Calm begets calm...

When coolness of the marble
Into him seeped
Like a feel of a liquid...
Sitting on the ghat
Of the river
he felt a little warmth
And opening his eyes...
Him he saw...
On the rise...
A round ball...
Neat
Without any distortion
A picture developing in slowest motion...
A round deep orangy pink
On the rise...
And the river...
Flowing by
Eternal...

he watched
Helios
On rise...
Orangy pink His shape
With calmness He draped
The flowing Infinite...

A fisherman's boat arrived...
One old man
On the hull...
Sleepy...
Not looking at anything...
Not knowing the Eternal...perhaps...
his work was his only worship...
Last night when the moon plunged deep
Towards the east...
he took to his friendly river...
he must have then prayed
To the river
For a journey safe...
he must have then
Sprinkled water from her
On his boat...
Before
Embarking
Into the deified flow...

Now on return...
he seemed tired...
Asleep...

his young son
However was awake...
he was holding the stake...

And those cane baskets had their reap...
Their fruit of night long work-worship...

he looked at the sky...
wide...
Another perennial shape...
This dawn she came dressed
In his favourite
White and blue...
White flakes
Of pale pink
On her...
The saree like that perhaps
Caught the mind of the river
Too...
For the river had dressed up...
Following the sky
In same pattern...mosaic of white and blue...
And flakes of course of the pink...
Afloat...

he looked at the temple...
It was being opened...

then he thought more of calm...
'Calmness breeds more calm...
Like love begets love...'
he thought
And he went in...
The shape of human
Put in marble there stood
he knew he could not relate
To God given any shape or form particular...
For he finds Him or Her
Everywhere...
Still he bowed
More to get calm...
The marble floor...
Cool...on that
his forehead
he placed...
And again that liquid coldness
Started to flow...
Now from top to below...

there...
Envisioning the sky...
The river...
his Isabel...
his avowed friend...
the kid's face...
his dad...
his mother
Who had taken another
journey altogether...
he wept...
Not in grief...
Not in any pain...
Only by feeling the deep...
The perennial...
The calm of the morning breeze
Which smelt so much of woodrose...
And hearing at the same time
The most beautiful song
Of a bird...
A bird singing for her love perhaps...
In tune
With the perennial calm...