As Night Falls

Vanishing sun, trailing saffron light,

Silhouette of hill fades into night,

Birds in droves towards their nests

Fly, slumberous day slowly rests.

Quietly night tiptoes on earth,

Crickets sing, in woe or mirth?

Their song hears a wanderer lone

 Afar, treading paths unknown.

Unseen roads which way they lead?

Cricket’s song, pray, you heed,

In darkness deep as you roam

Hope you find your way home.

So Far Away

I will let my thought wander

And find its way back to you

To your childlike smile, your laughter

To all the little things you do.

To your eyes as they steal a glance

Looking coyly at my face

Sparkling, as if a dance

With me in your embrace.

To the touch of your hand

When we amble through the streets

Leaving footprints on the sand

Watching time, how it fleets!

I will let my thoughts wander to the place where you are

and there let it stay, bridge the distance that seems so far.

Cradle Me to Sleep

Ma, in your lap let me lie

To ease my pain running deep,

Let me laugh, let me cry

then slowly cradle me to sleep.

Let me close my eyes and dream

Of angels and fairies too,

 hallowed faces I’ll look and beam

Ma, they’re an image of you.

Through night, dawn and noon

I’ll rest my head and lie

Don’t wake me up so soon

Let me live, let me die. 

Firefly - A Story

“Look mother a firefly!” the boy croaked excitedly, pointing his tiny finger towards a hint of flickering light against the darkness of the alley lying ahead of them. She strained her eyes and noticed a faint glow; it reminded her of a spark coming out of her earthen stove when she blew hard to ignite a fire. And almost effortlessly her mind found its way back to the memories of last winter; when there were woods to light up a fire; when there was rice to cook a meal. She never saw it coming, this poverty that slowly consumed her household. So quietly the haughty clouds tiptoed above their village, ignoring their fields and seeds sown diligently in anticipation of monsoon, that she did not have time to react. But her husband did; finished the entire bottle of pesticide in one gulp, leaving the bitterness in her mouth for months to come. How hard had she drudged to ensure a morsel of bread for her boy! She shivered suddenly, and wondered if the chill was due to the painful memory or due to the cold gusts of wind blowing against her face. She was pulled out of her reverie by her boy, tugging at her skirt, still excitedly following the zigzag path of the firefly with his eyes. She looked down at her son and smiled. She looked in the direction his little finger pointed and saw an iridescent firefly. 

Banyan Tree

When I looked out of the window of my shabby quarter my mood changed. The shadow of loneliness that had been trailing me in every alley of the building seemed to have lost its way around some corner. And without its company, I belonged to the world again. It was then that I first noticed the towering banyan tree in the lawn. Its sturdy trunk, exuding its experience and wisdom. How old it must be... how many stories must have unfolded before it? Does it, in solitude, ever reminisce some of them? It must be, I thought; with its roots dropping down from the branches, searching for something lost. Just like my grandmother’s hand, fumbling the ground for her fallen glasses. Just like me, searching my way back..

Song of a Vagabond

I walk aimlessly on earthy lanes

away from humdrum joys, pains

on carpets made by twigs and ferns,

Thrilled by quiet serendipitous turns.

Sometimes I wait and sit reclined

Against the bark of sturdy pine

To paint a picture in my mind

When I’m gone to let me remind –

In one paradise I cannot stay

When countless heavens around me lay,

Waiting yonder miles beyond,

For footsteps of a vagabond. 

Letters to Dad

Dear Dad,

I was an obstinate child. Like a tree that refuses to bow down before gusts of wind much stronger than itself. But quite unlike that proud tree, I never faced my comeuppance. Few twigs broke sometimes. But the wind was never able to completely break me. You have been the mountain that firmly stands between the wind and your proud yet fragile daughter.

I remember in school when I had to write my home work and there was no blank sheet left in my notebook. How I was worried that I would not be able to complete my assignment. Or was I worried I would fail to impress my favourite English teacher? The first would be sad but the latter would be a tragedy. After all, wasn’t I her favourite student as well! And so I was worried; to lose the imaginary title, perhaps. That changed when you came home from work in the evening. I narrated to you the tragedy that had befallen. You heard it patiently. As a solution you searched an old notebook with a couple of used sheets. You diligently removed any trace of ownership from it. This should work, you must have thought. But as I mentioned (and you must know it too) I was an obstinate child. I wanted a new notebook. I failed to discern the fatigue that marred your calm face then. That was tragedy.

The mountain cannot bend down. It might not even be aware of such an alternative. And even if it is aware, I still think it might not give up its responsibility. It will keep on taking the blows of the egotist wind but will never bow down to let it destroy the valley, the proud tree.

Yours sincerely.

The Great Conjuror

Words are great conjurors. The right words. They play tricks with my mind all the time. When I don’t think about them they flood my thoughts. Sometimes in the form of a song, a verse or prosaic prose. Yet, like the receding waters they quickly escape my memory before I could make a note. And when I try to contemplate, like the golden deer in the Ramayan decoying Lord Rama, they decoy me. In both the instances, the sheets of my diary remain virgin. And I like a hopeless lover trying to pacify his love, serenade to them just so they would come to me again. These right, conjuring words.

And I am faced with this predicament often. One evening I saw two little black birds mimicking each other’s flight. It seemed to me one was the shadow of the other. Alas, who was real and who was the reflection I could not fathom. In that rhythmic fashion they flew, slowly out of sight. And I wondered how much love there was between them that made them foresee each other’s movements. Inspired thus by this show of oneness, I will write a song to reminisce it, I said to myself. I pulled out my diary and held my pen, softly tapping it against my temple. Hours I sat; like a mountain waiting to touch the cloud. But it was summer. And soon it dawned on me that I was tricked in vain again.  

Sing for me

Sing a song for me

sing the first time we meet

two strangers down the street,

sing like it’s the last song

to say goodbye, so long.

Close your eyes when you sing

Pretend that I am gone

And you alone, forlorn,

Next time when beside you I stand

holding tight your hand. 

One Night..

Is it the darkness of the night,

or your cascading hair that dims my sight?

Melody of the breeze passing by,

Or is it you calling me with a sigh?

Is it the stars that twinkle awhile,

Or parting your lips when you smile?

Is it the moon afloat in clouds’ grail,

Or gazed you coyly lifting your veil?

It happened one night for a moment divine,

All were you, and you mine.

In contemplation

Sometimes, I have vainly tried to understand my own self -

What makes me laugh; what brings tear to my eyes? What do I cherish; what from my memory dies? What am I scared of; what gives me the strength to challenge fear itself? What I spend hours to find; why certain things do not even cross my mind?

I vainly tried to understand these and many more..

Sometimes, I have searched for right words to say -

Should I ask forgiveness for my faults; should I erase it all from my thoughts? Should I let you know it hurts to say goodbye; should I let you read them all in my eyes? Should I tell you what I think of you; should I wait in hope that you’ll feel it too?

I searched for right words at times like these and more..

Sometimes I took a step ahead; sometimes I turned my back.

Sometimes I thought I knew too much; sometimes I mused on what I lack.

Sometimes I searched the unknown; sometimes I took solace in humdrum.

Sometimes I did not know what to do; and then I unravelled puzzles some.

Sometimes I won; sometimes I failed,

Sometimes I sunk; sometimes I sailed,

Sometimes I left the world behind,

In search of myself, whom I seek to find.

Thoughts

No word you heard,

Silence fills

My eyes.

Tears drop I stop,

what is that stills

my sighs?

My heart a dart

Has wounded

As you go,

A scar to mar

And I bled

Hoping though.

A hope to grope

Day will come

when you,

caress my face

and joy some

will be new.

Prayers of a lone heart

I wish thou could hear me, O god,

Miles in search of thee have I trod,

Calling, an echo so pale I hear

Of my own voice, an’ a lingering fear.

A fear that in this world alone

I am, thou art, alas, but stone,

Who heareth not the prayers of mine

within the walls of thy solemn shrine.

Hear me lord, hear I beseech,

In thy arms embrace me, reach,

Fill this heart with hope so pure

bless me strength divine to endure.

If unheard still, at thy doorsteps I shall be,

No cause of mine, just for love of thee.

Adieu till we meet again

The time is here an’ I think, O why

Must part our ways, you and I?

An’ what words in goodbye shall we say

To mark the memory of this day?

To mark all days of joy and fun,

An’ sad too, we faced as one,

One more time let’s join and pray,

to mark the glory of this day.

Let’s pray, that though our ways part,

Your memory never leaves my heart,

We meet again in new days to unfold

and laugh together like the days of old.