Flowing down the dusky
Cheeks of the clouds
The skies can no longer feign
That all is hunky dory
With the planet and its crowd
Pitter-patter in the ears..
Nose to the wind….
Settled in a yawning void.
At the bustling mind
As it diligently toyed
With holding on firmly
Or letting go for once
To live in the moment
It isn’t easy , clearly
Dead habit shuns
Any new intent.
P.S : The first three lines have been borrowed from the status update of a Facebook friend , Jaya Nair Palikkat
In my dreams, I wander off
To gardens of a thousand senses
And I melt away into the air
Of subtle sounds and fragrances.
And then I am in the bending branches
And then I am in the gentle drizzle
I know myself as the misty shadows
And as the joy of the leaping gazelle.
The darkness wraps me in nestling warmth
The stars begin a lullaby
I rock myself in small white blooms
I sleep, I soar towards the sky.
Two years ago, while browsing through the newspaper , I came across this story of tow turtles who had decided to part ways after a relationship that had spanned over a century and I’d shared my take on the news item with this poem on Facebook. Hope it makes you smile :-)
Yeah, right …..we won’t part till death
I’d told him decades ago
But now I can’t stand his bad breath
And he’s become so very slow.
He wakes up to wish me
And goes back to sleep again
Has become such a pain.
What was it that the bard said
About familiarity and all that stuff
I never would’ve believed I’d get there
But now , enough is enough.
Oh..I’ll be around for sure
I just need some personal space
And really..it’s not as if he’ll miss me
I wonder if he can even see my face.
I know it’s getting wrinkled
But I’d still like him to see
When my tired eyes light up
But the old man ,
He just doesn’t care
For the blush I’ve applied
On my cheeks,still fair.
May be a little distance
Will serve him just right
My barks no longer stirs him
Niether does my bite.
My mind is now still
Like water where the ripples
Have ceased to tempt and tease
I can peer into it till
The planktons and the pebbles
Appear suspended in a pool of peace.
The moonbeams that filter
Down through the calm
Light up the sand and the stones
The cockle shells glitter
There is no alarm
Amongst the anemones.
Blessed are those that have wings
For flights of imaginations
That take them soaring to the skies
Beyond the gravity of the mundane
Blessed is he whose heart sings
Of distant destinations
Even as dreary routine ties
His days up with a heavy chain.
New frontiers beckon beyond the cape
There’s a depth of calm beneath the gale
Clear skies surround this dreamy scape
When minds see beyond the lifted veil.
And there in that wholesomeness
There is no You and no I
I listen to you and hear me speak
I spread my wings and see you fly.
“When does the butterfly in flight read what’s written on its wings?”
When do the blushing blooms stop smiling to reflect?
When does the gushing stream pause to listen to it’s tunes?
When do the raindrops falling retreat to frown and fret?
When does the sprouting seedling ponder about it’s fate?
When do the falling leaves whisper in regret?
When do the waves ever rising and falling
Stall their ceaseless motions to sleep or to rest?
With apologies to Pablo Neruda for stealing the first line from his poem.