afar One tent upon the empty hills Above, a thousand star   Is it a call from the blue Yogi Who there had found his home, Kedarkantha, Madhmaheshwar Where else would you rather roam?   And Mandini’s valley of the gods indeed, Pushtar, Panwali too, Dayara, Deoban, Deoria There is a lot to do   Reminding of the bugyals’ herds, The Farm’s sheep stroll in view, The universe all connected Gives me another clue But there is no despair, not today I see both sun and shade There’s joy as well, in a longing list Hope in the miles to tread   (This wistfulness has tendrils of time - Fruition from future days, Enjoin me here...