Clouds in the valley...

  In winter’s unforgiving chill, I stared at The last tree on the avenue – The only one That still had leaves; Brandished in fiery red: Auburn, burgundy, coral, As if, the leaves, Paled in winter’s cold Will give way any minute To bereavement in emptiness Just like all the many others   And yet, They have held still, frozen in time For all these weeks, Deluding winter, Holding a sigil of resistance They will not fall (Like a real-life canvas Of Porter’s tale from long time ago) Offering hues of hope, Shades of strength That there can be colours Despite the Arctic breeze   The leaves, perhaps dead But unfallen - Melt the icy frost within, Reminding of those few Who stand with gumption When all else fails - They who are not expected To fight Sometimes turn soldiers Sentinels, stewards, Of an unworthy world   For they fight Despite knowing That when spring comes The avenue will green again...

  On his deathbed, Madan pined alone – The fever rans brooks over his body While he waited ruefully For the curtains to close. Not alone, exactly The village urchins laughed outside, Throwing stones at his windows Rejoicing the end of greed   Madan admitted even in his delirium He was a selfish man, Who cared for no human soul but gold And greed that bought him everything Even now, he could buy sanjeevani With his stacks of gold But he was no Rama, Why would Anjaneya be anywhere close?   And so Madan sobbed pearls wistfully Darkness enclosing him except… Except… For that circle of light Increasing, increasing, now irradiating Every inch of whatever It was that he could see – Gold even now - but covering the pale-blue One   Is it time, O lord? I have nothing to justify All the deeds of my life I wilfully accept all that you have for me And Madan gave in, no protests Salvation was not for his kind He wou...

  I stare out of my window pane - It is the dark dismal of night But faraway, Are shimmering mofussil lights Sparkling like a constellation As if the stars themselves Have come down to sprinkle gold On the tarp of evening ink   Why do they melt a bit of warmth In me though, I wonder? Perhaps because as I swirl On my own lonely trail In an empty Milky Way They sing a stellar choir Kindred stars that have come together Pulsing, throbbing Lending that comrade glow That the horizon gleams In an orchestra of lights   Sometimes my heart wishes I too could join That spectrum of light Where my fallen starlight Resurrects from the laughter peals Of that galaxy over there; I smile, but deep inside – I know the better truth   That there is no galaxy Nor any constellation Just the mirage of these eyes That see what they want to see   We are all but scattered stars Some lost, far away from home Others tr...

  (Komorebi - Japanese word for sunlight, which is filtered through the leaves of the trees)   If you ever feel disheartened Or remorseful From the breakers In the highway of Life, Come walk with me – I will perhaps persuade you To discard your asphalt dreams And walk instead On bare earth - Soft, grassy, velvety, Cooled with The melancholy dewdrops of night Where you will rediscover a newfound breath And we will walk silently Under the graceful whisper of the leaves Where time slows, Where Dreams care to wait And life heals   There, I will show you - Despite the heady sunlight of noon The refreshing shadows Under the pines, And their fragrance of restoration - You will begin to notice The dappled shadows And their joyful play in the wind – None of them pure But all greyed with The intrusion of light - Ah! Penumbral joy Komorebi Will you understand The harshness of a direct sunlight Melts us all? Fo...

Shankar still had not found His share of peace; He had heard Immense penance led to Mahadev His namesake god - Now his only purpose   One day, in a spark of divinity Shankar realised this purpose Ordained decades back; Why else would He be named thus If not to set him on this pilgrimage?   Shankar started with the mystics At the Jyotirlinga neath the hills, But they had already seen Him He shared no purpose - And went higher up To the Dham of the Blue-necked one   Alas, it was for religious zealots Who were happy With his version in stones of black; The pilgrim turned to trek Even higher on the hills Until he came to green meadows   For days, Shankar meditated All alone in the Bugyals With tahrs for company Then he realised Neelkantha chose not abundance But the austerity of emptiness   And Shankar climbed even higher To desiccated lands of yellowed grey Devoid of life Only a steep, ...

  We are all trapped in No Man’s Land. Some of us Are trapped in space – We have moved to a different land That can never become home Without family, friends And the familiar faces that gave sanctuary To the space we called home. We are trapped in No Man’s Land In the delusion Of finding yesterday’s redemption, In tomorrow’s refuge   The rest are trapped as well In No Man’s Land, of time – Unable to move out Of yesterday’s pain, Or bluff of bliss Or the falsified intoxication Of whatever anchor there is to the past Unable to move in To the changes of tomorrow’s tests; And in that tug-of-war Stretched thin between two worlds Yet, non-existent in both   We are all trapped in No Man’s Land. Perhaps we have moved so much We have forgotten Where we came from Perhaps we seek so much We fail to focus Where it is We need to get to We fight but fail to blur what really matters – Borders, boundaries, bridges that...

I look out of my window pane The plane ascends, melancholy, Far below, a string of gems -  Strewn in a bed of beryl sea Isles of emerald scattered here,  Malachite woodlands growing there,  Agate coastlines, Jasper corals And drops of jade strewn everywhere In between, molten turquoise flows Or perhaps, topaz, turquoise, and spinels And endless waves of zircon stones,  The bejewelled waters shine, sparkles Slivers of gold to hold these gems, A cay of jasper, a coast of quartz, Or rings of amber, apatite That hold in them, the island hearts Countless jewels strewn below, Alas, I could collect but a handful few But they - a priceless treasure trove Encrusted yellow, green and blue You cannot gather them all, can you? The jewels seem to whisper back, Endless pilgrimages, then perhaps You can pride yourself on your jewel stack The dazzling ones are rarer still You have to mine for days on end,  Until one day, you be a part of us When gem and jeweller both will blend...

  Beyond blinding white of sand, And overwhelming blue of seas, You may spot it sitting quietly Musing in the breeze   Its plumes contest the brilliant teal The turquoise of the Bay, Its feathers have that brightly glow That steal the show of day   Yet it stays quiet on its own, Nothing to show or win, Let white the eagles steal the show Let the pigeons be crowned queen   You know too, you could be king But you care not if you fail You choose to be like most of us, And sing a commoner’s tale   But it cannot care of mortal whims It has flown alone this far, That it can merge with sea and sand And turn a distant star   In silence, it has gone beyond The trials of the eye One moment, it sees you by the sea The next – it’s said goodbye… Of all the birds I spotted in the islands, the collared kingfisher was my pick. There was something in its forlorn, uncaring stare that won me over – more than the acrobatics of the majestic and huge white-bellied sea eagle , mo...

  There was a time When sunsets made us sad, All the brightness of the world Being traded for darkness Inescapable, unredeemable Choiceless was the path of life   Without wisdom of the battle scars We would not realise The calming succour That was the dark of Night, As the soul was made to stare And ask questions to the starry gods   Now, can there be anything calmer Than the dying skies of dusk? Peace descends as the fatigued sun Withers in the cool Of a calming sea Heralding, the day’s fight is over   Our toes dig deeper In the last warmth hid in talcum sands No longer like a blazing sun We have become stars One of many, countless Lost in the scatter of the Milky Way     Our pointillist canvas exists as a whole While we are happy To be pointless stars At peace, listening To the serenade of the galaxies Rumbling in the waves   (Once in a while, the seas glow In bioluminescence, ...

  Her surname gave her away; I asked, If not an islander, Where was she from? She smiled, Her father was from the highlands, Mum from the eastern plains But it was here,   in the islands That they had found Home.   Her dad, she said, was in the police forces He had to see terror To want to find peace One posting here, and life never returned To the noises of youth ‘And you? Don’t you seek that noise of the city?’ She was happy, incorruptible Her wisdom sought not experience   Rather, she sought her home: The shadow of the palm trees, The white sands of coral breath The endless shades of blue And a little collared kingfisher That came every other day To remind, this was paradise Even with wings, one need not fly away   ‘But are you’ll not scared? Giant waves, the tsunami?’ She smiled yet again ‘We survived one, may be We will survive oner more.’ Until then, a little kingfisher Flits on wizened sand...

  The chieftain’s son, Maheshwar Was extolling his own greatness – What a boar he had shot, What a tale had he writ, What a meat had he cooked Endless were the tales of his greatness   Himmat Singh looked, Wonder in those empty eyes – Poverty in whose lives Gave meaning to the richness Of the chieftain and his kin   And the grandeur continued, Maheswar went on and on, Transfixed in that amazement In those eyes, of wistfulness For wealth, fame and name   ‘And you, Himmat? Don’t you have anything to share? Is there nothing that you consider Great or grand or wild Or even remotely close?’   Himmat replied, with only simplicity In the poverty of his words, ‘I tend to this garden, huzoor, I tend this and pray for it with all my heart And the day passes by.’   Maheshwar got up slowly, This was a wasted monologue With a friend from long ago ‘This garden, that bears Neither flowers nor fruits ...