Clouds in the valley...

  Every time this summer’s sun Shines in skies of blue, How can I not get reminded of The days I spent with you   Hot and arid, dusty days Summer in your trail, Furnace winds to blaze the gills, Only cirrus in the sail   Yet, a dulcet voice that complained not After the winter’s cold Sang stories though, a lot of them Were quietly left untold   The ones that sung, wove tapestries In bricks of brooding red As years pass by, some colours fail To ever die or fade   They sparkle-shine, when memories Slice a light on them, Or come to life, all at once In a nascent summer’s flame   September’s sun, so far away Reminds of March’s love It stays intact, I sighing smile The sun still shines above… ___________________________________________ As spring begins after a chilling winter, the warm and balmy days – evident of a hot summer ahead - remind of days spent loitering in the heat and dust of Lucknow, both i...

Poem in every petal But I, illiterate one Stare blindly - Under August’s Sakura sun ‘Am I even worthy?’ I wonder Staring at the pink, In your jewelled parchments I see only squiggles of ink   ‘And what makes one worthy?’ Asks a petal passing by, ‘That you could read the world Though you never made a try, Or that, impoverished one You were willing to die That you could love us all Through the teardrops in your eye?’   ‘Ephemeral that we are, Bookbinder, writer, all - One breeze of winter’s last And every floret stands to fall What summer’s tree remembers then A’int scribes of spring and frost But those who crafted garlands Even with petals that were lost…’   18 th August’23 _________________________ Dedicated to the transience of cherry blossoms in the advent of spring Images: Author's archives          

  Food was to be the biggest bane of our 4-month stay in Europe. And that was obvious - with low budgets, mostly vegetarian folks, evidently life was to be tough. But then, as they say, tough times build characters. And with them, stories for a lifetime. I still remember our first meal at school – the cafeteria at ESCP was bustling, but the food there was as insipid as the café was large. I wandered a fair bit and at the end settled for noodles, while my friends got hold of a sadder meal of bread and fruits. When we sat around at the table, a million thoughts must have been passing through our helpless minds. Raw, uncooked food back at out mess must have tasted better than this heap of bourgeois-baked balderdash. I was reminded of the Twilight movie line where a vampire says, a meal without blood is equivalent to humans feeding on candies and toffees. Or in Paris, Indians feeding on bland noodles and desiccated bread. But we tried to be innovative – we found salt and pepper...

  A trickle, it was, of a waterfall, For monsoon - this land has none And yet I stand beneath her flow On a cloudy day, bereft of sun   Why is it you come? She asks Ye vagrant from a different land What is it that you truly seek? I wondered - would she understand?   ‘You remind me of some older times, Of the wistful land of clouds and rain, I come here then, to eucalyptus blue To shed a drop or two of pain.’   The water flowed, at Fairy Falls, Silence else in Dante’s Glen, Did I hear her sigh, she spoke anew Strange is your love, ye pensive men   To scale these hills, to seek your past When the past is seven seas afar, But not for once, for a newfound love That can heal and mend your timeless scar   Stay in your chagrin, tears in eye, Walk as your hearts, in saudade burn But come back once, come back twice One day, you’ll find a newfound sun     Come that day, with a purer love Come to ...

  I feel emptiness - That pilgrim Who comes To the end of his journey And finds neither shrine nor temple   No, I feel not blessed I stand atop An invisible hanging cliff That gives me not what I want Neither lets me jump to my death They will say The path- is it not enough? No, it is not For every sweat and blood I shed I was waiting for my church   My redemption came Not on the path I trod Now my leaden wings Do not help me fly, Overcome, this emptiness deep within    T hen, when I let go of my wings And walk back empty handed The light appears On that journey back home   On my own footsteps Laced in tears and sweat The altar of God Shines like a thousand stars In that hanging emptiness…   10 th August 2023

  8 weeks of winter later, My cosmos blooms have withered away; Colours of courage left no more, On a cloudy, solemn Saturday   I stare at those weathered buds, Couldn’t you stay, for some more time? Cold winds still front the hills, Though winter is now past her prime   Our wishes never stop, do they? When all trees were emptied of their light, A tiny shrub held galaxies, Their stars in pink, shining bright   Yet, my fallible heart wishes more As if for eternity they would stay They answer not, the cosmos plant Its empty stalks, they silent sway   I move on up the boulevard My answers lie a bit afar For magnolias, cherry have thronged the trees In empty nights, a newfound star   Some hearts, they seem to know it all: As if, they can see the cosmos in their sky And before we know, they have healed our scars And left as well, with neither smile or sigh… __________________________________ 5 th August,...

  Our biggest miss in Europe was Scandinavia. Perhaps each of the countries deserves a month by itself, but we were happy to cover whatever we could over a weekend. Denmark and Sweden were top on this list, Norway was farther away requiring more time, while we didn’t care much of Finland’s happiness given our euphoria was already ensconced in our little hostel rooms in Cite Universitaire, wrapped in an unlimited Eurail Pass, humble dinners of dal and rice, and late-night bickerings that only strengthened our friendship. I have always wanted to pay my literary homage to Hans Anderson by making the pilgrimage to the Mermaid statue in Copenhagen, while there is something in the name Stockholm that has attracted me since childhood. Alas, these boxes remained un-ticked. Our plan to conquer Scandinavia evolved towards the latter stage of our stay, by which time Monsieur Boku was already travel-fatigued, and Daddu was afflicted with the Mahajan syndrome (he had to study for some exam ce...