Till then,

Soon there would be fabulous
nip in the air and mist would soon
Envelope empty spaces betwixt us,
Till then come we commemorate
The Fall with our songs and masquerades.

a spell of rain and twilight

after a spell of rain
twilight came,

surfeiting so
that a poem
thought I
made a surge,

across the indefinite
October sky,

knowing the moment
would soon away fly,

dipped the self and the eye
into the grandeur of life,

it was no doubt a deliberate act
to getaway from all oft beaten tracks,

it was no doubt a formidable task
to catch the colors of a sobered dusk,

the same colors that had made several
to sing with ease for the long lost grail,

the same feeling that had made one too many
to find in prosaic things forgotten epiphanies,

after a spell of rain
the twilight came
surfeiting so.

Who can more blessed be?

Who can more blessed be than us, mate?
The morn hath broken free in us, of late,
Through the mist of the city that sleeps embowered
Into timeless elegance of Love that took over
Us all the time, this season of wonderous spectacle,
Who can more blessed be than us, tell?
We can rise to the morrow of our own wanderings
We can with throatful ease cause the spring's second coming,
We can sing as sings the nightingale within us,
We can hold the fabulous time and let it not pass,
Who can more blessed be than us?
Whence we can pour inkful hearts by music thus?

Colloque

Can't give away anything
Other than those simple colloquial things,

A tranquil presence of unstirred hope,
A garden green, a mountain slope,
A bunch of nameless wild flowers,
A flight of birds through lighted showers,
A stream murmuring its way through a forest
A spectacle serene by calm of heart blessed,

Can't give away anything
Other than those simple colloquial things.

On leaves and dews

To that hues of leaves
Take me once,
Just for once
Let me there ruminate
For every leaf I wish to see
Turned flowery,
For on every leaf
I wish to see
Drops of dew
Emerald.

Sing the song of mirth*

Sing the song of mirth, heart
For the autumn has brought home the guest;
The silent words of sky azure
The dewy longing which lures
Today in strings thine sing so pure;

Come take part in songs
Of fields filled with corns,
Be afloat in the rivery flow
Of tuneful water so;

Take a look at autumn's face
And let that keep you blessed
And then keeping the door open
Go out and life embrace.

(* transliteration of song number 38, Gitanjali,)

Come away to the wish of Aedh

Come away
To the wish of Aedh*
Where the breeze of autumn
Would cares of the world
Like leaves drop and sway,

Come away
To the wish of the reeds
Where words take away
All the ills of the world
Like music of a day,

Come away.

(*a mythical persona, commonly associated with Irish poetry )

Sillary

Left there a piece of me
Near somewhere Sillary,
Where the green slope of hill
Met a flowering valley,

Left there a piece of me
Near somewhere Sillary,
Where the trail disappeared
Into the woods foggy.

For that pilgrim soul

For the pilgrim soul
Once took a travel
To that road trodden
By men taking the flint
Of a burn,
The road was winding,
Long and to glowing heart it turned,

The visage of mossy trees
And smell of rhododendron
Filled the misty breeze
And the stave helped the climb,

The dustless air and the oxygen
I took within through the veins,
And the faint sound of copper bells
Remained suspended onto the soul,
Much like a verse auspicious,

It perhaps was a freed state
Filled with a vigour to get near
The cliff where rested in the most tranquil shape
Godly sense of a merger with the benign Self,

And what strange occupancy
Took hold
Could never in any words written or told
Only a glimpse of finding presence
Of serenity overwhelming
Took refuge in me.

By Catullus

Could not go to Libyan sands,
In search of time's hands,

But in nightly dews
I find you, Catullus,

In countless stars,too,
Sacred as they are,

Twinkling from far,
several light years,

And in ancient words,
Which tend to crawl, inwards.

revasseries, autumnal

Thou art such a wonder
that thou can claim
all by thy name,

and I continue
to gather dews on palms,
mist on eyelids,
fleecy clouds on heart,
and kites soaring in mind,

and they all tell me
thou art here, deified.

be not at rest,

be not at rest, heart
for there is more
that you can possibly unearth,

there is more
always like everytime
and staggering lines
are more there in you,

be not at rest, heart
for there is more
than you can mend,

there is more
always like everytime
and pentup lines
are more there in you,

be not at rest, heart
for there is more
till the road to horizon bends.

remembering Nanceylla

remembering Nanceylla
is like going to that place
where the morn sings peaceful chants
and the breeze tolls the bells,

and I remember catching the girl
standing on the staircase looking at me,
"Going out?" she would ask
Her eyes filled with curiosity,
"yes" I would have nodded,
And she would just yell
"I want to go out too!"

remembering Nanceylla
is like walking up a slope,
and the morning mist and fog
draping the hills, and life taking a sprint,

"yepee!" She would burst, exclaiming
finding a cone of pine amongst
fallen twines and twigs,
a wood nut tree dressed in algae and a sudden sighting of a monastery,
and smell of incensed leaves,

remembering Nanceylla
is like living another life,
free from cares and meeting
the children of a paradise.

The song of the world *

Across the world in tune generous
            Song of mirth soars
When will that song in
            Depth of heart ring ,
Only the Lord knows,

The air, water, sky and the light
When will love them the best,
They will take seat on heart allright,
Wearing varied colored dress;

When will open eyes
To fill the mind glad
Will take path thine,
Leaving none sad,

That You art there
When in life that will sing,
Thy name will in every work
Only happiness bring.

(* a transliteration of song number fifteen, Gitanjali, by me, a tribute to R.Tagore)
                  

upon grains of sand

'con amore...'
nimble fingers wrote
on white sands,
knowing the ocean would upon them land
and take'em away
in the name of transience.

Such a humbling morn

And there are some morns,
So humbling,
That one has nothing to say,
Only wordless one stays ,

And watches how
Grace hath blessed
The awakening,

And one just prays.

Painting an autumn morn

That painting of an autumn morn
Where we were blown away borne
By the breeze of a day, I think we outdid,

You meditated upon the swirling waves
And I looked quiet sun grazing a street,
You told upon the season, by your truth,
I humbled by the silent song colored
All our times with ballads of country love,

You opened your palm to catch the nascent dreams
I enveloped my heart into the folds of clouds
And together we made the day panoramic,

That painting of an autumn morn
Where we were blown away borne
By the breeze of a day, I think we outdid.

Lucid morn

The breeze of the morn
When swept through me,
I opened my sleepy eyes
And the rustling leaves I heard
And the sky I met only to see
How the Lord hath never failed
With us and our eternity.

A few words written on missing a station...

I still miss that station stop,
The station where I had perhaps dropped
A few peals of laughter strong
And crystal watery forms,

That reddened streak on the clouds
Visible ,so heartwarming a thing,
Right from the platform vacated by the train
Puffing away, I still that miss, an enchanting scene,

And many more, countless moments, unworded,
Never to be put into any series of numerical expressions,
Nor into any language profaned by running of alphabets,
I miss them in blood, in veins,

I miss that station stop
Where  I  had perhaps dropped
My holdall on the dust of a few hundred years,
And sat quiet only to gather on heart the crimson light.

Never losing thou,

'Never losing thou'
Was the thought that i took
As a vow,
But it is a grinding time,
My words have taken the plough
And they do nothing to me,
They keep silent shape,
They are stilled,

'Where are they?
Those little children
Who with supreme innocence
Spent the day
Playing under the sky
With no cares of life?
Where are they?
Had they gone away
To another land?
Had they forgotten their jovial selves?'

Asked myself,

And answers i thought i had,
Long before the time arrived,

And then i did not look far,
I looked at the greenery around,
The godly presence of our ancestors,
Their works, their harvest,

And i at once put things at rest,
The unsettling thoughts,
I took plunge
Into  silence,

For there resides
Thy providence.