There's something in those lanterns*

There's something in those lanterns

There's something in those lanterns
Which they took in their hands
And went into the garden
To catch fireflies and glowworms
With them went their lustre
Glowing faces of their primordial beauty,
And when they there stood with lanterns
They looked like angels without wings
Making a descent on the sweet earth
To bless all with songs of Love and guileless Innocence,

There's something in those lanterns
Which they took in their hands
And walked slowly as if floating things
Without having any wings,
Their faces had all the beauty
Which could make onlookers resplendent,
Such was their charm
Such was their magnificence.

(*Note: the painting attached was done by Charles Courtney Curran)

Thinking of you

Can't recall exact how many days or months
You have remained far away from me,
By and large, silent,
Like that night beautifully quiet,
But then when the sky becomes dark
And rain come in spells, like bouts of fever,
I think of you,
You , whom have I placed at the altar
And prayed for days and nights,
Whom have I yearned for,
Like yearns the parched land for drops of water,
To quench its insatiable thirst,

I think of you,
Your return to the land of mine,
Making it green, wet and fertile,
Yielding,  to make it grow like acres of vegetation,

I think of you,
Your return to poems and Prose
And paintings and all that make me
Productive ,

Can't recall when the last time
You spread your charms over me,
My breast, my limbs , my body,

But when the breeze carries home
Scent of moist earth,
I think of you,
As my daisy
Blooming wonderous
In my soul

Come, sit, and stay still*

You have rushed a lot
Through the woods, slopes of hills,
Now when the day is ripe
And the sun is out,
Come, sit,
And stay still,
I will sing a poem to you,
I will caress your braids,
With leaves will deck you up,
Cleanse your flushed face,

You have rushed a lot
Through those woods, hills,
Now when the day is ripe,
And the sun is peeping at us,
Come, sit,
And in you let me find myself,
Immersed.

(*Note:  painting courtesy:  Michael Godfrey)

When winter came

When the wintry morn slowly came,
Looking out of window , without any feign,
Saw the Tree spreading wings,
Of her branches singing lost songs of her springs.

(Photo credits: Amitabh Dhiman)

Spread at the horizon*

Spread at the horizon *

Spread at the horizon
When the day with his dusky maid meets,
At that rendezvous , when they come together
To each other greet,
I think so much of her,
My ethereal Lover,
Her songs I think I hear,
Carried to me by the cool moist air,
I think of her face , her eyes, her voice,
And that mere thinking with so much of joys
Fill me from top to toe,
Spread at the horizon so colorful ,
I then perhaps with reverence bow
Before that sense which brings me every day
At this time of the day, to find her beauty and aura and Grace,
To look at how the day invariably comes
To meet his dusky maid,
Just before evening arrives,
Just before the sky gets another dress,
Just before little Celestial flowers bloom across
The big vastness of the limitless space. (*Note: loosely based upon a painting as attached done by Karla Nolan)

For that bud, encumbered in sleep

For that bud, encumbered in sleep,

In petals wrapped
Encumbered lies the dream
Of the bud , sleeping
Whilst wet westerly breeze
Upon its feathery shape
Caressed soft,

The rain knows how to make the bud turn an object of beauty,
The drizzle knows how to sketch
Lyrics upon lips.

Out of bounds

Out of bounds

That pebbled path leading out of the cottage gate
With sight of hills and a placid lake
Often takes me away to a faraway place,
A morning is perhaps there breaking out,
Away from the bustle of the city,
Where sings the nightingale
Songs of dews that fell
Smooth and almost imperceptible,

I look at the vastness of glory
Of nature weaving a sacred sublime feel of a story,
Of someone after getting lured by the beauty
Sits quiet so visibly enchanted,

I look at the slopes of green
And the rays of the Sun spread through mist,
A poetic journey to the Unseen
Divine presence ,
I try to feel each and every part
Of the day so becoming
A part of imagination ,
Reigning unvanquished, supreme,

And at that very moment,
Like someone being magically charmed,
I go into a flow of a river, a stream,
Of words , coming out spontaneous.

Wish you give us more*

Wish you give us more
Of your words which paint pictures
Of guests arriving crossing the border
And we welcoming them with handmade wheatcakes ,
And taking care of all their pains,
Of chinar leaves falling slowly
Upon the earth moist and sleepy,
Of rivers flowing making sweet murmur
Amidst woods where we can always go ,
Of missing the touch of hands, of our lost friends, forgotten relatives,
Of sunset yellow gradually getting spread
On the sky , a prayer like , orange and red,

Wish you give us more
Of your golden words, lyrically wrought,
So much so that we upon hearing them
Forget how the day goes by
To embrace the evening
And how the evening also slips away
Into the music of intoxicating nights.

(*As a tribute to Gulzar, on his eighty second birthday)

Evening Sky*

Evening sky *

Often around this time of the year,
Evening sky comes down upon me bare,
With fiery saffron colors so draped
Making me from my works escape
To that vast land of green, a plain
Where I get rid of all my feigns,
The birds which take their flight home
Drenched by the evening light so being borne,
Remind me of my going back too,
To match the orange and bluish hues,

I then think of my return
To the land serene as it turns
My heart, my mind my soul blessed
Around this time of the year as the sky gets dressed
In tranquil silence noiselessly eloquent,
How then  I think of dusty roads that bend
To that beauteous natural existence,
To those trees, huts , human settlement
To that river, lake , woods meaningfully dense,

I then think of days passed
In singing songs of Love just
Praising ways of men to God
And ways of God to men that last,
For months , years, decades , centuries,
How to that greenery my mind then hurries,
Only to make out ways divine
Encumbered in peace a  thousand  inexpressible lines.

(*Note: loosely based upon a painting as attached, done by Sally O Neill, courtesy: Keith Linwood Stover, Iulia Gherghei)

For that girl *

That girl who stood with her back
Turned to the light,
Showed her ignorance to the world,
Her back with all those curves,
Had passages of my desires,

That girl who stood with her back
Turned to me,
Showed me how feathers wrote
Candid verse upon her soul,
Which perhaps I missed in shaded alleys
That we had walked through all our lives.

(*note : upon a painting loosely based, as attached, done by Rex Beo)

Sita

Sita,
How you were tested and tried
Not once , but several times,
How you after being abducted
Persevered all that happened,
Living alone homeless , without your husband and kids,
How you had withstood that life, held captive,

And after many years,
When the battle had been fought
And won, when much of blood had been spilled,
When the earth was clouded by shooting arrows and spears,
When cities were set into blazing fire,

Sita,
How you thought perhaps all was due
To your honour,
That the wars were raged and men proved
Their thundering skills, their admirable valour,

But when the dust got settled,
When you were taken home by your husband,
How you were put to a test again,
How you were to walk through the flame,
How were you asked to prove before all
That while being away held captive ,
You had not gone through any fall,

How did it feel Sita? At that time?
To stand before all and declare
That you had remained what you were,

How did it feel when thy Soul burned?
How did it feel when thy honour was thus upturned?

Every love is so long distance

Every love is so long  distance

Every love I met
Had been turned
Long distance ones,

Interstellar kind,

If I am at one hemisphere,
She is invariably at the other,

If I am gathering flakes of moon
She is right at the wheatfield, golden,

Every love I met
Had turned into
Late night phone calls,

If I am all in day light,
She is under the quilt
Yawning before sleeping off,

Every love I had met
Had made me traveler.

For lilies on bloom

Come away , where the lilies bloom fair
Singing songs of mist in the afternoon's sweetest air,
Come away, where the meadows beckon and greet,
Come away, where dew drops on leaves and petals meet
Like silent drops of Divine blessings,
Come away, to that beauteous scene
Where lilies bloom tender and wild
Come away, to feel that drowsy numbness mild,
Come away, O you human child.

On that Abbey and that river*

Five years after when he visited the place
With his sister, to find how nature had dressed
His mind and heart and soul,
He found profundity of the river
How before him did unfold,
He noted in that wonderous quietitude
How the Abbey for ages stood,
And how amidst green , those meadows and Hills,
He discovered Divinity in purest form dripping, distilled,
Then he found also the flowing human course
Flowing much like that River, from its source,
He then boldly there declared
How by being the lover of meadows, woods, mountains,
He had found the Blessed state , the fair,

Those thoughts made him more of a poet
Perhaps , who out of the mechanised world,
In the serenity of nature , by his mind, dwelt,

O how the Abbey and the River beside it,
Gave him joys which he cherished,
That pristine, incorruptible one,
How there he flew after five years like a Swan,
Only to savour more of Nature's Beauty,
Only to make out Divine Piety.

(*Note: written upon the famous poem of Wordsworth titled 'Tintern Abbey'. The painting attached is on Tintern Abbey.)

Come, love,

Come,  love,
Come, love, when the night is so alluring
And the sky when had got the hues
So Starry and so blackish blue,
Come, love, to the lap of nature
And break into singing

Making me sleep on thy bed of dreams,
Come, love, put thy hands on my breast,
Putting at rest all the worries and woes,
When the night is so charming
And the sickled moon is diving so low,
Just within our reach,

Come , love,
Plunge me into thy softness more,
As the sky the night's Beauty
By twinkling things adore.

That small town where Aniruddha once came and made home

'The town had remained as it had been...'
Aniruddha thought as he walked down the alley,
Shops had grown in numbers though, as it seemed,
And the spring had decked the outskirts,
With flowers blooming , kept in pots and pans,
Population had grown too a bit,
Aniruddha thought as he took the street,

'Curios? Want them Sir?'
Aniruddha heard local lads asking him,
'Leather jackets? At price rock bottom?'
He looked at those hanging garments some,
'No...' He replied and kept walking lazily,
A few paces away some urchins were playing with glee,
With a pup running in between their legs,
They looked at him, their curious tiny eyes upon him pegged,

'Hotel? Guesthouse? Warm water bath?'
Men like brokers him asked,
'No...' Aniruddha nodded both ways his head,
He was looking for a hut instead,

'Do anyone know Bahadur Singh?'
He asked, not really knowing
Where Bahadur had gone,
After so many years, alone, like a stray leaf,
Aniruddha heaved a sigh, deep,

Just then he heard someone saying,
'He could be found at the end of the alley...'
Hearing that Aniruddha turned to the direction without delaying,

And following instructions he arrived finally
At that hut , just behind the shop of aunt Sally,

It had remained as it is,
That same hut, that same small garden,
That acre of grass, that open verandah,
And that sight of gulmohor trees,
Two of them standing there like guards,
Tall and handsome and large,

'Bahadur , are you there?
Can you me hear?'
Aniruddha asked, standing before the two trees,
A mild soothing spring filled breeze,
Came to caress his hair, his face,
Aniruddha stood there , as he tried to trace
His words echoing in the faraway hills,

A man appeared soon, white hair, white beard, turban green,
That was surely that old Bahadur Singh,
'Can't recognise me? ' Aniruddha asked, the old pair of eyes blinked,

'Hey you, Ani babu? Here? '
The old man flashed a smile generous,
As Aniruddha noticed little drops of tears
In his eyes,

'How are you? Never thought to find you,
After so many years, see, I have kept my promise,
To come right here, once again, with spring extending its sweet lease...'
Aniruddha said,

Bahadur Singh ushered him in,
Into his hut, and gave him a welcome warm,
With hot soup and momos some,
And that chilli sauce and tomatoes sliced
Dipped in vinegar and bellpepper , diced,

After the meagre meal he took in,

The conversation between the two did begin,

They talked of being friends , separated by age and place,

They talked about how once they perils of the woodlands braced,

How they both worked for conservation

Of Mother Earth and rivers and animals,

Old Bahadur Singh, despite age, was still eager,

To work with Aniruddha with more vigour

To create a better surrounding there at that small town,

As the duo started to talk, time flew by ,

Gradually evening came, with darkness faintly lit

By candles, lamps and the clear Starry sky,

Aniruddha thought this time he would not go away,

He thought this time he would in that town stay

Till he would be able to open a school for those children parentless

And small hospital for those who starve most of days,

With Bahadur Singh, by his side, he could do anything,

Aniruddha thought, suddenly remembering,

How that man saved his life by fighting against a wild mountain bear black,

Which came down upon him, as once he hit that off the beaten track,

Into that woods not far away,

Aniruddha thought he could easily in the town stay

Till he would make that dream of his true,

The evening was getting chilly and blue,

Bahadur Singh had by then brought Ajay there,

He had started singing strumming his guitar,

Songs of Love and friendship and fun, 

Aniruddha thought he had another life begun.

Aura*

Sometimes when piercing the bleakest sky
You arrive like a new moon
Silver all over you,

I get drenched by thy light
And the world too,

Sometimes when you rise
Against the dark
Naked like a moon

I find myself intoxicated
By thy ambrosaic potion
And the world it seems
Beautiful than ever,

Silvery flakes of moon
Then fall into my room
Of Heart,
And I just get dyed
By your sacred aura.

(*Note: loosely based upon a painting as attached done by Paolo Damiani)

For Noirita

Many days have passed , Noirita,
Since you have gone away to the distant land,
Your postcards, sent from that land exotic
Reached me oft delayed, still they reached with pictures of your journeys
To different places there,

Ah those pictures sent had beauty of your days
Spent at the church yard
or at a big square right at the middle of a town,
Or at a fair where you stood before a shop
Buying items of Adornments, a clip, a brooch perhaps , a hairpin,

Then that postcard of the river
And a small bridge right over it,
You standing there, your hands rested on the bar of a bike,
You flashing a smile as shining as a spring morning,

Then that picture of a path through a forest
Turned burning orange by the magic of autumn,
Oaks, old and ancient , standing there
Like big statues, monumental,

Many days have gone away Noirita,
Since you have sent me the last post card,
Perhaps you have forgotten to write
So busy have become your days and nights,

Perhaps you have again fallen
In love,
Perhaps you have made home there
A sweet home with long curtains at windows,
And cosy couches at the living,

Perhaps you have grown a garden there too,
Right in front of your settlement,

Perhaps there had grown beautiful blossoms
To attract the birds and the bees,

But, Noirita,
How can I ever forget
Those bushes and myrtles
Which I have explored
With you in the greenness of our youth.

Having coffee with her

We were sitting by the window glass
Overlooking the street
A bit blurry after a spell of rain,
We sat there having no real hurry,
The hall had the quietitude too,
Just that we wanted to savour,
She was slowing turning her spoon
Into the cup of coffee steaming ,

And we talked about many things,
Usually it started with queries made
And answers to them, relayed, 'How was the day? '
She asked me,
Perfectly windowside as we sat
Through the glass the town looked blurry,

And mind you, we had no hurry,
Whatsoever,
She poured sugar cubes one by one,
Into coffee cups of her and mine, 'So far, so good' I replied,
Rain was stopping there, outside,

The hall was quiet

For us to talk , 'How's yours?'
I asked,
Customarily,

She took a sip,
I could see her face,
She was taking the aroma of beans ,

Coffee ,

It triggered more of our memories,

She talked of having black forest
Somewhere faraway from the town,
Sitting on the rooftop
Watching the birds flying
Across an autumnal sky,

I talked of my take
Of caffeine , java,
I recalled, 'Was I there with you too?'
She asked, 'Surely'
I replied, 'I had been there at that rooftop too,
When you munched that sandwich
And watched those hills
And those birds spreading wings
Carried away by the autumnal breeze'

I added,
Knowing she could always carry me,
Like I do,
Everywhere,

Outside the rain had receded,
The glass having those little rivulets drawn upon it,
Was beginning to get clear,

The vision blurry was getting cleaned,
I could see her, biting her lower lip,

I thought her face looked tantalizing,

Redness of her lips
Kept my eyes upon her
Transfixed,

We were never in a hurry,

I held the cup, steaming
She was sipping slowly hers.

The reader and the narrator

Of all the images that had stayed
With me , of her, so to say,
Is the one of her sitting at the threshold
With a book , reading stories (which she told
Me quite oft, afterwards, ) of Love and romance,
And the light of the day upon her hair as fell by chance,
Making her silhouette all the more beautiful to watch and admire,
Of all the images of her,
That had stayed out , magnificent,
Much like her own self,  resplendent,
Which not only bloomed like a flower
But also made me oft to love her,

How many times words came out rhyming
Out of my lips merely by finding
Her , sitting quiet, serene and soft,
How by seeing her I sang with ease, full throat,
How I told her too all those sights and visions
That flew within me like a perennial motion,

She , knew every bit of my expressed thoughts,
She knew perhaps every bit of my inexpressible words
Yet she remained as if she had been ignorant,
Yet she had  tinges of pinkish hue upon her cheeks, like paint
Of her affection held at the tip of a rain drenched leaf,
Only to make me feel her love hidden deep
Beneath the upper crust of our friendship,

Of all the images that had stayed
With me, of her,so to say,
Is that primary feel of her sitting quiet
At the threshold of a door, caressed by light
Of the day that fell upon her , her hair, her face,
Her gown, white with an embroidered lace,
And she reading a book of stories , of Love,
Which she oft narrated to me, afterwards.