The creatures of the hills took pity on her,
Nursed her fragile being back to health
Floral vines covered her naked skeleton
Thus, she bloomed in spring,
Turned green in summer, bare-brown in winter
The moon took pity on her –
Lent its milky white for her oblong face,
The solitary rose bush lent her the crimson lips
She refused to gaze upon the world
Covered her face in a shroud of grey cloud,
That stopped just above her vermilion,
Went up over her head,
Floated all the way to the ground.
She roamed the tiny world,
She stood at the valley’s bottom, dwarfed by immense hills;
Her haunts stifling her.
She began to ascend, the steep reed like hills
Risking life and limb,
All time was lost, as she scaled the slippery slopes –
Many moons waxed and
Many moons waned
Many seasons grew and
Many seasons withered.
She clambered the hills inexorably,
The affliction of her guilt,
Impelled her to climb higher and higher,
Till every strand of flesh withered away.
On a warm, sunny day, many years away
Under endless azure skies
Do you know people, who are miserable without cause? It is probably because they have unfeeling hearts and shackled minds.
Swirling flakes fall from above,
Dancing around stoic street lamps – giggling, teasing
As they fall, carpeting the earth.
Cotton tufts swell from below,
Gets caught in the headlight,
Makes a beeline to the windshield – melts away.
Dancing swirls multiply,
Fills the air, obscuring vision.
Moving pods slow down, blinks intermittently;
Howling winds gather the dancing dots
Slaps it unevenly on all creation,
Blanketing everything in white.
Welcome home, weary traveler
Lay down the heavy trappings,
Wash off the weariness
Ensconce in the warmth of your abode,
Stumbling over my loneliness
When all of you lit,
Countless candles for me
The wax has melted,
The light has faded,
Yet, the dying gleam
And the smoky fragrance lingers on,
Said shallow to deep,
‘How can you be generous when you have so little?’
Said deep to shallow,
‘I have enough. I am quite content.’
‘How can you be carefree when life is terrifying in its uncertainties?’
‘I go with the ebb and flow. I learn from experience.’
‘How can you be a smiling fool, when crushed by adversity?’
Replied deep to shallow,
‘You can live to be a thousand
Yet never experience anything the way I feel.
‘When I breathe, I feel the air
You don’t even realize that you breathe
‘You can never feel the wind’s caress or the sun’s warmth
The motorcycle growls, roars
Road unfurls endlessly
Green grass blur seamlessly
Blue umbrella skies, cloud tufts, pale moon awaits
Through the tree canopies of late spring
Knuckle to knuckle she stands
Fists pressed against each other,
Elbows digging into her sides –
A bundle of nerves, as she twists around her waist.
She shrugs her shoulders, wrings her arms
Trying to lose the butterflies,
She stares intently, at that which only she can see.
She inhales deeply as it dawns on her,
That all the time she toiled away
Has condensed into this solitary moment;
As the spotlight shines, she must be sublime.
Time ticks mathematically. But, do we experience time with such rigidity? Here is a short poem about the difference between the clock and how we experience time.