Their Love

It’s noon, well and bright,

The breeze is in, going around

Taking the trees on a ride,

The sun is out, happy and content,

Shining bright though the thickets,

Lighting up patterns on the ground,

Beneath thick canopies of my Jamun tree

 

It’s as if there are many others with me,

For, in the wind, shadows dance,

Hopping and tottering like restless squirrels

 

I must go in for a nap,

My body feels the advent of age

My joints ache, my heart too,

But the reason I know not know,

 

I must go close the yard gates

The wind loves to swing the fastened gates,

At times, they wouldn’t give me peace at all,

The wind; it rattles the iron chain on the gates

Metal clanking metal; takes me to my past

When little children made merry

By banging metal spoons on metal plates.

But they aren’t there anymore with me…

 

These noises in my life;

They are disturbing, and peace-depriving,

But they keep other distractions at bay

 

My loneliness I forget on cheerful afternoons like this

While watching shadows

And when the wind attempts to take my clothes

Away from the clothesline

My clips keep them secured, but they do attempt

To tease my strength and my thoughtfulness

 

When there aren’t many reasons to get up

The birds are at my bedroom window,

Calling me out to see them at play,

It’s their way you know,

Of the sun, the wind and the birds

To give me company

It’s their way of telling me that I am not alone

It’s their unspoken language of love

That keeps me going

It’s the reason for old-age days

To wake up in the mornings.

 

My changing moods

It was just the other day that I wrote in earnest that snow is mystical
And, look at me today; fretting and fussing over what I had named ‘white magic’
Stepping out on sheets of ice last evening, I feared I would slip and slide
Just when I thought I should caution him, I saw my 9 year old fall
I had written this too; that snow fills my heart with joy that I can’t express,
And that, it makes me introspective and even melancholic at times,
I indeed longed for it, when it wasn’t visiting for days on end,
All the longing seems to have vanished, at least for the moment,
This morning, it rained, melting all the snow and my frustration
Hours of windy rain washed away the white all-encompassing phenomenon
What is left now; lumps of whiteness with specks of dirt and wood,
Deserted on highways, county roads and inside housing complexes,
Pleading to stay on at least till their comrades arrive,
Children of yet another snow storm, they will be here shortly.
My moods change drastically, yet not so drastic as weather does these days!

Amen!

From frosted windows, I sing a song,
An ode to the grass, to the flowers,
From ice-clad meadows, about life underneath,
From still branches, pretending to be numb,
About buds and birds that have long been gone,
From thick-exhaust spewing cars without which I can’t do
My daily errands, or even drop my kids to school
About carefree walks under warm sunshine,
About jumping high to catch a mulberry branch,
During my daily morning walks,
About nibbling at soft-overripe fruits
From branches that boast heavily of their labor,
From closed doors, from the warmth of my house,
About the plight of the homeless I wonder,
As they putter about in dark subway alleys,
My song turns thus into a prayer,
In thanksgiving for all the warmth that I am blessed with,
For the warmth of my family and friends,
For the warmth of walls, for a roof that I can call mine,
For all the memories of sunshine days, birds and flowers,
There is always something to go back to!
Amen!

Empty Nests

trees-2013-feb-002“Look at that big tree by the side of the road. See, it has no leaves, no flowers and no buds. But it has bird nests. It has two of them. Look closely; do you sense emptiness in and around the nests? The birds have flown away, and it must have been at least a few weeks, isn’t it? Look how windy it is today, but see, the tree holds dearly onto the nests, even when the wind pulls its brittle branches along. Am sure when it snows, with its thin, wiry branches, it’d try to cover the nests. But to shelter whom; does it even know? To shelter this painful vacuum? The only knowledge the tree has is that it gave the birds a home once upon a time, shielded it from rain and shine, even from the cold autumn winds…and that, today, the birds aren’t there, they have gone far…The tree pointlessly hopes one day, the bird may come back, with its proud flock flapping closely.”

“You talk only from the trees’ point of view? Don’t the birds have their story to tell as well?”

“Tell me, what is their story? Won’t you? Are you one of the birds yourself?”