Clouds in the valley...

I had woken up late to a cloudy Sunday, and given the last pangs of wintry cold that had gripped Sydney, I was wondering if a drive up the Blue Mountains – colder still – would be worth the effort. Nonetheless, we packed into our car and made a move up the Western Motorway, the Blue Mountains looking hazy in a sleepy Sunday stupor in the horizon. I guess, once you make a move on a journey, sun or cloud doesn’t matter – the excitement of a journey helps a lot in outweighing the moodiness of mind and mother nature. I have been a lifelong Orophile – a lover of mountains – and have had the privilege of traipsing across many towns, primarily in the Himalaya, but also in the Alps and the Southern Alps. Travelling today, gazing at the Blue Mountains reminded me of those experiences, seeing the mountains arise in the horizon, be it NH1 from Delhi to Shimla or the Hill Cart Road leading to Darjeeling. The Blue Mountains are not that expansive, yet contain a universe of wonders within, earning...

  There, alone, all by itself Silently in the Garden it stands Elder Tree of antiquity, In even more antiquated lands   How proud you must feel For all to come from far and see - The living fossil that has cheated time Here stands a dinosaur tree   But is that all there is, I wonder Pride, fame, vainglory? What of loneliness, that of life, What of death, that couldn’t be?   The Wollemi seems to smile, While the wind sings through her hair A leaf swirls onto me – In it, her soul’s laid bare   When you have lived for this long age, Your life belongs to the stars, You find your peace in the cosmos’ void Within, there are no more wars   Just peace in every passing wind That no longer has a way You smile at every day that comes – Sun or cloudy day It matters not how far you came How much is left to roam, (Though once awhile you do look back At the mountains that were Home)   I look upon the...

  I saw Spring arrive today In the hearts of mountains deep, Where one by one the rhododendrons Wake up from their sleep   Pink and red, carmine and white The blossoms hue these hills Yes, spring arrives in a million shades While the courting magpie trills   In Blackheath’s shade, for five decades These blooms have sprung anew Outlanders from cold faraways That with the natives grew   Wherefrom they come I do not know But they remind me of my home In the eastern hills of alabaster snow Where often I would roam   The Singba, Varsey sanctuaries As if magicked here this far My eyes well up in this galaxy As I see a familiar star   In the warmth of spring, my heart is healed What more can I ask of You Where trails the mighty ‘bode of snow Starts the mountains Blue   The rhodos, azaleas nod in peace - Some chapters do not end, In between, the waratahs smile In a newfound beauty's blend… ...

  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 ...