The way of love

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

02/23/2025

The way of love

A slim line of light swaying slowly as the drapes sway; 

On my palm, an outline of a feeble rainbow and a shiny

 Line of light, the day’s morning souvenir, I sank into the muse.

As the sneakers shove into the bed of dry leaves, I catch an orb

Before it falls on the sneakers, it escapes through the fingers, and

Fell on the leaves, washing and filling my thoughts and musings.

As the day bloomed, I saw smiling faces, flowers, birds, trees, the water

In my bottle, vehicles, buildings, books on my table, and the labor

Of a day softly, carefully, wholly enveloped in that omnipresent light.

As the night crept, the gift of love to the moon, the slim line of light sways

On my palm, soft feathery light through the drapes, the way

Of love, a touch of light till you go slowly into that sleep and dreams.

 

 

 

Visit ‘What’s Going On?’ for more.

Remembering

 

 

 

 

Every travel is a grounding ritual to shed and regrow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remembering is the huge rain tree at our school,

its numerous leaves of people and events, a whirlpool 

to fathom; yet it is heaven to sit under its shade, so cool,

and is homecoming. That the love still exists, you know;

after every storm, rain, drought and winter, you know

you are that love and memory walking, doing, resting

and sleeping, day and night. The tree in our school,

 don’t know if it is still there or not, but it is here like a flow,

a flow  in your existence, everything that was, mellowing,

every person there was, is, the shade, the home—you.

Like the Beatles, my song flows, I love you more!

Nothing to give, nothing to take, let December jingle joy

to usher in a January that is no more a separation, war,

pollution, greed and ego, but a huge rain tree of joy

and homecoming.

 written for :- What's Going On?

Memories

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Memories

The smell of tender cashew, green and juicy,

pulls me to her, my Ammumma, granny,

she will be taking out tender cashews for the curry;

 now one will go to her curry cuttings, and one in my mouth.

It’s tender, slightly punchy with its aroma, and juicy

just like the memories of an era gone by.

Wandering around the red Amaranths, lingering near the cow shed

 and wondering about the hens’ swiftness and stunned stillness,

burying coins in the wet sand where the dish-wares were washed

 hoping it will sprout as a magical coin tree,

 then running back to a house full of loving  people,

 the stories that were waiting to be told at lunch and dinner times,

 of course, with a stick to discipline a child who won’t have food otherwise.

 The vividness of Grandpa’s adventure stories mingled with the aroma of milk, cashew and jack-fruit---

 memories are savories for the soul.

 Hold onto memories, the sweet and sour mixture for the very roots to nourish all that is coming.

 

 

written for :- 

https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/2024/11/memory.html 

The Camel Ride

Your sand engulfs my feet into the warmth of earth; I am climbing up your camel; rhythmic, slow and steep up and down,  I am scared of your camel ride. I am cautious as if I am  holding the emotions, to fall/spill is giving up; when all are on a fast Jeep ride, I wonder who will hold me close? I hold tight while watching the burning sun;  living the moments, humming an old melody, and the sun is beautiful. Oh Desert! I am learning your warmth, mirage, and the endless perspective, I am learning to hold tight. Your echoing songs and kalbelia, I am learning the rhythms. I hold my oasis within. Oh Desert, your camel ride, I am learning.

Weight(lessness)

 As the sun slowly gets to the other part of the world, leaving us in the dark, some very tiny, little creatures come alive and they fly in search of light. This is so paradoxical, to wait for the night and then to search for the light, or is it metaphorical? 

Maybe it is always this that is happening, we search for things that are missing. We search and search and find alternatives.  

         At night these beautiful, designed creatures come inside; they say that it brings bad news and bad luck while some believe they are angels from heaven with good messages. But for me they are nature’s wonders. Good or evil, they bring the intricate crafting sense of an unknown creator---an artist. 

I sit here, silence 

like shimmering flame of truth 

the moth searching light 

I took photos of these insects, watching them every night to remember these alien days when I was searching for the meaning in all the changes around the world, the arrogance and ingratitude. 

 

delicate wings 

carrying off the weight(lessness)

light, a distant mark

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September, slowly fading...

 

Here in the outskirts of a desert, the rain slowly dripped to its last drops. The puddles lingered a little longer in the clay soil as if the earth wanted that moist touch and was reluctant to let go of the monsoon. The peacocks called in the morning, in chorus, to say adieu to the rain for a while. Sun is back with a bright face, making the flowing Narmada its mirror, I wonder what it will be reflecting upon? I walked on the uneven footpath; the roads were getting busy with vehicles. 

A cuckoo called 

Melodiously, alone in the branch 

A school bus went by 

Vist dVerse Poets Pub for more poems on September!

 

Beliefs, choices and freedom

 Beliefs, choices and freedom

I kept my beliefs on the side table to listen, 

 it is much easier to listen with nothing on your mindscape. 

There were people in the room, plenty, 

walking, talking and judging; my beliefs were used  

after every drink and snack; tissue papers, they destroy trees 

and end up in dustbins.  

Did my freedom ever pollute the other person’s?  

There is always an avalanche of words, comments and verdicts 

under which mine and yours die of suffocation and hypothermia. 

I thought of planting new trees, fresh, after considering the climate; 

I won’t allow them to be cut for tissue papers nor would I ever touch the other trees, 

let them find their own nutrients and heights. 

So, I have made some choices, was it deliberate? 

I still don’t know; I was made with much of what was there  

and I stitched them all with threads I had with me. 

They say, every coin has two sides and  

that every vegetable has its own poison, don’t overeat anything. 

Believes, choices and freedom, they come with double sides to be explored. 

This needlework to unstitch the make is tedious and yet so exciting 

as ‘new’ always give wings to the imagination; 

Is there any scope for new skies? 

written for

Friday Writings #34: Unsavory Topics