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Leaves


This is in response to the prompt from this blogpost:

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS June 22/19

This is the first time I am participating and I am not at all sure how it has turned out.But yes, I did type this in as closely as I formulated my thoughts .

“Leaves leave beautiful impressions in my consciousness .They speak of Nature’s infinite variety , of beauty , of life itself, the very source from which everything else emanates. They are magical , trapping the streams of sunlight into their being with immense love for everything else that is in existence on this planet and synthesising the energy that sustains every ecosystem.
They throb with sensitivity, fluttering in the breeze, exulting in the sun , catching the glints and smiling in the reflected glory .The hues of green, each different from the other as are their contours and textures. Each revels in its uniqueness without any sense of competition or conflict , confident of its own worth and its place under the sun.

Each ages gracefully, turns yellow , flutters and falls and waits unhurriedly to become one with the earth. Waits, till it finds its way through the sap that gives life to another form of flora .
And so the cycles go on of renewal and beauty and joy and trust in the laws of a compassionate universe.

 
6 Comments

Posted by on June 23, 2019 in Nature

 

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When I let my mind roam


This is just an experiment. I’m typing out what I wrote down just as the words floated through my head, without pause. As I read it again, I can see that in many places the whole thing is so disjointed and makes no sense at all ( except may be to a psychologist) , but in some places it is quite lucid. The chaotic rush slows down too as I keep writing. May be this only confirms why I’ve always liked writing. It certainly calms me down. Now you folks read it and tell me what you make of it. May be you could try it out yourselves. Just go on writing non-stop, without pausing even for a second to think consciously or to consciously edit what you are thinking. It is kind of fun. May be it is the devil 

“So what have you got little by little not so much how can you its too far for what you should know that’s a damn can you not see of course that’s a bird sitting there on the tree as if I can ask you for this . It’s cold and heavenly honestly is this true what am I writing for whom what can you hear the peacock please.do not edge I cannot hear you there’s a blank that’s dead the bird the fan inside my head incorrigible the canoe stumbling over the deer. From where does he come radicles and plumule biology lesson in school if I close my eyes for half an hour rich and glorious at least for now. There happens to be questions in my head for all in one shell, may be the raindrops is it deep There is icecream in the fridge and fish fry in the kitchen I’m not spelling this for you .You cannot decipher what I write because I’m doing it with closed eyes on a page that is white It’s senseless as all else whisperings from afar that I do not know breathing and throbbing through the water ducks in the water can you catch a fish at least this time for they are gone and will never come back in the playground there is grass and a lot more .training school verandah borrom tree and the bilimbi tree the garden in front of the church .this is stupid as stupid as can be I know the lines are squiggling in front of me . I cannot choose or refuse or be a recluse to the muse often when I’m alone there comes a day when it is afternoon in the nun’s head lots of rain in the drain and lots of pain and a bane and a strain declare that you stare oh my God what is wrong with me that I cannot see who is coming for me in the wilderness amongst the grass the insects grope please succumb to the bruises in my head I’m dead as a door to be found in the ground or a grassy mound looking like a river that shivers in the dark .Of course there’s a rose in the garden of throes.Lots more to see in divinity as if they’re there for you and for me.I cannot budge over the sludge in the head of the man as proud as I can for destiny there is the sea and I cannot be like this tomorrow because you are there in my sorrow as I’m conscious and dead as the bee in my bonnet stupid and proud on the trap of a cloud. Are you there a song or a flair It’s a dead man walking under the sky as far as I can see there is literally no sea only the sounds of a far more cloud who is this that speaks of my bliss eternally as eternal can be on the feet of snow there is a willow and then I will come to destiny’s drum for you I stop by the chime of a clock and I cannot count when the hours mount Lost on gravity’s pull and push There are little pansies beside the green bush.I’m caught in rhyme in the bells that chime .They speak to me of eternity.And when the dark drives me mad and when the rains reek real bad I’ll walk through the forest dense and dark And then I’ll sit on a fallen bark Cute are these words that flow through my pen. The bird and the butterfly and the cock and the hen. I’m not stopping no not at all through the caves and where the waters fall Up and down Like a jumping clown Go where you will And then stay still Who is there behind the door Who is there creeping on the floor I can do this now and again It’s a bit of a rhyme and a bit of a pain. And when the waters flow over the innocent snow The lilies and the dwarfs and oh the little calf coming once more as stories of yore Just a string of words Like a row of birds Flitting and fleeting In the night sky That dances through As the dawn comes by I know I’m mad for this to pass I may as well be dead and buried in the grass There is sanity and there is a madness of a degree .There I can cry to see a singing lark fly over the mountains lost in the mist freedom roams abandoned as sand in the grist.There are people and crowds, talking so loud and pushing them apart is a vegetable cart full of apples and grapes and fruits of all shapes over the horizon dime for a dozen Who is looking for sense in a brain that is dense This is a pedigree of the wasp and the bee That is something I’d read out of Dickinson’s head. She is truly a woman of majestic grace Her thoughts are like magic difficult to trace.I wonder what Freud will say of me That I’m mad as a hatter who laughs ludicrously.But I know that for me there is no other destiny These words are my anchor and the soul’s symphony .I like what I write For I know it’s me and if there are others , they will follow me. These still born verses may not survive .they may be curses that will forever thrive to torment my soul through the ages that come or they may be melodies that I will continue to hum.Whatever my fate this I declare For every word written, there is a pair All I have to do is to go looking for them and stitch them together As a skirt’s ripped hem. Those friends in the forests they may be ghosts or gnomes But they stick to my side wherever I roam I love their free spirit Their ditties and songs And where the song leads I just follow the throng. It’s a bit of a mystery this flowing lullaby Like a young mother calling to a little boy to die so that he can follow wherever she goes .The distance is a lot to where who knows I know I must stop before the plague hits me I know there is lots of bribes and penalty For he who steals will have to pay the price.Stealing I know not what but the measure comes thrice. I can hear my own voice talking to me through the stillness of the air as if magically.There are lots of new sounds rising from the ground There are sweet echoes In the air that surrounds .Its a lttle like bliss When the chaos dies down And the smile then emerges on the faces that frown. I know there are others buried in me For all those phantoms a common destiny.Who knows who cares as long as I can sing What riches what dust what beginnings To each his own But we know we’re all one Little weeds that stretch out towards the glorious sun.

 
11 Comments

Posted by on September 13, 2011 in Reflections

 

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