Kobi guru ke...[to Rabindranath Tagore...kabiguru]

Tomar jonnyo prabhu
Hariyechi koto kichu
Kintu taro beshi anek
Peyechi khujey...
Tomar jonnyo ak shiter sokal
Golap rongin din likechi shudu.. Tomar jonnyo prabhu
Du haat bariye sthir
Jhorer raatey kono ak paharer chadey
Takey dekhechilam bhishon borjopatey...
Tomar jonnyo notojanu Hoye
sokal ashey ajo amabosshar raatey... Tomar jonnyo ajo achi bechey Jodio bela gelo hoye shesh
Dupur goriye elo raat...
Tomar jonnyo prabhu
Bariyechi tao duhaat...

[note:- the scribble written in bengali...my mother language using english alphabets might appear too unknown for my friends here...specially those who have no idea of bengali...and that too written in english alphabets!
For them, here is a transliteration of the same by me.It is a tribute to our bard...the greatest one...the eternal...Rabindranath Tagore.
Hope it will help, though partially...]

For you lord
Lost a lot
And for you still
Got back all...

For you one wintry morn
Wrote for the day only a rose laden song...

For you standing like a statue
In one stormy night
Upon a cliff top
Saw her by severe lightning crashed...

For you the morn still comes
In the midst of moonless night...

For you i am still alive
Though the day has passed
And the noon had turned night...

Still for you
Stretched two hands mine...

Clouds sad and also of joy...

'Frances...'
Isabella called him
Francesco was at his table
his legs he had placed
On another chair...
Restive...
'si!'
Francesco startling replied at once...
'you are awake?
I thought you are again in your mind's ways
Catching visions...'
Isabella stated...
But her statement had a little rusty feel
As if she had something to say...
Francesco turned around...
he could see her eyes
A bit tired...
Dewy...
'che cosa e successo cara?'
(what happened dear?)

he asked...
Standing up...
Looking at her eyes...

'you make so many journeys dear...
They are good no doubt...
But...
Where do I stand?'
Isabella asked...
Hidden grief...
A nimble one...

Francesco smiled...
he thought he should laugh out loud...
But there were dark clouds
All over her...
she might cry...
she might be severely down...

'hey...
Isabel mine...
Don't you know
how i travel only to search
Mines
Of diamonds...
For you dear...
They all i place at your feet...
For that sole reason i take untrodden street
And hills and valleys...
And marshy lands...
And also skywalks...
And everything...
You got to believe that...
Don't you know
Where an Isabella stands?
Where actually angel of poesy drop
And fold her wings white and soft?
Where oceans deep with waves on them sparkle and glitter?
At what piazza i stop my taximeter?
At what road the casaurina tree blooms?
Where i meet the heavenly tunes?
They all go for you dear...
They all go for you...
What do you fear?'

Francesco took a deep breath in
Stopping...
Tired of explaining...
his theory of evolution of mind
his idea of an essence sublime...

Isabella looked at him for a while...
She just looked straight...
Fixed...

And Frances felt
That look had lesser clouds...
And Abramo...
From his piccolo...
Called out
Loud...
'hey Frances...
hey Isabel...
Want some pancakes?
Just baked them...
For you two...
Come down please...'

Hearing this
Isabella smiled...
She walked towards the casement...
Peered out of it...
Bending a bit...
And yelled joyous
'we are coming down soon!'

Francesco smiled...
And thought of a song...
A Washington...
With a name Louis...
Released in
October perhaps
Of 1967....
Perhaps...

A cruise... A journey...a voyage...a pilgrimage...

4:04
The digital clock showed
The Time...a moment
And he slowed
Down...from fifty to ten
In twenty mini seconds
For the railroad crossing
Had the bar yellow and black fallen
A mail would pass...
Probably an engine...
Through the dark
he noted the sparks
Of the roaring thing's arrival
On tracks he must have hit pebbles...
The cyclops like head light...
Briefly illumed the space...
The mail engine passed
Breaking the dense silence...
Of the journey taken
By him again...

Soon after from the guardman's shack
Just beside the track
a person appeared
The guardman himself...
he standing lone
At the crossing noted
how the guard in his khaki attire
First pushed an iron into a long pipe
And then pulled a lever
And then like a pulley
Rolled a circular thing...
The bar yellow black started to move up...
he pressed ignition red...
The journey again resumed
And he took the road...
Through a country green
Which had not yet light seen...
he was reminded so much of a story
By Ruskin Bond...
A forest of pine and deodar
And a railway crossing...
Thinking all these he moved on...

a big wasteland his eyes spotted...
A big and vast one filled with long grass and bushes...
And a few white cranes...
There flew and hopped...
he again stopped...
Engine he killed
For the white cranes would not like the purring noise...
he watched them with all intent
They...twin it seemed
The cranes white ...
They walked on long legs and also had low level flight...
Their walking had a curious playfulness
As if they were playing out a game in their white white dress...

he moved on...
A big algae topped pond
Next he came across...
A big pond middle absolute clear
Catching the sky turning blue O dear!

he moved still
With all those ethereal natural feel...

Coming across a big banyan old
he thanked his Lord
For letting him
To see how the big old tree
With age filled the locality
With shelter and hope...

A slope
Not steep was near
he prayed to God
To help him clear
The muddy slippery hurdle...

he did...
he thanked again...
By the time the Sun had risen
Like a smiley round orange and pink
he looking up tried to catch the orange and pinkish streaks
Spreading like brush strokes across the east...
the color scheme stored he in his mind's random memory disc...

Finally he stopped by a bridge
From here he would have to get to the concrete
Builds...structures...joggers...parks...
From here he would take another
Pilgrimage...

But the sky had Helios fine
Orange and pink in the blue did shine...
he for the last time looked up
Placing his left palm on his breast soft
And prayed...

A rain...some friends..a river...and love...

'some moments dear...
Are so marvellous...'
he started soon after coming home...
Water over his eyes...
Dripping still like molecules of his joy...
Water on his shoulder strap...
Bag wet...
his tee stuck...

She...
Stared at him
For a brief silent moment...
Eager to know
'what happened?'

'he the boy...must have got some this rainy evening...
But what?
Okay...let him speak...'
She thought
And flashing a benign smile she dropped
A towel in his hands...
'dry your hair first...
You might catch cold...'
She remarked...

But who was listening?
he like a kid was eager too
To share
With her
his experience
Of the evening...
Which seemed marvellous
For he had called it so...
An experience...

'dear...'
he started...
The towel in his hands...
(he never got bothered about catching cold...
Earlier...he cited that he got antibiotics...in his bag...)
'i stopped by the river
For a while this evening...
Met some friends old there...
By chance...today being a holiday...
And we sitting on a bench
Were about to begin
A session of our chats...
Catching up...with each other
After a long gap...
And then...
Someone said...
A storm had risen...
And we looked up
To see a storm...
A violent windy one
Coming to us
From the opposite bank
Of our silent friendly river...
And we all stood up...
Facing the wind...
We saw how waves were being built...
By the wind speedying fast...
Waves like a miniature ocean just
But waves still with foams white...
Like phosphorus bright...
Playing...
And we stood...
In arms...
Friends old...
By our friendly river...
And the wind was hitting us hard-
Soon
it carried needles of rain
Like in shooting spree the God trained
His most beautiful part...
He sent arrows of love...
And care...
At us...
And we stood
By our silent friendly river...
And He up there
Thought of taking pictures of us
Perhaps...
For He flash bulbs charged
Like million kilowatts
Across the dark cloudy supranormal sky...
We stood riding the tide...

And the rain...
O she came with bonhomie and Love...
So much so that we embraced us
In a circle as if we were mere players...
Huddled...
Strong and happy...

And it went pitch dark...
Only the flash bulbs charged...

Drenched we all got...
And we all still forgot
Where we actually belonged...
Had we got homes?
We just rode
The tidal waves...
And in the nearby temple
The priest sang a prayer
Of the evening...
And copper bells might be ringing fast...
For we heard...
Them all...

Dear...
What an evening He to me had brought...
And see
What i dripping wet
bring to you?
Aren't you happy?
Don't you feel
The joy in it?
Tell me...
Please tell me...'

he...
Stopped..
Running out of breath...
Sharing fast his golden gate
Again...
Only for her...

She smiled...
Her divine one...
And taking the towel from his hand
Started wiping his hair...

Monsoon in spring...

'This cloudy day
What do you say?'

he asked her...
her eyes...
Fresh like flowers
Waking up...
Still in dreams...

'happy...'
She said...
Leaning on his shoulder left...

And he thought
They were on a cliff
Full of wind blowing...
Carrying monsoon in spring...
he thought they were at Eden
And unbound they had become...
Absolutely unbound...
Only beauty inceived by He
Colored the valley down
the slope...
And beauty colored the clouds...
The sky...
The wind...
The minds...

Essential existence...

he looked at his existence...
Rewinding the tape
Of his journey so far...
Back and forth...

And he spotted on super slow
that bakul tree...
Beside their kitchen...
And the palm trees
Which were his companions...
he climbed them...
didn't he?
And that water tank
with  spiral iron cast stairs...
And the April Fool's Day auditorium
Filled with wooden chairs...
he as a participant
To a playlet...
A debate with a definite but stretchable motion...
'Language is nothing if it does not embellish one...'
And a swimming pool with greenish blue tiles...
A belle dancing to Mary Hopkin's song...

And now to his present age
The tape running stopped...
he looked at the screen...
Full of blue...
And other hues...
White...
Violet...
Red...
Saffron...

And full of only essence...

Then he asked her...
his mother
In frame...
Eternalised...

'hey mom...
You know who i am...
Surely you know...
So...
Here's a question...
Tell me...
What precedes what-
existence or essence?'

Knowing he was foolish
he just looked at the picture...
Waiting not for her
To answer...

But for Him...

And the white blossoms
Placed by her
The picture...
One fell
he by reflex it caught...
(the window was open
And a light breeze was always welcome into the room...)
he looked at the white blossom on his palm...
White...
he got her smell...
So essential...
closing his eyes...
he tried to float...

And envisioned...
All trees he had seen in his life
Kanchan...jasmine...tuberose...
All...

he thought he got the feel of whiteness
An essence...
Peace...

'essence precedes
existence...'

he did concede...
And felt
Him once again...
One time more...
Pure.

(note: 'existence precedes essence';this idea is an inspiration to this piece of scribble...however, in non existential terms, for there is no idea of God in existential thoughts)

A dream of a birth...

'i think...
i know this place...
i was born here perhaps
In another decade...'
he wept with joy
Watching his toys
And memories of another birth
Coming to him
Like an unreal dream...

It was twilight
And the road that lied
Full of mounds of grass and
A sunset scene...
And trees unknown with very familiar smell...
Reminded
him of his another birth...
To the place
Where Jean Paul Sartre
Perhaps argued
'who lives for what?'

'i live definite
In space and time limit
But i have that wish
To reach the outer sphere...
Breaking out of everything...

Like that another birth...
Like that another time...
Sublime...
Unknown
Yet so known...
Unseen
Yet so much seen...
Unheard
Yet heard so much...

And felt like the twilight set
On the road vacant
And trees...
Meadows...
Birds...
All coming together...'

A five dollar bill and a piece of paper...

And she placed
On the deck like
A five dollar bill
And a scrap of paper...
All wet...almost as if they needed very sincere handling...
he took them with utmost care
Exhaling over them
To dry them a bit...
Even sent a whiff of air from his mouth...
They were needed to be dried...

'they were to be returned
But it rained...
So...'
She remained muted...
Apologetic a bit...

he took the bill
Useless still
For him
And kept it in a locker
And the scrap of paper
he took
To work on...
To put it to some magnanimous use...
To derive a whole world out of it...
The design of a past...
The present static electricity...
The future...a possibility of an invention...
Something rare...
Something sterling...
Something as compassion...
Something as  long as the Principle of Relativity...
Something equatorial...
Something like once provoked Archimedes to hit
Bouyancy of liquid...
Something for philos
To reach out to meet agape...
Something that held the Infinite...

And she smiled...

Isabella was surprised...
To see Francesco practising some kind of physical exercise...
At the parlour front
On a mat...
His writing table he pushed aside
To make more room...
And a tibetan flute was on...
Ethereal kind...
'che cosa e questo?'(what is this?)
She asked...
Francesco's eyes were closed...
He was standing half...
With his arms bent...
He sort of paying obeisance...
To Someone...
His God?
His heels were not touching the mat...
He was on his toes...
And the light piercing the curtains
Fell on the mat...
On the floor...

Knowing there would be no reply...
She went up to the computer...
Some folders...
They were kept opened...
Some formulae...
Chemical reactions...
A movie folder was also kept on pause...
IP man.avi
And a music player...
And a song...
Tibetan Flute.mp3
It wrote...
The titlehead...
She searched...
A collection of music...
'Child in us...'
'Return to innocence...'

She smiled...

'buongiorno...Isabel...'
She heard him soft...
And she got a strange smell...
An aroma she got in her dreams perhaps...
But never possessed...
She turned around...

Francesco by his eyes
Signaled her
To look at his table...
Pushed aside...

A thin kind of a stick red was burning...
A small strip of white smoke was coming out...
Incense stick...

Isabella felt she got soothed...
Her anxiety about Frances gone...
Her cares about life gone too...
About little things...
Washing machine not working...
The plumber not responding to repeated calls...
The car's oil consumption increasing...
All gone...

'you can always go back
To managing affairs banal...
But for a while before that
Let's have a sky walk...
For that would help you more
To swim ashore
Despite waves and storms lashing down...
Now...please do not frown...
Just smile...
Just smile...'
Francesco said...
Drenched in light...

And Isabella smiled...
A glittering one...
The most beautiful one...
The most divine one...

In Harmony...

'O this coolness
this marvellous state
Of waking in sleep
And sleeping awake...'
he talked with his self
Overwhelmed by the sight
Of his morning's countryside...

'The builds are far
Though still seen from here...
Do they go with this green?'
he thought looking at the pride
Of his master rising up brick by brick
Reaching the cloudy sky...

'yes they do ...kid...'
he thought he heard the reply...
That was surely Him
The man who had the world seen...
The world stagnant...the world gyrating...

'so you followed me here?'
The kid asked smiling...
'nay..you follow me...
And so we two are together...'
The old architect smiled...
'you were sleeping i thought...'
The kid confounded actually sought logic,
'but you are here...with a question...
And am I not to answer?'
The old strong man reverted
Wearing white shorts
And a white tee
With a blue ink over his left shoulder
'knowing is believing...'

The kid looked at His shoulder left
The words he tried to deep delve
Into...
'well...yes...why this structure?
Why this urban way to malign
Her...the Nature?'

At this the millionaire stopped...
He just looked at him fixed...
And then He looked at a tree standing happy a few yards away...
The kid followed His gaze...

'I am into it for long kid...
And I know what I believe...
These builds are not mine
They are not my gold mine...
They might give me copper and silver
But you know I do not even touch them
I keep them on a salver...
If you wish and have a genuine purpose
You can take them...
I have no use of them...
At least not much...
At seventy...
All these hardly matters...'
Saying this He walked up
To the Mahogany small rising up
To touch her rain filled trunk
To feel her moist wet skin...

'I believe in beauty
And Life...
And harmony...'
He muttered...
The morning breeze caressed His white hair...
His white tee flapping...

The kid felt sorry
For his ignorant query...
'i seek apology...'
The kid knelt down
On the green soft yielding ground...
'nay...rise...
It is time not to bow...
It is time to rise...
These builds are rising...
Like this Mahogany...
And they have roots too
Going underground...
They have tentacles too
Spread far and wide...
To hold them...
To help them rise....
And see...
Every plant...
Every tree...
They are part of them...
Without them these works are so useless...
Without grass and meadows and lakes
Life is futile...'

The kid still on his knees...
Tried to get the sense...
The air carried smell of blossoms dense...

'no builds corrupt a place...
We people do...however...
Builds are like Nature...
They are incapable...
To corrupt...to malign...
If they are planted as  trees...
Like the Mahogany here...'
The architect touched the skin
Of the tree again...
This time as if He was patting
The tree...
Appreciating her growing up...

The kid on his knees looked up
To see the builds...
Lights on their top...
Like little stars...

he felt humbled...

The old man was still
Talking...
About harmony...
How harmony brings refinement...
How a tree can easily send
Atomic packets of Life...
What wind flow can generate
Into an eco system
Beautified by builds...
Like running a wind turbine...
He was talking...
Rainwater harvesting...
Lakes and ponds running into rooms...
Mango groves beside a walk...
A bamboo thicket right beside the restroom...
A fountain into a bedroom...
A skylight opening up to a starry night...
And hundreds of His other ideas
Of harmonising
Man and Nature...

'you can not stop urbanity...
Our job...
Is to bring it as much close as possible
To Her...
Nature...
By being a part of Her...
Our job is to love Her
And decorate Her...
And to bring us closer
Closer to Her...
Harmony...
Between science and spirituality...
A beautiful nature further adorned
With a small sleepy peaceful city...
And people with hearts to breathe fresh air...
Oxygen...
And with feet to dip into softest grass moist...wetness laden...
Then only men can be good
And honest...
With Her...
We can only rise...
Like this tree...
A Mahogany...'

The old man seventy turning on
To embrace one more year added to His skin...
aging beautifully old...
Shone...
Like an emerald...
In the morning Light...

The kid kept sitting...
On the ground
On his bended knees...
'knowing is believing...'
He thought...
The blue ink trembled on the Man's shoulder left...
Did the phrase take off?
From there?
To catch the spirit of the cool rainy moist sleepy air?

And the rain came...

And the rain came...
Like joy
And with a lot of jamine breeze...
Straight needles
Acupuncture feel...
Like children breaking free from school...
Truant mood...
Under a shade cowed me stood...
And the rain came
Like an onset of a celebration
A life long one...
With a hurried motion
Like a move made by a contingent of atheletes
Running fast... Olympic record speed...
And the rain came
With so much of tranquility...
Like a tired city
Going to sleep...
And fields thought of singing out
A song of a love ridden frog...
And the rain came...
Like an excellent movie clip
Of a dance sequenced in between
A fight and an awesome peace...

Levitas...

stopped his motorride
he
'should have worn a light woollen...
a sweater half sleeved...'
he thought...
feeling the cold wind sweeping
Into him...
And the looking glasses twin
Were full of dewy mist...blurred...
Twice...
he tried to wipe the mirrors
by the back of his palm
While cruising down the road...
But it wasn't easy...
the highway had trailers and trucks...
Very early they rule the road
Like monsters caring for nothing...
'why these truck drivers are always in a hurry?
Are they so by time framed?
Or is it simply adrenaline?'
he thought...
he needed a cup of warm tea...
Afterall there was foggy mist
And he had got chilled bones...
'is it December?
It is definitely May...
But who will that say?
This fog...this dewy laden shape of mirrors...'

Thinking these he stopped
By a sprawling mango tree of summer...
And under it he saw
Actually a tea shop...
A wayside one...
Typical...
A chulla being fanned
A cloud of whitish smoke...
And a pretty old man
Alone...

'can i get a cup of tea?'
asked he...
smiling...
Seeing his wish simple
About to be fulfilled...
A simple wish of having a cup of warm tea...
On a chilly dawn...

'sure...'
The old man...nodded...
And as he waited on the wooden bench
he noted
Curious enough
The mango tree was in the middle of the shop
Or the shop was built around the tree...
But intelligently the tree was not hurt...
It was kept apart...safe...
Nothing had been erected
On its branches wide...full of green leaves...
And he noted how mango blossoms lightish melt
Into the foggy air a smell
Of fruitfulness...

he walked up
To the tree and rested his tired back
After a long journey
On its thick wooden trunk...
'aha...'
he gushed soft
Impromptu...
The ambience was such...
he felt the cool support of the thick wood behind
And felt connected with the tree...
being filled with instant satiety...

'here's your tea...'
he got out of his sleepy trance...
seeing the old man looking at him
With a cup held in his right hand...
'thank you...'
murmured he...
Being grateful really...
And he took the first sip...
The most needed one...

'are you a nightguard?'
The old man asked...
Curious...
Finding a customer so early...
he smiled...
'no...
i am like a dawn watcher...
A traveler...
A searcher of Levitas...'
he tried
To explain...
'O...you do many works!'
The old man looked amazed...
A bit puzzled too...
'O no...
Okay...
Let me explain further...
When you open
Your shop
Do you see the transformation of night into day?
Everyday?'
he asked...
he knew that query
would be self explanatory...
'yes...'
The old man smiled and said...

'then...you are like me...
A searcher of Levitas...'

he compared...
The old man looked at him for a few seconds...
Before handing him two biscuits...

he leaned more against the tree's wide trunk...
And sipped another instalment of the warmth...

Over the highway
The Sun could be seen
Like a glowing thing...
rising slow...

he closed his eyes...
Levitas...
he thought he found everywhere...

Just a prayer...

When the western sky took its orangy pinkish bluish connotation
And the moon like a page from nursery rhyme rose...
he thought he heard footsteps tired...
From his table facing the piazza
Back towards the door
Of the front parlour...
Francesco could feel
which footstep mean what...
Cicero's steps are fast...
Jaya comes dancing...
And Donya's are thumping...
And Isabel's...
they are noiseless...
Apparent...
Yet noiseless...

'buona sera...'
Francesco greeted without rising...
There was no reply...
'But i think i am right...
there must be she around...'
he thought...
'buona sera...'
repeated Francesco...
Still there was no revert...
As if the He up there had fallen silent...

Francesco without turning worked on
His table had papers filled...papers torn...
Had pilgrim's progressive graph derived...
Had a picture of a Dreamworks presentation
A kid with his fishing rod
Sitting comfortably over a sickled moon
Dropping his fishing line...through clouds...

Minutes elapsed...
To become hours of work...
Evening made an ascent to night...

Finally being satisfied with his papers
When Francesco thought of quitting for the night...
A chip of nail he found...
On the floor beside him...
And the door was open wide...
he then just smiled...
And prayed...
'bestow calm...
Upon her
Just that...
Calm...
Of the whole world...
And no blood marks...
From toes...
Like nails hammered home...
Christ...
Just that take as my prayer...'

i with I...

He usually doesn't prefer
to talk...
in the morning...
he the kid knows however
that He talks in the morning
but with Himself
and His God...
that's His preferred way...
He goes by Signs...

so...
when he the kid arrived
this morn
at His white mansion
against the backdrop of a blackish grey sky
and cold wind blowing
and thousands of birds chirping...
he knew there would be Silence...
('in Silence relazione con dio happens'- He the architect once told him...the kid)

he was amused to see His white car waiting
at the portico...
and He...
instead of sitting at His favored balcony
was at the wheels!
(is He going out? so early?
the kid thought...)

seeing him
He smiled
His usual benign one...
the smile with a lot of heart...

He him beckoned...
the kid
could never disobey Him
his master...
so he hopped in...

and He took him down the road...

a sleepy...semi dark one...
under the sky heavily overcast...
and a cold wind coming into play
inside...

He signaled him to look at the sky
simply by His eyes...
Those eyes that held Ocean of Love...Peace...
Agape...
Those eyes that never lost calm...
Those eyes that pierce through everything...
Those eyes that cast balm...

The kid looked out...
The sky...
Full of clouds...
Dark...grey...even white...
he the kid peered out...
To see more of the sky...
The middle looked dark...
The east had white floats...
The west was grey...
And some builds dotted with yellow lights stray
Made the sky look like...
(Look like what?
The kid thought...)
And suddenly he was reminded of his greenish days...
his boyish ones...
The football matches...
In rain...
Fields being filled by water...
he knew...
The kid...that he was glowing with the remembrances of the past...
he supreme innocence...
his joyful existence...
his friendship with stars...

The car stopped...
it was still dark...
But the kid could guess they were on a field...
with its vast green expanse...

The architect got down...
he got down...too...
Who could defy a Man like Him?

The architect sat...
On the grass...
Straight spine...
Cross legged...
Palms on knees rested...
the kid sat beside Him...
Silent...

Soon he felt his eyes were getting closed...
For the cool breeze had swept him
Into his everything it had coolness poured...
An ambrosia...
A Happy State...
A Trance...
A Death...

he the kid stayed...
The architect...
Sitting beside him
Was just looking at the sky...
And reciting...a sloka...
Something ...
That converged i with I...
Something like that...

And Love came
Flooding...
Agape...
In its overwhelming sense...
Love Only Love came...

The kid felt tears running his cheeks
Cool...
Like drops so blessed...
he envisioned faces...
Of his mother...
The first...
Then another with dotted umbrella..
Then another with a child...
Then another with godly eyes...
The kid felt getting goosebumps...
he thought he should cry more...
And he thought it would rain soon...
A heavy rain...
An inundation of Soul...
he thought he was lost...
he thought he was searching for a lap...
where he could just sleep off
Soft...
he thought he felt Him...
On his cool skin...
he thought he heard
God...
saying
'see? I have painted proper your Love
In divinity...
On the sky so monsoon smell...
On the grass so carpet soft...
In chirpings of million cuckoos...
In your bicycle runs...
In your essential being...
In your Port Alba dreams...
In your La radice deep...
In your vagabondish walks...
In your books and scribbles...
See?
I have painted your Love...'

'il mio amore...for you i live...'

'il mio amore...'
Cicero paged
to Jaya...
on transit
he like a big bearded sage...
his mane golden locks on flow
by the wind his hair behind
lion heart his showed...
and he rode...
alleys...turns...
No turn signs...
radio taxi service posts
on his city's skyline...
and he rode...
happy a cruise...
and on transit for Jaya he paged
'il mio amore...
for you i live...
and i die...
and i live again...
i catch big roads...highways...
and cobwebed by lanes...
il mio amore...
i ride through the dark
for you...
iron i press to cause nocturnal sparks...'

Cicero paged
like a sage
long bearded gold
he rode through
as a ghost...
as a wind talker...
too...
an invisible kind-
fully transparent sheet
of a glassy figure
running the street...

Thank you Lord...

Lord...
i can only thank you
for your shower sublime
for your blue...
and also your red...
your violet...
your green...
Lord...
i can only thank you
for the road...
that Light...
those parks...
those jet marks on the horizon...
and the sight of birds...
their flight...
Lord...
i can only thank you
for giving me whatever i got...
for putting me into severe pains too
for swords and gunfights...
for needles pricked deep down the spine
for foamy cloudy lines
across the reddened twilight sky...
for the moist dew on grass...
for bare feet walks...
for football matches that tied...
for tie breakers too!

Lord...
a big huge thank you
for giving me so many friends
and friends turning foes...
and foes becoming friends...

Lord...
thank you
for this life...
this Faith...
this unnumbered kind
of ethereal happiness...

thank you...
Lord...
thank you...

finding vanilla ice...for her...

Isabella was amazed to see
a bunch of Helianthus
Creamy white placed
neat on the vase
by her bedroom window...

last night Francesco when did he return
she did not know...
only heard the purring mild
of the car going into the garage...
she half looked up...
and felt assured...
for she had intuitions of her own
to make out
that he had returned
safe and secured...

she heard him closing doors...
switching on lights at the hall...
the shower he went to hit...
she heard the water fall
on the floor...
and she slept off...

this morn
she did not disturb him...
went to the front parlour
almost tiptoeing
and found them...
the rare' vanilla ice'...

She looked at the bunch of creamy white Helianthus debilis...
they looked fresh by the window
smiling as if looking at her
coming from far...
with Francesco sure...

then she went near the vase...
underneath it
she discovered
a folded paper white...

a note
written by Frances
in his own cursive hand...

'Dear Isabel...
found these blossoms yesterday
by providence i think...
because i found them on bloom
at a place near the Accona desert of Tuscany!
deserto di accona...
where i went
driving four hours and forty mins...
can you imagine?
found these rare blossoms
near a bianco...
at Tuscany...
deserto di accona...

see?
life is so beautiful!
i went there via E35
483 kilometers...
running non stop...
in search of Life...
simply based on a little research
and hunch...
and got them!

so...
here they are...
for you dear...

water them...
got their seeds too!
in my bagpack
in the third gap
you will find them
in an envelope blue...

i might wake up late tomorrow
but i think i need your help
you sow...
those seeds...
the sprinkler is
at the garden shed...
no need to add manure
you
just sow
those seeds...
and
i am sure
our garden
will be full of Helianthus...
Vanilla ice...
you will see...'

jasmine...

when stopped
at a crossing
one mild lucid calm drizzling evening...
a flowergirl passed...
in her hands greenish white
garlands of jasmine...
and the whiff of air
of the city so soft
swept some
of the jasmine smell
into me...
in such a loving manner
that i felt
you were near...
surely...
near...
close by...
and
i became unmindful of all matrices
which kept
grey cells mine...
busy...
even a few seconds ago...

Given you...

Given you a city dear...
a rain drenched one
a wet sky
a PELICAN white
a cool moist breeze
a traveler's happiness
a street with flower blossoms fallen by mild hush hush wind...

Given you...
just...

Gabriel's star...a gift...

'it is from Gabriel...
the messenger of He...
to us all...
i have carried it for long...
now...
it is upon you i bestow...'
saying this
he
put a star
made of glittering silver
into her palms...

the star
made of silver
pure and shiny...
tied with a ribbon blue...
he upon her palms
placed light...
by the sea side...
and it was then a season of the sunset mellowed...
it was then a season for someone to be bestowed upon...
a gift...a name inscribed...
and that of Gabriel...