Confluence
Five
prayags swirl
In
the heart of my Garhwal hills,
Where
meltwater drips from dizzying heights
Come
down, to the hillside valleys
Far
from the dreams of the snowline whites
Akin
to Ganga Herself,
Descending
from the heavens
Onto
the matted locks of the Neelkantha
Then
to these mortal lands and days
To
cleanse us all of our worldly ways
Panch
Prayag, they say
Swirling
colours of blue and green
Join
Alakananda’s quest from Satopanth
To
form the sapphired line
That
runs through the breadth of our lands divine
Each
confluence a pilgrimage
That
reminds us of our mortal selves
Even
as we brace immortality
Through
the timelessness of Ganga’s grace
And
the eternity of the hills’ embrace
It
is in the fifth junction, Devprayag
That
Alakanada meets Bhagirathi
And
the Ganga is born, but does it matter, even at all?
Follow
any tributary to the heaven’s lakes
And
we redeem ourselves in the mountains’ call
But
alas, these are confluences alone
Where
mature river meets juvenile stream,
Where
turquoise meets the teal in bliss
Where
frothy water soaks the Himvat lands,
And
hills bow down to the valleys kiss
But
first, we need the Prayag
Of
the distant man and his homeland river
Where
he can dip his toes and drink deluge
Of
the unlived times in these hallowed lands
Of
the unseen lands that time disbands
Where,
if he feels even a single drop,
He
breathes the universe in his heart,
He
drinks the rivers, valleys and fords
The
Prayags five, Badris seven
And
each of Kedar’s five abodes
It
becomes a confluence then
No
longer with Dhauli, or the Pindar stream
But
of Man and his God, the worlds between
The
faraway hills of a yearning heart,
That
comes and fades, as if in a distant dream...
18th
Feb’ 2025
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