e certamente possibile!

'Frances...Frances...
are you sleeping?
or...
awake?'
Isabella asked...timid...
knowing Francesco's penchant for going to sleep...a trance...while visibly reading...
or the opposite...
he might sit straight
and actually sleeping...

'bounasera...Isabel...'
Francesco replied...
meaning awake...

'I have a query...'
Isabella raised herself from the couch...
to stand by his table...

'shoot...'

Francesco replied...
on brood...

'what is Faith?'
Isabella asked...

Francesco opened his tired sleepy eyes...
the evening light
coming from the street
half lit his face...
the breeze had been cool...
the statue of Dante could be seen halved
by the window sil...

'it is like leaving all to someone...
a friend...
say...
the most reliable one...
in my case it is Him...
He who puts all into tests and trials...
and who also supplies Life in vials...
fragile but beautiful...
Faith means that...
leaving all...
letting go...
for Him...'

'e possibile?'
Isabel was amused...

'why not?
i met death twice...
i survived...
why?
for i prayed...
prayed as if that was my only way...
prayed as if He was my only soul...
cried as if tears were made for Him...
laughed as if laughter were for Him too!'
Francesco said...
smiling...
and added soon...
like an afterthought...
'e certamente possibile!'

Isabella thought
she got
courage to know...
and the statue of Dante-
the poet of Napoli...
appeared full...
standing tall
by the window...

'was he smiling?'
Isabella thought
as her eyes fell
on the statue...
just a few yards from their house...
at the piazza...
peopled by kids...women...men...
a happy breezy evening had set in...

meeting a Sterna...

Met her
by a lake
where i did take
a small journey of mine...

and there
met her...
the record holder
the best journey woman...

she smiled at me
and beckoned...
her redness on lips
and white dress
glistening...
was full of charm...
she looked fresh
as fresh as a post midnight rain morn...
cool...breezy...sunny...soft...

'hi...'
she started the conversation
i looked at the flapping motion
of her white skirt...
her red lips slightly apart...
she was eager
to talk to me it seemed...

'my name is Paradisaea...
but you can call me Sterna...
that's how my friends love to call me...'
she initiated...
i looked at her face...
sparkling...by Him probably blessed...
'thought to have a little talk
with you...before I go...
fly away...
have to catch the flyway...'
she me told...
her arms supple had a smoothness bold...

'haven't seen you here...
where are from you?'
i asked her...
curious...
'from the Arctic...
travelling like you...
a traveler...
but my journeys are long...'
she smiled...happy...
'how long? if i may ask?'
i asked...
journeys make me curious...
any journeys...
by bikes...by cars...
onroad...offroads...
At this she looked at me...
she looked at my pitiable face perhaps... for a split second...
and then she stated:
'twenty two...
thousand kilometers...
in three months...'
i thought
i heard it wrong...
'twenty two kilometers?'
i asked...
'no dear...twenty two thousand kilometers...
that is one way though...
when I will return
I will do again
another twenty two thousand...
perhaps...
or even more...
I am not so sure...'
she said...
absent minded
looking at the sky...
'how you do that?'
asked the tiny...the proud i...
'I fly...just fly...
and on flight
I do all tasks...
all...
I have great Faith on Him...
and the Sun...
and the stars...
and my mental maps...
for the journey is awesome...'
she said...
her pondering philosophic self
was wide spread...
her eyes were blue like the Arctic ocean...
and she perhaps had the Atlantic also
within her...
hidden somewhere...

Sterna...
she called herself by that...
a Paradisaea...
i just looked at her...

the early morn...
the Sun is her friend
she had told me...
and the stars too...
and she also got Faith
on Him...

i looked at her...
an enchanting creature...

'she must be His...'
i
the tiny...
losing all pride...
cried...
and the Sun
smiled over the other side of the lake...
a beauty!

[note: Sterna Paradisaea is the best known migrant among all birds]

When Eudora came ...

he was caught unawares
by her...
he knew she was preparing...
applying her toiletries...
getting ready for the party...
for she had worn way ahead of the time
her favoured black saree with studs silvery
and she had put on by the afternoon
her bangles platinum pure...
and high heels polished
black shiny...
she was all dressed up...
and ready to go...

he knew...
how many hours had she spent
before her mirror of sky
perfecting her coiffure...
her hair...her attire...
afterall it was her party...
she was the attraction prime...

and ...
she came...
riding a long black
stretch...
the door chauffeur opened
and she got down
amidst applause...
and shutterbugs...
clicked shots
in continuous mode...
from the land of wet and cool she rode
all the way here...
for lesser mortals-
like he...
he was caught unawares...
on road ...

she...Eudora...
got down...
before him...
black saree...
studs silvery...
cool!

[note:- Eudora :Greek Goddess of rain]

mothers ...Cybeles..

'my mother...'
he started
'had been all...
the season of spring...the rains...
and also the fall...
she had been
like a Cybele i guess...
or...
a Gaia...
or...
Rhea...
or...
Demeter...
she had been all that mattered
to me...
our threesome family...
like a mountain...
like a flowering sefali tree...
my mother...
she had been all to me...'

he muttered
absentmindedly...
buying cards for his kid
to be sent to his kid's mother...
another family...
and he thought
it was time
to salute all mothers of the world...
all...
'all mothers are mine...'
he muttered
as he thought
looking at the gallery of bright colorful cards...
on a street
yet to be coming to life...

travel...pink and blue...

'when one travels
far wide and deep
into deserts and mountains and forests
one tends to be...
well...ascetic?'
Francesco stated
not stated...he was visibly seeking opinion
from Isabel,
his companion...
to whom he appeared the meekest...

It was another morn
and Isabella was sitting opposite
before him ...
on the table she had arranged two cups of tea
and on chinaware...she had placed cookies...
and this morning
while Frances went out for his routine exercise
she...stayed back
arranging things
at home...
Frances returned last night
tired...
his bagpack
she had cleaned...
brought out his papers...logbook and other expedition stuff...
placed them neat in their places...
Frances might need them again
and she had to keep them...
custodian of his works...

'vero...'
Isabella smiled...
'who knows that better than me?
I am learning still
but with you I am also becoming...
ascetic?'
She asked...
smiling more...candid...bright
sunshine through the curtains
on her face...

Francesco looked at her face
full of godly confess...
satiety...
fulfilment...
as if there was no lament...
as if life was bound to be such...
free...
and yet profound...
joyous
and full of celebration...

the sky as captured by the window frame
was blue with a lot of pink...
two seagulls like a painted canvas there flew
momentarily fixed
at particular co ordinates...

'The tea...
it is getting cold...'
Isabel reminded
for she knew Francesco was staring out
to the sky
blue
with pinkish hue...
and the seagulls...

Francesco came back
to the cups of lemon tea
and cookies...

Leaning forward he
whispered
'sei divina...'

The sunshine through the casement...
Just lighted more the room...
Isabella's face was full of pink and blue...

evening wayfarer...

lazy cruise
mode he adopted
Cicero...
thought of taking it too far...
stretched like smooth rubber
the road of the evening
came like moist breeze
on his skin...
lazy cruise
mode the machine took
and those trees wayside shook
as if happy to see him ride
over all hassles and troubles
his bike acting his own double...
he passed by
neon lights
and small houses with drawing rooms bright
people watching serie a match
Napoli winning by one goal such
which could any moment be turned
into a defeat...
Lazy cruise
mode adopting Cicero moved like a ship
amidst hazy lazy halogen dream...
he moved on it seemed...

twenty miles running non stop
near Jaya's house he slowed a bit...
a song from there emanating...
a rehearsal of a song never witnessed
his ears the source tried to trace...

'must be from the upper storey...
where the baby would be going to sleep
hearing her favourite lullaby...'

he thought...
Cicero and his machination
a double...
before both along the stretched road
sprung to speed...
where markers by headlights glittering divides painted read...

the wayfarer
Cicero hummed lazy
The last heard piece
from the house where Jaya lived
and where he perhaps slowed down a bit...

sie liebt dich...

he was standing quiet
not knowing what he should do...

she had just affirmed something
but the language was too hard for him to get...
a foreign tongue...
alien kind...
and he had never been very good with reading mind...

failed he earlier twice...
frozen state
Ice
had he all deservingly embraced...
and that had given him all...
a newly discovered dress...

and he stood...
looking at the sky...
blue...
and the road ahead seemed golden
and he had emboldened Hope
'with Faith comes Hope...
and with Hope comes Charity...'
he muttered absent from the real
into unreal he smoothly slipped...
into visions of Moses crossing the sea...
into the crucifix that dripped blood as good as wine...
he had visions generated sublime...

then ...
just then
a nun...
an old one
in her pure white cape...
and in her white white dress...
passed by him...
on the road...
the golden glistening one...
and while passing by
she just to him cast a smile
and said so soft...so so good...
she said:
'sie liebt dich...'

he stood
profound
with only one sound
of a gong...
a church bell...
singly struck...

'sie liebt dich...'
he thought he distinctly heard...
and he thought of Beatles...
The boyish band ...
and it was deutschland...

and he thought of treading towards the light...
golden light of the noon...

a teacher seagull and her disciple...

'want to fly like me?'
asked she...
dressed in white and blue...
happy...
looking into
the boy's eyes...curious and excitement all over...

'yes!yes!'
the boy...
his hands on the handlebar of his bicycle
nodded with enthusiasm huge...
the seagull ...she stared at his eyes...
joyous...fluid and excited...

'okay...'
she in white and blue
smiled and looked at the rising Sun...
'we wait a bit...'
she suggested...

'wait? but why?
i just want to fly
and glide like you!
O you seagull blue!'
the boy was impatient...

'no dear...kid...
we will have to wait...
for the magic to happen...'
she the seagull affirmed but she knew
she could feel the boy's eagerness...
afterall it was about flight...
and glide...
and who on earth doesn't want to do that?
to take a flight...
to glide...

'what are we waiting for?'
the boy...the kid
still in his innocence did
ask and repeat...
his eager eyes full of Hope...
She the seagull looked
into his childish eyes...
'we are waiting for the thermals kid...
Only the SunGod can create that...
the column of hot and warm air...
that column would help us
to get the lift...
the pressure on the upper side
only then would be low
and the air below
would then be perfect
for the Lift...
we would then...you see...
just work on the drag
and the thrust...
on that upon me you can trust...
you trust me...aren't you?'
asked she with Faith
for that was what she came looking for...
and that was the reason
she from the sky dropped
to sit beside that kid...
cycling on the beach...
with hands free
from his handlebars...
looking up...

she had dropped to please him
for He...the Powerful One
sent her...
saying...
'That boy on the beach wants to fly...
go and teach him...'

a curious communication...

'Dear...'
Francesco wrote
this only word
with a lot of thought...
and then his pen he dropped
into an ocean...
and felt how
blue his mind had turned
for her...
Isabella...
so away...
so far...

he picked up again
his mind going scattered by the beeps
of lab equipments...

'after a long gap
thinking to write to you
How are you?'

writing these he stopped...
through the open casement
evening sky luminous came
as if he was in a dream
and the laboratory changed into sea green hue
he thought he had seen her catching night's unfallen dew
on her lids of eyes...
he thought he should send wishes to his Calfornia sky...

so he whispered...
'how are you?'
he whispered as if he prayed
for an answer unsaid...

and he closed his eyes...

his wishes he with the evening sky tied...

just then he thought he heard a reply...
'i am with you...
you just do your work...
come stai?'

he thought he heard it right...
and
on the paper with his ink black and glistening
he thought of writing long...
he thought his evening invoked a song...
'i am fine...'
he wrote...

'i am good...'
he wrote next...

'i am the holiest...'
he wrote the penultimate...

'for you are with me...'
he wrote the last...

meanwhile...
time had usually taken a walk...
the evening had turned into night...

and the query sent through the angels of sky
reached the shore of the city...
where Isabella was from sleep waking up...

she found the newspaper boy had left the daily at her door...
and the front page was illustrous...
Last night according to a special report
the eastern sky of California had a strange bluish color...
long after midnight...

Seeing the report
she ...Isabella still in trance...
thought of Frances
and thought...
'how is he?
sleeping in his laboratory?'

being permeable...

'attain permeability...'
the old man told him
sitting crosslegged on the balcony
facing the eastern sky
which had not yet turned light...

he also sat a few hands away...
crosslegged too...
and the breeze from the blue
was so strong that he felt
he could live with this breeze
for seven centuries long...

the air was patiently nice
full of only chirpings of birds...
and no other distinguishing noise...

'be the most permeable...'
the old architect suggested
not removing his gaze from the sky...
turning light...slow...silent...

he thought he should ask Him questions
but he felt lethargic...
the breeze and the chirpings had done magic
on his all queries...
he felt he had nothing to ask...
whatever already pouring in soft
pouring like incessant drops
of Life
had already made him happy inside...

and with this calm happy void
came the angel of Peace...
dressed in white...
a flowing gown...
her hair was braided and long...
on her head...slightly left
she had worn
a flower white...
and her face had peace and love so bright
that he felt he would cry...
any moment ...

and he was...
soon...
he was having a flood of tears...
within a stream of happiness
erupted into a peaceful burst...
he by his head touched the marble
of the balcony at room sixty four...

sitting quiet...guided by the old millionaire...
and having a perfect vision of her
the angel of peace...
he touched the cool of the breeze
and the marble white
and the distant sky
and he thought
he had turned permeable...
surely...
if not the most
like the old
architect...
still...
he from solidity
had trangressed...
towards permeability...

With Emil...this evening...

'when I was a little boy...'
Emil as a friend told me this evening...
'we had our own adventures...'
'like?'
Me asked...
'like chasing a black hat from a train to a town...
Chasing him down...
Me and my friends
So mindful were we...
By reading detective stories...'

'and?'
Me asked...
'well...'
The single child...reared by mother
Losing his father
A saddlemaker
At early stage of life...
Emil Erich looked sad
And still he smiled...
(probably he was thinking of his mother...)

'for my mother, I stayed afloat...
All downs...and falls...
All...
She used to work day in and out...
To bring breads for me
The half fed...
But we Germans have got strong hearts...
We fight till the last...
So she fought
And with her
Me too...'
Emil stopped here...
A longish pause...

Meanwhile i was thinking...
Of my mother too...
My father...
He is there still
And she...his wife...
Had left in search of the galaxy...

But she surely knows where we both stand...
Me and Emil...
Where do we actually bond...
And how the same light from the Sun the same comes
And same pains are kept hidden in blood...
Same...
Emil my friend
And me...
Only he had been a German...
And there lies a differential equation...

But i dare to call Emil my friend
For he cares to come to me...
Once in a while...
On a breezy evening...
Right on the road...

He wants us to be...

Those coconut leaves long like sweep
By those krishnachura red
Also on tremble in the afternoon breeze
Supple fruitfulness of life they generate...
Constantly they do...
Just like those little fairies of clouds
And those birds on return...
And so many other little things...

Going slow...
They bring unfathomable heartfulness...
As if this is what we are all destined to get...
As if He wants that to happen always...

Only we need to have ears
And eyes
And a mind without clout
Fears...doubts...
Morbid thoughts...

We need to go all clear on those hiccups...
For He wants us to be...
He just wants us to be
Like that...

on a journey made...

They two were walking slow
On the soft green grass below
Moist and cool and full of life...
Isabella at this point thought it ripe
To ask Francesco about Life...
About his journey made to its root...
She thought she should...

They had been walking on the green
For half an hour they had trodden fine...
Felt life under their feet...
And into its coolness they had dipped...
Their soul...

So...
She asked:
'Frances...tell me about
The journey that you took
Out of any text book...
The journey that made you so complete...
Can you please show me where la radice did you meet?'

At this query
Francesco stopped
Treading barefeet
On the grass...

He looked into Isabella's blue blue eyes
And smiled...
'you want to know?'
Isabella readily nodded...
She knows she has also plodded
In her own ways...
She knows she has also made
A journey within...

'bene...'
Francesco started...
'let's first sit
Stretch our tired legs
On mother earth...
The benign one
Full of this morn's calm
As caused by Him...'

So they sat...
Both
On the grass...
Francesco placed his palm
On Isabella's ...
As if he was going to take her
To the journey...

'Geographically...
It is 35.7598°N,117.3353°W...
The Searles lake
An endorheic basin
A dry lake...
In Majave desert
Of San Bernardino county...
Length as good as nineteen kilometres...
Width thirteen perhaps...
A lake...
Full of arsenic...
And spectacular tufa formations
And H2S...
But...
There we found...
Bryophytes...
And diatoms!
The producers of food!
Can you imagine what hardships they withstood?
And how they went against every odd?
How they being blessed by God
Struggled to be
The producers of food?
Can't you see?
That's la radice...
The Root...'

Saying this Francesco stopped...
Taking long deep breath...
Oxygen...

Isabella smiled
And thought she should lean
On her Francesco...

'and what happened after that?'
She asked...
'i met Him...'
Francesco was prompt...
'and after that?'
Isabella wanted to know more...
'met you...'
Francesco murmured...

The morning cool had a gentle godly breeze...
The grass cool lent all the peace
And calm...

The journey seemed really long...
And yet unfinished...

Coiffure and Agape...

'seen my coiffure?'
Isabella thought she should ask...
At dusk...
Far away from the crowd...
Was it not the perfect space
And time
To address such an issue?
She thought
She should him ask...
At dusk...

But her he...
A machinery?
No mind?
No eyes?

She thought she should him ask...
But if that would be turned
And termed as something banal?

Something too much unnecessary?
What's then?

Thinking all these...
She turned her mind to the sky...

It was perfect...
Cool pink and red...
Was it not the perfect space
And time?
At dusk?
To ask?
About one's coiffure?

The pulls and drags continued...
Few minutes more...
A century passed perhaps
In between...
Three fishing boats anchored...
Two novels written fine...
A tv series on fantasic musical ended after two hundred running episodes...

Still...
At dusk
Was it not fair to ask?
'seen my coiffure?'
Isabella thought
She should ask...

Francesco was so far silent...
Silence had become his preferred language...
'relazione con dio...'
He had it termed
And day and night for it only yearned...

That Francesco
Seemingly muttered...
First looking at the sky
Following Isabella's gaze...
And then with eyes somewhat draped in haze...

'Agape...
That's what filled the earth
And that's what brought life...
Agape...
That's what with Philos bright
Made everything so huge
And so big...
Agape...
To Him i pray it to last
Till infinity...'

Two states of zero...

Ah!
This road...
This fleeting breezy cruise...
People on the move...
Cars...
Buses...
All on the move...

me too...
But grown slow...
aging?

tired?

O no...
Just peace...
Peace is such an angel
When she blows her kiss
Everything means so meaningless?
Why this hurry?
Why this run?
Why this madness?
noise?
shouts and quarrels?
what will they lift us to?
To what novel idea?
To what golden gate?

A big null and void...
A trillion zero...
Infinite zeroes...

But then
Zero is also a measuring mean...
A perfect state if be turned...

Zero...

The middle between two infinites...
And the two here meet...
At zero...

But who cares?

Father Mackenzie and Cicero...

Cicero the motorcyclist
like all other days
stopped at the church
as usual...
at Santa Maria la nova...

the street was absolutely depopulated...
Naples had not yet woken up...
only the pigeons were wakeful
and the smog was too full...

Cicero parked his Ducati ®white
A Panigale...
By the kerb...
And went inside...
The pebbled path...
Red soft...
And those flowering trees
They greeted him in delight...

he saw Father Mackenzie...
Standing at the altar...
Calm...
In white...
His flowing gown
Spread Light...
And the altarpiece above seemed like a poem...

Cicero bowed
his head touching the wood...
And Father Mackenzie stood
Smiling He asked:
'what do you do with your bike?'

Cicero looked up ...
Curious...

Silence reigned like bliss...
he...the motorcyclist ...
Cicero by name...
Walked up to kiss
Father's soft palm top...

'i do a lot of things...
Burnouts...bunnyhops...wheelies...
Christs...'
Cicero muttered...

'and you love and respect your bike?'
Father asked...
Smiling like the morn...

'ovviamente...'
Cicero murmured with conviction...

'bene...'
Father Mackenzie replied...
And He started walking towards the door...outside...
Where by the gravelled path
Beside a flowering white tree
Trembling soft in the breeze...
White Panigale stood...

Father went there...
Cicero followed Him
And he stared...
Curious and dazed...

The Father
Planting a kiss
On the front visor...

Cicero came forward and knelt down
his head touching Father's flowing white gown...

The morning had a calm
And Sunshine had all the warmth...
The smog seemed receded quite...
The light new born filled the air
And the pigeons hopped...
On the street...
Where happiness like a blessing dropped...

living on the edge...like Faith

'Don't you have Faith?'
the master...the architect asked polite
as he had always been to him...

he nodded in affirmative...
'then why so afraid? stand on the edge...please do stand...'
the millionaire smiled and repeated...
and his smile was like a smile of a sage...
who had seen life always on the edge...

'a disciple must not deter from doing
what his master wants him to do...
for it is a matter of Faith...
and respect...'
he...the disciple thought
and following his master's polite but firm request
he opened his shoes...
on barefeet he felt the ledge...
concrete...
a jutting out portion
from the build
suspended as if into the air...
thirty fifth floor...

he knew he could not afford to look down
for that might cause him dizzy...
the only option was for him was
to look up to the sky of the morn...
he felt cold feet
beads of sweat on his temple...
and forehead...

'close your eyes...
and think you are on a firm land...
a plain ...
and the height is nothing...
and there is no idea of any fall...'

he heard the millionaire sage's voice...
sombre and gentle still...

so he
closed his eyes...
the dark came...
and also came the strong pleasing breeze...and the Light...

he thought he heard chirpings of birds...
cuckoos...koels...crows...pigeons...cicadas...
he thought he heard nothing at all!

he just stood...
knowing the concrete ledge narrow
had held his feet
and his feet held his body...
and the whole world held him...
he just stood...

and time was non existent...

for there was no hurry...

and

he lived perfectly on the edge...

the sunset evening breeze...a bridge...

'where have you been?'
Francesco asked the breeze...
finding her coming to him
on a sunset evening...
a picturesque one...
between two towers long
captured in a frame...
the California sky...

'been to Port Alba...'
she whispered...

'Really?'
Francesco's eyes had eagerness...

'Seen her?'
was his next query
quite naturally...

'yes...
it was already night there...
and she had slept off...
but seen her face
with dreams draped...'
the breeze replied...smiling...

'sicuramente?'
Francesco asked for a confirmation,

'si...'
the breeze reverted,

'well...
now i can sleep off too...'
Francesco heaved relief...

'you are such a...'
the breeze stopped talking midway...
'fool?'
Francesco asked...
smiling...

'No...
faithful...'
the breeze sighed...

the california sky...
was really a picturesque one...
caught in a golden frame...

against the cool breeze one night...

The strong cool wind ran down the slope
and against her he just stood...
stretching his arms two wide
Christ!
on the hillock a Light
dipped twice
as if a Sign...
O how he became a perfect state...
faraway the night mail was running late...
its whistle came with the wind...
Christ!
his white flannel shirt flapped
and his cream shorts also fluttered...
'Christ! i am so much filled
with the breeze and this coolness me killed....'
he just muttered...

Christ!
there he stood arms open wide
on the hillock the light blinked twice...

a Volvik...and he...and the master...

'feel the wind...
and the slope...the way ahead...
the undulations...
and just free your mind...
put all tension
on the tee...
and the crystal seven on top...'
saying this his master stopped...

he looked ahead...
the green land dotted
with trees in the morn looked like Heaven...
the wind from south had happiness...
far away he could see the flag...
he tried to feel how the land traveled...
the slope...
the mild ups...
the smoothened downs...

and then he looked down
the seven
Volvik crystal ®
he put an oath
on her...
the white ball...
rested still...

he looked ahead again...
the wind became soft...
he put his tensile force at work...
all on the tip of the club
that became his focus...

and...
he teed off...

the seven ran
like a happy little girl
running across the green
swerving by the slope following...
by the sands...
hazards...
the trees...

like an anxious father he watched...
the run
of the daughter...
a Volvik

and there he could guess
the girl was playing with him...
a hide and seek...

he walked towards where she could have stopped
running...
a seven Volvik...

'you've done it!'
he heard his master gushing behind...
he smiled...
he would have to find her
the white little Volvik...

love like Him...

'mio dio!'
Isabella exclaimed
seeing the red
over the sea spread...
'how could it be so beautiful?'
she asked...a self induced ask
and
Francesco muttered
'for you are in love...
so He
the Almighty
thought
why not
I could transfer some of her red
to the evening sky?'

Isabella flushed...

the sky too that redness took
and became more red...

up there...
He smiled...

and more redness poured...

red... resolve...and a premiere...

the backdrop was red...
and there the swastik flag hung...
a red red carpet...
a premiere of a show...
the crowd of tuxedos
had filled below...
the wooden stair glistened...
and she in her projector room just listened...
a rock song...
red...
she resolved...
to put on her gait
of a hostess...
by the golden rails the officer toasted
a cheer...
afterall it was a premiere...

and she in her room
took a stronger resolve...
to see it to the last...
the clock struck seven half past...

the swastik flag...
it hung red...
and she was in iron cast
to cause the blast...

red...
she made her resolve...
stronger than ever...
after all it was a premiere...

(note: the above lines refer to actually an imaginative recast/rendering of a scene from a flick. However the basic idea was to catch an idea of a strong resolve...a tribute to any strong resolve for a cause...that is the scribble all about)

the other 180°...

'Human eyes can see only
the half of 360°...'
the granddad said...
sitting erect on his favored cot...
the golden light on his face...straight...

the grandson...the kid
thought...
'what about the other? the other 180°?'
the kid thought just but never asked...
he had Faith
on his granddad...

the octogenerian smiled...
'you just close your eyes
and feel the shift
of wind columns...
or temperature...
behind...
or your back
you just use
to perceive...
and even your nose
or ears...
they are there...
Gifts by Him
and you can easily get...
the feel...
how the other 180° pans out...
how it carries motion...
how it catches Light...'

the kid closed his eyes...
and tried...

moments seemed eternal...
the space seemed unlimited...
the time seemed magnanimous...

and...

he thought
he saw his back...

got a feel of life...

he looked up the first thing
to the sky knowing
the sky's knowledge is supreme...

stretching his hands up
like a shoot reaching up
he got into the fold
of mind
in which he could see the wind's mother
'what's in store?'
he prayed...

a cool blessed ethereal wind
came and said
'life...feel life in everything...'

and he looked up...
the sky was cloudy but had all the warmth...
the sun had risen innocent...
the birds chirped perfect...
the trees sang beautiful...

and he thought
he had all that he ever wished...

happiness unleashed...with calm...

'grazie...'
he said...a prayer...
to Him
who like a cool breeze seemed
coming so soft...a balm
through long palm leaves...
'grazie...'
he muttered...a prayer
to Him
who like the night sky seemed
coming upon his soul
with twinkling hope...
'grazie...'
said he...a prayer
to Him
who like peace seemed
coming to sit
by his side...a friend
as if to lift...

and the world became so beautiful
that he just cried...
in happiness...
he just cried...

inscaped!

'Hola!
Inscaped?'
Asked Isabella...

Francesco was silent
as silent as a jar full of water
upto the brim...
the air which played so fair
with leaves... and Isabel's hair
made ripples on the topmost surface
of his jar...
full of water...
but she knew
deep inside
there was no move...
no blur...

'inscaped...is he not?'
Isabel asked mind of her...
for her mind knows
exact...
what inscape means...
an inward escape...
a plunge...

and she looked at the beauty of the sky...
the clouds white...
the marble sculpture of the park...
statues of poets,artists and philosophers...
they stood still...
silent...

they surely had jars
of water...
within them...

Isabella thought
and smiled...

a flower bloomed somewhere...
a kid laughed somewhere...
a skylark was flying high...up...in the blue...
a spanish guitar was strummed...somewhere...

'Hola...'
came within with an answer this time...

Nothingness of Light...

'The road...
is long...
and full of bends and turns
but there's light at the end...'
He said...
and into the breezy evening
which brought nascent
feel of tenderness...
and a sweeping aloofness
He made a lateral move...

The boy watched His move...
disappearance into the Light...
the road seemed vanished
into sheer nothingness...

And the boy wondered aloud
'How come also i not try to tread
the Path where nothingness lead...
and also of superb splendour bright...
a land of extreme daylight?'

And he with his steps hesitant a bit
moved slow...full of ineptitude...

but the light...
like a beacon called...
and he found strength in his legs...
his tired sweaty body got the pulse
and his clothes muddy still became bright...
for the Light...
it already made an entry...

A traveler's mind...

'Everyday poems are born
every day has its own morn
and every moment when beauty tiptoes across the road...
why you worry?
the searcher?'

The man in white shirt
and biege trousers
told Francesco...

looking calm and composed
smoking his cheroot...
a whitish bluish smoke...

'Smoking is disallowed here...'
Francesco joked
and took from the brown box
a cheroot...
and the man
the Dean...
the holy man...
smiled...

Outside the sky of California was like a canvas...
it was eight
and the traffic was getting denser...
officegoers were running fast
some might have grabbed a bacon late...

'So...
how far is your work?'
The Dean asked...

'So far...so good
but it is huge...'
Francesco replied...
from his mouth a tiny cloud took a flight...

'Good...
Huge is always good...'
The Dean nodded...

'As huge as a painting perhaps...
as flowing as a river...'
Francesco murmured...
and then in his mind Isabel dropped...

Suddenly...
as if his thoughts
were predestined...
and her he did find

occhio della mente...

she seemed busy
a lot of grocery...
paper bags in her both hands...
and a magic land...

and
Francesco became ignorant
of the papers...
he called the booking agent...
'When is the earliest flight?'

matrix...deciphered...

'you will have to get Morpheus...'
uttered the woman
a program...
and he listened to her
with all intent to decipher
words...
words as if coming from far...

'Morpheus is the source of light
the door which once opened
could lead you to the mainframe...
and then you could see it all...
these pigeons playing and the leaves orange of the Fall...
Programs...they are all...
but then there is the Underground
Proserphine there stays...
Morpheus is your Jupiter
and only by meeting Him you get the sense...'
The woman on the bench
sitting right beside him
uttered like a prayer
of Hope coming from her...

He listened with all intent
the idea of getting to the door
where from Light bent
to meet all who reached the Shore...

and he heard waves lapping up inside
'Morpheus surely holds the tide...'
He thought and got prepared for the voyage
and on the street...a program...the woman left her prophetic voice...

barefeet...

walking barefeet on dew
he the moisture from the grass drew
and the sensation carried from toes and heels
brought ambrosaic feel
all over his mind...
he with peace got up lined

walking barefeet he with her got the connect
Mother of his in Nature hidden there
and he had a plummet...

walking barefeet on grass
he walked through the air
and moments thus passed
brought him to a heavenly lair...

walking barefeet he his self did lose
taking in all that was left...
walking barefeet sans shoes...

life. a flow.

seeing life flowing by
in cabs and bikes
down the road...
he felt
it is such a blessing
to have a life...
a flow...
seeing the lights
blinking stopping unsure
pink and blue
he felt
it is such a blessing
to have a life...
a flow...
feeling the murmuring leaves
whispering with the breeze
he felt
it is such a blessing
to have a life...
a flow...
seeing those stars twinkling like speckles of gold
he felt
it is so divine
to have a life...
a flow...

and this curious yet sublime feel
takes away every care...every hurt...

to have a life...
and eyes...
and ears...
and a beautiful mind-
are the only reasons
to live perhaps...
the reason to be in a flow...

the Inceiver...

and He arrived
The Inceiver...
watching His arrival
was blinding...
and soothing too...

for He arrived like the seagull
piercing the blue
His broad and strong wings
holding against the tide
He descended like a spring daylight
on top of a tower...
from where the city seemed like  GoogleEarth® searched
lanes-peopled, sooty buildings marked...
having no variety of their own...

He then with various colors them toned...

The Inceiver...
He...
colored the tallest build with glass
upon which treetops reflected a happy lass
as if dancing to the tune of a summer holiday song...
He brought pinkish red blossoms
on the bridge going south
and gave hymns to those having curse filled mouths...
He brought glory as unbelievable as rainbow
He,the Inceiver,only love sowed...
Upon grey walls...broken frames of heart...
in galleries of death...
and capital headed shopping mart...

and
then
Spring came
followed by Summer...
and then the rains...

with Hope and Faith
He inceived a magical sense...

The being of a Cicero and his Ducati white...

The road that went round and round
in the urban jungle
of coops holed into
concrete builds...
Cicero never takes...
his white Ducati
has twin disc brakes
and twin ignition
if one fails
the other he switches on
and he just flies...
away away from the mist and the fog...
straight to another province...
another morn...

he races without a trail
he has nothing to tail...
all he wants the wind through his hair
and the neopolitan cheesey layer
of art...creation and fountains of hope
he runs his Ducati up the slope...

and

he has that feel that lingers on
he believes in His another morn...

and

That church on Santa Maria...
sometimes he there stops...
the white marble statue of Virgin Mary
where stands smiling all the day...
Cicero races his Ducati white through the fog grey...

and he leaves no trail
he has nothing to tail...

the sky...the build... the bird...and a Forrest...

'uncle!
the sky is so blue!
O it is so good...'
the nephew exclaimed
in a different beat though...
to his uncle
with whom he came
to a site...

the uncle calls him Forrest...
orphaned he
has been staying with him
since he had been three...
Forrest...he wanted him to be...

'yes... it is blue kid...
like the way it should...
and look...'
he drew his curious round wonderous eyes
to a bird on flight...
up above the build...
free....
her wings stretched wide...
she
was just having a float...
like a boat
in the flow
of the wind...

'up...there...
must be really hard
to be...'

The nephew wondered...
aloud...

'it is hard...
but the bird...
as she
does it every day...
she knows exactly
which wind is what...
how to stretch her wings
and when to fold it up...
how to make her body
take in the flow...
she knows
which air thrust
can take her to Mexico...
and at what angle the upward twirl can she make
so that from Venezuela her wings can take
her godly existence to another world...
she is none but God...'

he...
the uncle...said to his nephew
Forrest whom he wanted to be...

and the build...
the blue sky
and the white cottony clouds-
all seemed part of the theory...

Hope...

H O P E...
she is a dope
for him
from today...
this instant...
to forever...

HOPE
is what he is going to live with
and from Him
he knows...
(doesn't he?)
he got
HOPE
like a dope...

and he is only going to live with her...
HOPE...
from Him he she got...
and he can only with tears
pray...
pray more
and forever...
to Him
the enchanting being...
the Only Man...

for He has giveth him
HOPE...
and he knows
he can't live without her...

'every day is beautiful...'

'Today...I'm the happiest!'
Isabella declared...
it was early morn
and the light from the sky
fell exactly where she stood
in her white tee...
she looked out...
the piazza was still full of pigeons...
downstairs Abramo had been singing a song...

Francesco was by the window too
but his eyes were on papers
he was working on metabolism
and synthesis...
of arsenic...

'perche?'
Francesco asked...
not looking up...
Isabella turned around...
she thought he was not listening...

'Don't you know? the reason?'
she asked...smiling...
'every day is beautiful...to me...
so can't find any special cause...'
He replied...
looking up...
the pencil held in his fingers
as if a cigarette...

'You guess...'
Isabella played...
'Today the Sun rose?
yesterday the Moon descended gently?
today the breeze from the sea is the coolest?'
Francesco joked...
his likely jokes...

'Today is Amadore's birthday!'
Isabella almost yelled...like a child...

'really?'
Francesco asked...smiling...
'Si...'
Isabella nodded...

Francesco opened his notebook...
he was noting something down...
Isabella went near and found...
He had noted against almost all dates...
three hundred and sixty four almost...
some occasions to celebrate...

'Why this one day still left? no occasion for it?'
Isabella was curious...

'why not?
That day...
Life was probably first formed...
by God...'

Francesco reverted...
soft...
and went back to his work...
on arsenic metabolism
by a special kind of bacteria...

root of happiness...

'it is your work?
is it not?
the root?
the origin of life?
Isabella asked...
'Why should I pray
for it?'

Francesco smiled...
the night sky...
was a beauty as ever...
and the stars twinkling
far
also looked like silvery sparkling dots...

'why should you?
no...for nothing...
really...

but for my debts...
my own...
to you...
i can just request...
for the sake of the journey of life...
for the road...
for the sake of this ocean...
the blue...
for the sake of the air...
that flows...
for the sake of flowers
that bloom...
for the sake of grassy blade
which shine...
for the sake of unwavering Faith...
just pray...'

Francesco paused...

Isabella was silent...

and the air seemed still...

and the scene had a stop...

as if everything was frozen...

and soon after...

there was a gong...

and
after that
breeze again blew...

the ocean again moved...

and

Happiness
in terms of  boisterous children at a park...
and icecream parlours agog...
and swinging trees...

emancipated...

mellowed sun...

seeing him
the mellowed sun...
coming to bathe
after the day...
seeing him
tired...smoothened...
is like believing
the strongest is the weakest too...
the tiger has a lamb within...
the boldest is the softest...

to Him... for Him...

for this beauty...
he thought he could live
for ten thousand years...

for this calm
he thought he was ever ready
to die any instant...

this orangy pinkish breezy afternoon...
this river who has seen his all...
the birds going home...
the grass hoppers jumping on leaves and petals...
the grassy lead swinging in breeze
against the backdrop of the sky...
the distant cooing of cuckoos...

he thought
he has seen Him...
and His beauteous form...
His loveliest shape...

Rumi and Lucifer...

'so you want to stay here
for a while...'
Rumi,the persian poet,asked
calm
the visitor to his gate...
a man... bearded...

'what's your name?'
The poet asked next...

the man smiled...
'Lucifer...am I'
he said...with pride...

Rumi gave him food...
shelter...

and he was late that day for prayer...

next morn
the poet, persian,
with a mighty heart
woke very early
and prayed fervently...

it is said
his each prayer had the worth
of forty thousand coins of gold...
and God answered...
finally...
and
Rumi...
became he
the Saint...

(inspired by a story on Rumi)

after violence...comes Peace...

'O the blade was sharp
very sharp...
and i was in haste...
so i bled...'

he muttered
explaining once
why he got cuts
all over his face...

he just explained
calm...
and then
like an afterthought
he added...
'it was primarily
my fault...
not of the blade...
i was in haste...
terrible haste...
and the blade...
it got my blood marks...
and when blood gets spilled...
blood...
carnage...
violence...
also bring Peace...
and the blade...
i vouch for it...
for with cuts
and blood
it brings Peace...'

nests and ...

The sunny morn beauteous as ever
had shadows too
long and wide ones
on the road...
from green trees of summer...
green leafy shadows...everywhere...
and he maintaining a holiday sprite
going consistent with speed
no fiddling with the race or brakes...
asked his friend
'what's for today?'

and just then
his eyes fell
on nests...

Nests being built
by mother birds...
with twigs and twines...
and with so much care
for their
little birdlings...

amidst the green leaves of summer...

karmatic!

karmatic...

he

seeks...

nothingness...

and

everything...

the null

and

the filled...

the Space

and

the Time...

and

the deepest...

and

the profoundest...

and

Love

all encompassing...

'no zombie land...only Light...'

'there's no zombieland...'
He asserted...
like the way He does...
always...
the He...

omniscient...
omnipotent...

He...
the aurora...
the glowing...
the caring...
the meek...

He...
standing before him
with Light beams
gobbling up
all the dark...

He asserted...
'there is no zombieland...
for there is only light...
and children...
and the pristine
and the white...'

he...
the tiny
felt a shiver...
deep
somewhere
in his spine...
and
his mind
went blank...

VOID...

and
the Light...
the white...

bathed him...
just
bathed him...

'looking into your eyes...'

'can't you find?
the origin of life
in my eyes?'
Isabella asked...
To him...
indifferently poised
he seemed...
Francesco heaved
a sigh...

and then...
after a pause...
broke his silence...
'looked have i into your eyes
but the journey is still a long way...
looked have i into your eyes
but miles are still left untrodden...
and got the Faith...
miles left
would be traversed sure...
for i looked into your eyes...pure
and seen the blue...
the blue
which had been into me...
and it had been a rediscovery...

looked into your eyes...
haven't i?'

The sky...
of Naples...
was blue...
and the oceanic waves
blue and white...
bestowed peace and happiness alright...

Isabella stared...
at Francesco...

he was writing something
on a scrap of paper...

and the breeze made flapping sound
on the paper...
and also on Isabella's heart...

at Antonio Dohrn... one fine morn...

'have i paid you for the cappucino?'
he asked,
to the ol' woman with white head scarf...

it was another breaking dawn
at Antonio dohrn
and the lawn
by the road
was green...
some avid golfers, their caddies...
they in white could be seen
practising hard shots...
teeing off...
and the breeze from the sea soft
told him he had been good...
no matter what rocky mountains stood
and tried to block his pursuit
for the origin of life...

'era gratis per voi...'
(it was free for you...)
the old woman said smiling...
motherly...
he looked at her hands
pale skin with blue veins...
shaking in cold but not infirm;

'perche?'
he was not willing to accept free
the cappucino...
'I know...'
the old woman in white head scarf
smiled and said
'but you got works to do...
you are in a hurry...
so now you go...
this debt...
to me
will send you once again to me
and then you might return
with more money...
you could return the debt then,honey...'

he was amazed...
he stared for long
to the ol' woman in white scarf...

the golf course was green
and the breeze from the sea was soft
and some people were practising hard...
with all focus...
teeing off...

the unbearable lightness of a particular being...

'well...
i am no Kundera...'
he started...
upon being reminded of the existential issue...

'i am in no way into
Nesnesitelna lehkost byti...'
he murmured...

'no Tomas have i...'
he added...

'then what?'
the grey suited man
opposite asked...

'the unbearable lightness...
for me comes from
Light...
and the rainbow clouds...
afloat
over Prague...
though there might be mist and fog...
but lightness unbearably light
and bearably bright...
so appears...
it appears so that
i just lie flat...
and the light takes the body in...
for a flight...
the Light...'

he sighed...

the grey suit smiled too...

was there any dearth of light?
really?
in the room...
where the sequence took place...

when silence checks in...

Silence...
the sister of serenity
checks in with Him...
He is her elder bro
and the two
they come together...
hand in hand...
serenity is their another sibling...

when the three together sing...

Life...
becomes such a blessed thing...
Life...
it turns into nothing...
and yet
everything...

after a road trip...

'so you are back!'
Isabella was amazed
to see him back...
he smiled...
unclipped his headguard...
the helmet with a stud
of Apollo
behind...
'hey! you've grown tattoo too!'
she said as she looked
at a write
on his nape allright...

'whom did you meet?
this time?'
Isabella asked...

'God...'
he replied...
Francesco...
tired but having a glow...

'God? are you crazy?'
'No...
i am not...
i saw Him on number plates of cars
whizzing past...
i saw Him sending me a bird...
a very big one...
like a white swan
showing me the path when i was lost...
i saw Him in faces of people...
in wrinkled starving faces...
in eyes of kids...

after the last lap
when i was thinking to stop...
a stop sign appeared
and i stopped...
a piccolo...
was it there earlier? i didn't know
but a man...
would you believe it? just like our Abramo...
he came up with a bottle of water...
only for me...
and methought...
how could he
know i was thirsty?

then...
once...when the tachometer read four hundred and sixty three
i found a tree
quite similar to the one...
we have behind that Clinic here
at Orazio...

and found posts and signs...
as good as new
in places people live few...

and then thrice...
missing horns
from behind
i could have met death
but He stopped me...

simply...
by asking me to stop...

and
interestingly...
when the dark came...
and my visor got blurred...
I sang aloud...
and thought He heard my song
on the road...
and He sang too!
Yes...
assolutamente!

i found Him
and we had long chats...
about life...
we conversed...

and when i slept off
by the road
putting up my tent...
He would His angels send...
to stand on vigil...

O i met Him...
on the road...'

Francesco's voice trailed...
he stopped...

Isabella said nothing...
she thought she needed to say nothing...

sitting...on bike by a road

sitting on motorcycle
rested on double stand
by a slightly busy road
under the open sky
and a breeze flowing by
has its own beauty i think
for i sink...
sink
into a blessed nothing
an oblivious way
of getting out of busy life
so meaningless sometimes
compared to the vast that sets in
gradually on my skin
like nimble feel...
as if life should be like this
and nothing else...

what's the use really of that hurriedness
which leaves one finally vacant?

i prefer quite the opposite...
specially on a summer evening
when the breeze is so young
and the road beside is long
with lightbeams playing on
simple...
i am loving this song
that is emerging slow
by this sitting doublestand
on a bike
and the sky
and the trees
and the breeze...
all coming to me
like the way they should be...
and never to be missed...

siyahi...

those carves me etch
on the paper relentless
'what are they?
where do they me get?'

i asked my friend
the ever present One...
the unperished...
the blessed...

and He
gave me a pot
of ink
a big inexhaustible one...
and placing it
right on my desk
He disappeared...
a vision was He...

time and again He comes...
paying a visit with His calm...

He had disappeared...
He might reappear...
but
Hadn't He left
an ink pot?
Siyahi...
right on my desk?

meeting Hugo...

meeting him
his blue eyes
and cute face
soft curls upon rest
his head full of an idea...

'automaton...'
he said
he knew...

meeting him
at his workplace...
repairing and maintaining
that golden and brown giant analog clock
full of levers and gears...

he stays there
round the clock
and in his spare time...
doesn't he have a dream to chase?
a dream of an automaton his father once laid
in his diary?

a mechanism...
he told me
standing a bit aloof
from the crowd
'i have no doubt
a machine is so perfect
having nothing extra than it did get...'
'spare parts? you need them na?'
i asked
not a machinist like him
-having no machinist's dream...

and he seemed overjoyous...
for the first time
at the station
in smoke...noise...dust
i saw him smiling just
as if it was the only thing
that did dreams bring
to his soul...

Hugo...
a boy,
with golden curls,
blue eyes,
excellent voice
and
a dream...

meeting him
me thought
it was his dream
that made him
so cute...
so good...
though a bit aloof...

'rendere il viaggio...'

'rendere il viaggio...'
He told him...
in simple terms
while dropping butterfly wings
on his palms...

he looked at the butterfly's wings
colored like a rainbow it did bring
the temptations faced by a wanderer soul...
he looking at the butterfly's sweet earnest
to fly...to fly to where its pleasure lie...
and then he thought of the air...
the pollen laden journey fair
the leaves...the trees...mother in Nature...

he thought
it was time for him to make a journey
from the bounds of space
to the unbound shape...

'rendere il viaggio...'
He had said
and he saw how the bluish road laid
for him to travel...
all the way...
to Milky Way...

The two...

'per favore...signorina...'
Isabella thought
she heard almost inaudible a voice...
a male one...
familiar...

so the crowd of Gay Odin
she just scanned...
it was evening...
a holiday one...
families...kids...
women with loud airs
all had transformed the shop
into a great center of
fun...
but the voice...
gentle...
inaudible...
familiar...
had hurt hidden...

so she scanned...
and found right behind
her...
Francesco...
uncombed...
sleepy...
there he did stand...

'Buonasera...'
She said...
'what happened?'
She asked curious
seeing the man
in biege trousers
and a dark blue jacket
looking not so fair...

'nothing...
thought of you...
and
so
came running just...'
He answered...
self absorbed...

'good...
want to have a gelato?'
Isabella asked...
thinking he needed that thing
as the evening drew
soft breeze into the streets
and the city was beginning to get lighted
into different colors...

'want to have a walk...
with you...'
Francesco said...

'Villa Communale?
will it be good?'
Isabella asked...
looking at his eyes...
tired...
sleepy...

'Bene...'
Francesco said...

and the two started the walk...
from the crowd...
towards the park...
by the sea...
so blue...
they walked
the two...

mother true...and a child...

'so good you are...
how come you so good?'

he asked her...
'and why can't I
be as good as you?
where does your motherly heart lie?
can you show me that oneday?
at least once...
so that
i be good
and get motherly kind...'
he added...
murmuring...

She said nothing...
she just placed her palm
on his shoulders drooping down
and looked into his eyes...
soft...
teary...
a weeping child...

she smiled
mild...
but said nothing...

he felt
he just got
what does it take
to be a woman...true...
he felt
he just saw
what does it take
to be a mother...true...

deservingly...

no regrets...
got exactly what i deserved...
exactly the way things should have fallen
lightning...
blazing...
searing...

deep into my skin...
half killing...
half still...awake...

Lord!
forgive me...

and send down more if YOU please...
for its YOUR way...
and who am i to contradict
YOUR ways?

Send me more
more
more

so that
i die
and
get
a
rebirth...

YOU
promised me once
'a rebirth is pending'

is it not still the time?

looking for YOU...

Every moment i live
i look for YOU...
in morning dew
accumulated on windshield
kissed by the springy dawn...
in my sleepy yawns
and also running speeding traffic less roads...

i look for YOU
in broad Billboards...
in horizontal white lines
where to stop...where upon roof lied a flowery vine...
in orchards of fruitful smell
in shops where dreams at bargain that cropped haired ol' man did sell...
in labyrinths of the city going round
and round like a puzzle...
in flow of coolest water from the muzzle
of a corporation tap...
thirsty me look for YOU
in every motoracing lap...

and YOU
the benign...the calm
the man with purest softest palm
just leave me amazed by your Signs...
YOU draw for me vertical builds
and also horizontal lines...
And then send me images of young kids cycling hard
on an empty street
YOU...
with fascination me leave jarred...
i wake up from sleep to a kingdom of the wakeful
i become wise and then to be the fool...

still YOU drive me through the hills and the plains
YOU send flowers on my bluish contact lens...

and
i just laugh at me...
and ask YOU silently
'what this YOU
so cheerful?
How YOU discovered me?
or is it ...i discovered YOU?'

a painter's morn...

the sky was still pink
the sun over the Eldo superstore
appeared like a float
and Amadore at his studio
drew...
the whole of the night he blew
into that painting...

il fiume...
(the river...)
and its bank
and a tree with the strongest trunk
and a woman sitting there
in white...her flowing hair
by the breeze of the morn
carrying a song...

the whole of the night he spent...
Amadore...as if he worked on
a dream God sent
and now when he had completed
the work...his eyes tired greeted
the round pinkish orangy float
over the Eldo superstore
across his flat at Monteoliveto...

the pigeons of Naples
had woken up sure...
he could hear their hopping sounds
on the stony pavement below...

A painter's night thus
come to a morning must
with il fiume del dolore...
through which he could to the millions say
his life had already become an art...
and he with the blessedness can never part...

Soon the day would come
with hurly burly noises some
but this morn will be for him the same
a morn of creative blessedness...

brought out live...

the sombre tone
that chanted the slokas
supported by the beats of drums
and pads...

the child in us the ambience
brought...
out...
live...

the lights
the chants heavy
ably supported by pads
beaten happy and soft...

the child in us the ambience brought
out...
live...

'for this death
i am to be born'
he thought...
'only for this realised self...
happy...loved...blessed...
by Him from top to toe dressed...'

the child in us
it brought
out...
live...

Who wants more in this cyclic life?
from soil we begin
and upon soil we lie...
who wants sounds of crackers and bombs?
who wants really that?

the child in us
it brought
out...
live...

'see you at Montauk...'

Standing at the door of the Memory motel
like a Billy Joel...
he thought he should break into a song...
afterall
it is his eternal sunshine
on spotless mind...

and the fishermen's shack
had all the racks...
of his love...

here
some say
The Rolling Stone
hanged out with mugs of beer...

and his eternal sunshine on spotless mind
found only the blue open theatre
of spellbinding width
the Montauk Manor
also stood like a white layer...

'see you at Montauk...'
Probably that thought he wrote in a book
and felt that real was here...
he realised he had arrived wholesome there...

and for the first time
a feel of being at peace
with a sense of fully accomplished
made him so restive...

'see you at Montauk...'
he thought he had written a book
on the idea itself...
his eternal sunshine on a spotless mind...
and now love too
had made an entry there...

the desired variety...
with eternality...

left you there...Isabella...with hope...

Isabella...
Left you at the shore
in front of waves...galore...
with a purpose so definite...
wish you catch the light...
of the sun on the waves
sparkling...gleeful kind
a sense of joy so eternal
and also of hope and piety...
left you just there...

and hope
you will have the wings of an angel
to fly to the light...without fail...
as God resides in Light...
God loves Light...

the connect...a highway

the road that ran empty
like a highway cool air in my head
and big trailers hissing soft
caused the connect...
'relazione con dio...'
they say...
those people in robes...

Earlier
i had no belief as such
cares of the world had i much...
and then He happened
full of dark...He happened...
was it His subplot?
'only in pitch black dark
one sees the light'
they say...
those people in robes...

and
soon after that
'relazione con dio...'
it happened...
like the road empty - a smooth highway...
and big trailers on their way
to reach faraway towns...
with essential supplies
of life...
sped sending the wind through my hair...
combing a sleepy soothing feel
and transporting also the morning air...
Of this state...perhaps...
to another city...town...
up the hill...
and also down...
to that greenish valley...
they just carry...

'relazione con dio...'
they say-
those in robes...
and i felt it on the highway...

the void and filled soul...

this starry night...
this breeze...
playing with long coconut leaves...
and the music so blessed...
keeping with the tradition of a perfect transcience...
this beauty of doing nothing...
must be a choice so ancient...
Pre historic one...perhaps

a free uninhibited mind
converging all into one
a blank creative choice...
in void the birth of a voice...

Plato...
he had that aplenty I guess...

the beauty of doing nothing...
and also getting into everything...

the starry night...
the leaves talking about the day...
the clouds on cushiony dreams laid
yawning...
the night waiting with all her keenness for the morning...
the mother bird telling a tale...
the rhythmic passage of an express mail...

all arrive...
with the beauty of nothing doing...
and how
they just fill the soul...

the start has just begun...

Today...
Isabella must be the happiest...
for she has got the ticket
of the flight...
in her trembling hands
to catch the flight
to her place of birth...
her hometown...

faraway from the piazza
smelling still of pizza and mozerella...
faraway from the known streets
peopled by hurried feet
during daytime...
and where at night
yellow lights mix with smog...
and the chill sleeps beautifully like a log
over shoulders of people returning home...
riding scooters...vans...or plodding alone...

Upon her Port Alba home
His Holiness today shown...
the way to start a search
for her roots...
La radice...

she has boarded the flight
and the start has just begun...

The return to the base...after a long day...

the return
to the base
after a long day
is so good...
a return
with a tired body
but lightened heart
airy...afloat...
He must have been doing all these...
my friend
He...
so good...
so bold...
I cry in happy tears...
He hears my prayers...
and He delivers...
He delivers hope...
and courage to me
and others as well...
to climb the hill...
to reach out for the sky...

O...this golden dusky light...
He permeates me...
and others too...
for I see people climb
the rigorous upslope...
they sweat...
they toil...
their garments mix with the soil...
so good...
He
my friend...
He delivers
the good
to me
and all and sundry...

and hope arrives
in rainbow colors
of joy...
of mirth...
I know
He does it all...
from above...
He
the ever inspiring soul
He
the bold...

'grazie...vivere felici...'

'grazie...
vivere felici...'
he said...
not said
but wished
not wished
he prayed...
probably he prayed...
for the violet
the red...
for the sky...
the blue...
for the leaves...
the green...
for each and every element...
living and non living
that surround him
days...nights...
evenings...

he chose mornings
to pray...

and he saw
a perfect reply
coming in...
pouring in...
in terms of the Signs...
in terms of marble balls...
in terms of ice so cool...
in wind...
in light...
in alleys and roads...
in big green nine hole golf course...
in inglorious french clips of celluloid...
in glorious and holy dips in water...
in long walks...

and
he felt
there is no other more beautiful thing to utter...
to send out the heart
than muttering a prayer...

'grazie...
vivere felici...'

the legend of golden moon and...the longest ride...

legend has it
once a king
covered by dust of gold
his all properties sold
for others...
he just sold...
at the streets of El Dorado
his soul...
for the poor...
for the destitute...
for the orphan...
for the dumb and the mute...

and then perhaps
a golden moon like this appeared
round and bold
blessed by Him
the Lord...

just like this
when he peered out of his visor-
he-a death penalty charged Ceaser...
and Brutus was he...
perhaps...

but he was so ready...
for all possible outcome
for he had found Him... the calm...
and also His golden gate...
where golden flag fluttered sans rest...
and Peace sang her most beautiful song...
where mind only for a long ride longed...
the longest possible journey...
from sticks and batons to sanity...
from hurls and brickbats to pride...
he was fully prepared for that golden ride...

and the golden moon
she shone with her succulent cause...
over the buildings and trees she paused
and watched the ascent...
an El Dorado kind...

finding the key...

'i got the key!
i got the key!'
the little kid ran
and shouted...
His son...
him he brought to this world...
now he got the key of his bicycle red...
he lost it...
in a heap...
he found it
this afternoon...
and how pleased he seemed...
as if the key was the only thing
for which he prayed
to Him...
and the Supreme...
gave him that...
quite sudden
like a joy...

and he laughed
and giggled
as if he found in the world
his only toy...

the key
to his bicycle...

'i should have been a monk...
why am i here?
these cries...shouts...curse laden... stratosphere?'
he asked himself...
and
He told him
(He was always by his side...
He hears his voice...unuttered words)
'that is the best...
going to mountains
is not a course...
stay here and fight...
here you alloy burn right
to be a steel...
a perfect thing...'

'L'amore e un viaggio...'

'L'amore e un viaggio...'
(Love is a journey...)
He muttered...
Francesco...
Looking at the birds...

'non una destinazione...'
(not a destination...)
Isabella perhaps added...

and the two...
they just sat...

silent
but talks continued...
silently...

the gift...of a rest...after twenty three miles...

After travelling twenty three miles and half
his lungs needed a puff
and he thought
'why not? lets stop
for a while...
a half and twenty three miles...
after one needs to take rest...
a bit...on a wooden bench...
beside a park...
the sky opening to light from the dark...
the whistleblower on his way...
the light has endowed the day
already with Faith...'
He thought looking at the opening of the gate
of the church...
He thought after twenty three miles or so
having searched
he should sit for a while...

the wooden bench by the park
had moist dewy feel of the March
Though it had been April...
and soon the May would begin...
but the wooden bench...
had a dewy feel...

So he sat...
putting to rest all...
the engine...
the silencer still hot...
the dripping and cooling sound of the thing...
like a moving mild ticking of a clock...
on the bench by the park he docked
his ship after a voyage as if...
much like Ullysses...
tired,needing a rest
and always willing to go out again for the best...

and like a contemplative sage...
the Sun peeped...
out of the dark...from behind the hills
of clouds...
the Sun peeped...

the Man and i...

'practise looking up to the sky...'
the Man with golden beard
told me once...
His Moses like eyes
sparkled with hope...
'practise delving into the depth
of ocean...'
the Man with golden gait
told me once...

'why?'
asked the fool...i...
and He...
just smiled
and looked up...
i...
the fool...
looked up
to see the bluish sky
and saw an eagle...
soaring high...
and the blue
was so wide...

then He
the Moses bearded Man
took me to the white sand
laden beach...
the ocean...
also blue but deep
He signalled me
to walk...
into it...

i...the fool...walked
and drowned...
the initial asphyxiated me
later...survived death
and much later found...
Diamonds...
Pearls...

i the fool...
died...
at the discovery...
i
just
died...

'Life is wonderful...'

'Having worked all my life
on life...
how it bloomed
against all adversities...
feel...
life is just beautiful...'
Francesco said...
choked up voice...

and Isabella ?
she said nothing...
she just allowed
Francesco
to jabber...
and she knew
when he would mutter
things might change...
so she just allowed...

Francesco was thinking...
his eyes blinking...
his fingers in the air
like a pianist rolled...
no reeds however...

'think...
Life...
blooming in deserts...
arid...sandy...
never measured...
by any scientist...

Think...
life...
how it bloomed
in arsenic...
adaptability of a pure Godly kind...
Only God can transmute
Adversities...
to Favours...

Think...
Washington...
Life is wonderful...'

Francesco stopped...
not stopped...
his ruminations went silent...
paused...

and

Isabella?

well...
she had tears...
those round glassy beads...

paradiso sulla terra...(paradise on earth)

'Paradiso sulla terra...'
whispered she..
his Isabella...

they were by the sea
and the breeze was blowing cool...
the blue vast and the clouds
hovering across
might have made
her to say
those words...soft...

'Paradiso sulla terra...'
he repeated
in his own diction
a curious one...
an affirmation...
of his faith on love...
on the ocean...
the clouds...
the clouds on motion...
on Abramo...
and his piccolo...
on violin played all solo...
on the statue of Dante
at the piazza...
on occhio della mente...
on paintings done by Amadore...
on the alleys not woken up...
on Napoli Metro running non stop...
on the flower woman carrying basket of blossoms...
on his satiated soul...
and His Last Supper bowl...

And...

'paradiso sulla terra...'

the place became so...

a time for living...

Brothers' four...
they sang in chorus
the green leaves of summer...

and
summer came with the cool
yes... with green leaves
and a soothing feel came...
a soothing feel...a solemn one...
a place for to die...

a time for living
and a space for to die...

He sent ... the rains...

Finally ....
the rains...

He told me...

He was curious...
about him...
so He sent rains...

Rains...
would it alter him?
a recourse?
or...
would he be on the path...

'let's put him the idiot to a trial...
a test...'
He joked.

And he got prepared...
the rains...
it came
heavy...
but worked wonders...
upon him...

he just looked at the fall
and felt only cool
was needed...
the cool ...
and nothing else...
the cool...
simple...
joyous...
profound...

not quitting the early morn...

'I can quit my day job any day
but can't quit my early morning one...'
he thought
as he stopped at the site...
saplings being planted in perfect rows and lines
and columns being raised
one by one...

'Celebrate life'
Said the architect
and he thought
he was going absolutely by his dictates...

the birth of trees...
from birch to peach
and those round shaped leafy ones
light green and the pond with swans...
he gets the godly chance
to see them all arrive
because of his early morning job
of a man celebrating life...
and he is a scribe
too...

'what a wonder...
to be
an architect...a scribe
and also a celebrator
of life...
and I can quit my day job
but how can I
cease to be a scribe?
for that will turn everything so meaningless...
for that will make shabby the white dress
and...
i would then lose the simple faces of people...
people who talk their heart out
bringing their best out...
people...so varied and good
no doubt...'

only this morn
when he was again all alone
to devote his mind to work
and soul to God
and a bit of contemplation
he had struck a conversation
with a man
an early riser like him
for his morning job...

the man...
he had looked at him
and he smiled and asked him
to 'go slow...'

'take me for example...'
the man like a revelation
by God started...

'i am into it since i had been
a boy...
young
with dreams since then i toyed...
my father brought me here...
and see...
i am old now
but i have so far made it fair...
can't move fast...
but there's no need to...
i think by going slow
one gets dreams too...'

he had smiled
hearing the old man wise...
saying these to him
today at early morning...

an allegory of a good samaritan...

met an old man in the market
by the shop..on a stool ...sitting...
I stopped... there
had to buy things...
and...
He the old man...stray white beard...
a pair of spectacles hanging from nose...
smiled ...
and asked
'what do you want kid?'

'do i look like a kid?'
i thought within
and gleamed
and with a happy face replied
'bottles of water...available?'

'Sure...'
the old man
(was he that cobbler Jesus met?)
said and went right in
and came with a big bottle...
a real big one...
cold water...

I drank...
and
paid up him...

He the old man this time smiled back...
'Where do you live?'
Was his next question...

'Nearby...'
me answered...

'but you travel...
far ...
you travel...
i know...'

the old man affirmed.

i stopped short of getting into the closed air conditioned thing.

i just stopped.

for a moment i thought
the old man looked like the cobbler...
that cobbler who became God!

trance...she came in her perfect dress...

the lights dimmed
the soft padding was on
and a trance took her perfect footsteps
to walk on his heart...
his tired yet restive heart...

he heard the hum
a slow hum
as if he was under hallucinogen
but the lights still played
here and there
slipping and catching his buttons...
silver knobs... catching the liquid mind
and flowing evening...

trance came with her best dress
a long needling feel
all over his arms...
his legs...
his every part of biology...
and
he left his body
half awake...
and took a walk...
away from the dimming hall...
his mind went outside...
though his body stayed
on the couch...
he walked
and bare feet
stood he on the soft cool grass...
the sensation of another calm
gradually started climbing up
from toes...feet through the legs...
chest...
till it reached his tiny tired head...
a headlessness...
no brain...
no reason...
nothing...
only a mind
so blessed...

trance
she came in her perfect dress...

the Signs...

talking to people
unnerves him...

but talking to God?
O he loves it so much!
and God
when responds
he knows he is filled with joy...

He
Never resorts to usual talks
like what is the market share of digitised alarm clocks...
or what is the repo rate of currency...

He
talks in terms of Signs...

Signs
falling sudden
so clean
and
so clear
only to him...
and that is the most interesting part...

God
just leaves Signs...
very common yet
he knows there were left for him
only...
much like ,say,
a route map left
at a very common place
for a hidden treasure...
A Gift...

And the moment he sees it...
he knows He had been there...

He had been just there
Smiling...
ever joyous...
so plentiful...

He just like a child plays with him
making him never a fool...
He leaves...
His Signs...
in simple things...
like an appearance of an aura...
a star...
so sudden...
and the next moment
something so desired just happens...

oneday He left him a movie clip...
another day He into his eyes closed peeped
and showed him a vision...
a bird on flight...

He
just leaves Signs for only his sight...

the sacrament...

'well...we have changed the engine oil...
cleaned the spark plug...changed the oil seal foil...'
the service station man in charge
of the vehicle with a pro attitude
jabbered out what were being done...
to the vehicle...
looking clean and quite elegant...

He looked at the shiny chassis
and knew all these works
were part of a sacramental service
to his being...
he knew before going out
one needed to be really clean...

taking the red square cotton piece
he dabbed it into a can of grease
and touched and smoothened
every part bolted and hinged...

he knew all these were part of
a sacrament...
soon he would be out to attend the big mad world
so far calm and with no disquiet...

and he patted soft
the visor upon which a leaf yellowish managed to drop
from no where... blown by the morning breeze...
a blessing?
he did not know...

and the machine roared
and soon he was gliding...
the sights and visions
started pouring in...

an empty traffic stand
'survey ahead..go slow'
printed in bold letters first did land...
then children in different uniforms to schools
with satchels...water bottles...
like tiny soldiers out...
a group of middleaged men
having 'elachi tea' sitting lazily on a bench...
a speeding public bus...
a garden of flowers
with boards
like 'don't tread on the grass',
an empty petrol station-
one of four dispensers 'out of order' and closed,
a mini van from a bakery unloading buns and breads and crumbs...
an yeasty smell reminding him childhood days some
like going to the market with dad...
a big billboard announcing the 'real mean and bad'
arriving to the town in form of a health drink...
two orange distinct round lights on blink...

The sacrament...
he knew all these were just part of,
from the start to the finish it was just that...
and he knew it...

a letter to Him...

Dear Lord
thought to write you a letter long
but you know it all...
where I rose
and
how I did fall...

Now that you rest
your palm on my breast...
want to play ...
Your confidante!
No...
there's no pride in it...
only give me a humble treat...
give me and all just a space
to put all worries to perfect rest...
and
provide us with whitest dress...

[this is written in response to an article published today in The Statesman by Uddipana Goswami called 'why I married a wife beater?'
Those who are interested can go through the news. Here's the link:
http://m.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.thestatesman.net%2Findex.php%3Foption%3Dcom_content%26view%3Darticle%26id%3D452889%26catid%3D44&h=DAQFHSi5f&s=1 ]

On Francis Quimet...

He was his father's last hope
he was his father's last chance
to deliver a 72 amidst rain
so he looked at nothing but trained
his eyes only on the greenish soggy plain
and the hazards...
he was not worried about his part...

he was not in the course to beat
anyone... only compatriots he did meet
but all he had to do was to overcome
his father's laboured eyes and his tired mom...

And then there was Harry
his first teacher...idol...who with the club him married...
the club...the brassie...
he looked at his eyes...
on verge of a defeat but proud
Harry was his first teacher and idol no doubt...

And the rain was cruelly hard
and he had always played against the mud...
he remembered in his child form
when his father...a labourer...ploughed and sweated on
and his mother would sew old clothes...
he had his eyes...
on Harry...
and Harry Vardon
alone...
the stylist...
the greatest brit golfer...

and this Harry stood opposite
and across the busy street
the Quimet cottage had surely his mom
she might be feverishly tensed and dumbed...

and he took his stance
his club his only chance...
to refurbish his dad with a hope...
he took the air and landed his amateurish stroke...
and the 17th looked a long;really long ride
for the ball to travel calm and fine
but it had already followed the course
it went through all till it dropped into the hole...

'amateurs never win an open!'
that shout stopped all of a sudden
and hats and flowers flew
just flew in the air...
Francis Quimet made it to the heavenly lair...

Harry also there stood
his teacher...the idol...
he with happy tears stood
and clapped at the rise of a star...

helpless to hope...

'Helpless...'
She said...
'I am so helpless...'

'Helpless? you said? just?
me too!
Helplessness is such a sticky glue...
but then ...
there is the Sign
the God cross
on your shoulder
and on mine...

God cross...
The Sign...
and it also favours all...
those who are gutsy to stand really tall
to fight against all odds
not by sharp tools like swords
but like Mr.Deeds...
who just goes by seeds
of deep and profound leads...

and the helplessness turns into hopes
and The Sign
of God Cross-
it acts like dopes...
and
generations stand...
finally a generation stands...'

He muttered...
and looked up...

the sky had sunny beams...soft...

got wings to fly?

'got wings to fly?'
whistled the sky
too early...
a bit too early
the city in sleep then sighed
and me caught the road...

'got wings to reach up?'
asked the gps map
too early...
a bit too early
the city in sleep then sighed
and me caught the road...

midtown sleep...

'Open your eyes...
open up...'
the feminine voice non stop
from the digital alarm
with blue and silver top
kept saying in a sing-song manner...

initially it looked a morn
a cloudy desolate kind
but as senses got reorganised
he found himself in a room
with big glass windows
through which a golden aura showed
and lit up every single inch...
he thought he was at a sandy beach...

the trees common looked uncommonly new
as if they were eucalyptus few
planted by some genie sudden
he found himself sand laden
and the sky was so monsoon like
felt it had rained somewhere the day and the night...

'open your eyes...
open up...'
he thought he heard not so distant lapping up
of waves breaking into foams white
he thought he saw a rising tide...
glistening boulders...mica shine
he thought he saw tables laid for some people to dine...
at the beach...sandy windy cloudy one
and umbrellas having pictures of white swans...
on blue canvas painted good
he thought he for years by that scene stood...

finally the bustle came in
a bathos with the real thrill...
he was asleep in a car
and the stereo blared
a jingle loud...
and the jam just looked like a filthy crowd...
and those electronic boards glowed red and green
causing him to have a grin
to his own self so much lost
he then a paper slip tossed
out of the window for the city...
those noisy lousy hurly burly things-
he just pitied...

sleepy...

Have you noted the cool...
the air...the mellowed sky
few birds flying really high...
and the soft road...windy...
no heat ...no shouts crazy...
no frantic desperado...
a long and wide dreamy shadow...
a lazy man singing a song...
stretching notes suiting the long
and spread balmy feel...
have you seen how the afternoon
brings an indolent restive boon
all over the available space?
how a child sleeps and drools ?
how his head on a cushion back seat just rests?
how the sleep only brings peacefulness?
and supreme innocence?

father mackenzie...

Seen him walking in white dress
dirt in his hands bare...
seen him standing by the ocean
looking at the vast beauty...
seen him doing just his duty...
seen him embracing the cold
bite of the wind
seen him before his Lord fully bent...

he sought just forgivenness
and wrote sermons
that no one would hear...
seen Father Mackenzie
walking in white dress
with dirt in his hands bare...

purple dream maiden...

This morn seen her
my purple dream maiden fair
a violet purple magnificence
her overpowering luminance...

the sun which rose just then
fell upon her woken face
and her purple violet dress
had glitter of a royal lineage...

the city was still then vacant
only the sun had his hopes lent
over the macadam... road and tar
a milkvan crossed the speed bar...

seen my purple dream maiden
at a park by a simple lane...

made a friendship with the sky...

made a friendship with the sky tonight
made a friendship just
those stars...galactic kind...
supernova...
made a friendship with them all...

through the cool ether as the night did fall...
heard from them their stories
and their own allegories
of bluish marbles kept in glass jars...

struck a friendship with those twinkling things
dots faraway yet coming down did bring
tales and fables and parables...
how once a starlet
broke off from her path
how a rising sun collapsed tired at the gate
of a milky way...
how in blank verse Miltonic equilibrium stayed
hanging precarious...
a galactic sky so various...

made a friendship with the sky
so vast...so unimaginably wide...
as if she got no ends...
ever lasting and expanding sense...

and i got widened too...
i stretched every limit
of impossible possibilities...
tired and yet i got a broadened view...

made a friendship with the sky
and caught a jet to away fly...

a flight...

took
off me
above...
i thought
the tachometer read
one twenty...
took me off
above...
i dreamt...
the purring fan blade...
led to a trance...
momentary
though
but a trance...
above...
someone's shout...
someone's oblique curse...
but still managed
to have a flight
clipped wings have i not...
hidden wings are they...
i dreamt and unfurled them...
purring fan blade...
tired body
but took me off
i thought...
and the tachometer yellowish red
one twenty it surely read...

took
off
me
i dreamt...

the soil...
the fading buildings...
water heavy blackish cloud...
sultry weather opposition...
somehow managed a cockpit position...

and took off...
me...
soulwise...

growing up...on the road...

every day i grow up
on the road i stop
and asphalt blue tempts me
more to run at full throttle speed...

every day i grow up
on the road i live up
to dreams longish side
every day the road i ride...

unclutched...unleashed
with the air i converse a tease
and the trees when they wave
i know i have been true and brave...

every day i grow up
tears, laughter and wails fill the cups
and on the road i spend 'em all
on the road i rise and fall...

unclutched soul...unhindered run
on the road i meet the sun
a yellow round glowing thing
the road so often exploration brings...

on the road i sleep and wake up
on the road i just grow up...

tears and attainment...

some cries
and tears
cleanse...
they just purge one...

those drops
that fall from eyes
carry salt
but sweetness too
for tears are made out of blood...

those drops
that come out impromptu
carry oceanic depth...
salty might be
but after tears also come sleep...
a sleep to catch up
with Him...

to be blessed by Him too
tears are made by Him...
His dictates...
His wishes...
His way of reconciling to mortals
with the purest state...

some tears
are so cathartic...
a needed level
attained
after a lot of pains
and attained still
no doubt...
An attainment.