It is that time of the year again... the ushering of the chilly winds, the running of nature's gentle fingers of our sun parched body, the mirth and merry making on the occasion of the Redeemer's birth and the year dying with the emergence of a new one, with more resolutions and promises. A time of the year, when the world seems to rise from a deep slumber to renew itself and prepare for another deeper one. The bare branches of the trees, feebly staring at the passers. The sweet fragrance of some unknown flower pervading the the solitary lanes, covered with fallen leaves, some green, some yellow. A time of the year, when every sip of coffee brings back memories of days that are no more. Memories that are sweet, sour, bitter and of every possible taste. Memories that make you feel nostalgic, that make the banks of your eyes filled with water, memories that make you breathe deep and hide your face from those watching you. You stare out of the windows and see the rising somke of the cup, flight of a solitary bird to a distant land, a land yet unknown to the known, and you murmur... "it is that time of the year again"......

she...

A face so pale, never did I see;

Closing behind a pall of gloom,

Sunken deep in a field of blue,

Reaped by the plough of misfortune.

Tightened fists and hardened jaws,

Eyes dipped in tears of toils,

‘If only I could help’

Water filled the shores of my eyes.

The saying abashed her,

As if fell from moon,

For the sole shelter of care and joy,

Washed away by misfortune.

Wanderer will she become,

Or thief, I do not know;

Or a loon on roadside night,

Taking delight in cutting veins?

I saw and saw, and yet could not do,

For things I own not,

Neither do I rule.

‘Stay well poor creature’

Is all I can say,

For words fail me, in such a sight,

Of gloom and utter dismay.

A vow in my heart,

Which I do take,

Yet certainty is unsure,

Of helping such ‘ creatures’

In distant future,

If again I ever do behold.

The Eye

Where have thou been?

Hiding thy might beneath the thin curtain

Of floating nebulous…

Thy coy smile, pouring serenity and scent

Into the vast open; divine yet diffident,

Smearing my mind with an ecstasy,

Outlandish though curious!

Art thou a divine maiden,

Dancing in some distant land?

Thy unveiled radiance has filled my land

With the mirth of thy Being,

Breaking the viewless walls of agony,

And bringing me close to thy heart,

Sensuous though serene. . .strange

In the mortal ball…

Enter my corporeal frame,

Dismantle my fleshly screen,

Make me one with thy scent…

Make me one with thy light…

Make me one with thy glory…

Make me one with thy beauty…

Let me emit my own blaze like thee,

Making me shine, even amidst a gust of Darkness!!!

Lashing zephyr of divine tempest

Overwhelm my being, drowning me in a trance;

A vision of thee, decked in pious garland

Of serene thought and tranquil fancy.

Thou sit by my aide, and thy mighty presence

Purges my soul, sieving the abominable bits

And leaving me pristine, retracing my existence

To the early days of my being, when thou held my hand

In every step, when thou company immuned me

From the rising culpable and profane influences;

When thy ambrosial radiance burnt the heinous

Forces, subsuming me in the deluge of piety.

Once again, I do behold the former sight,

But less benignant, less amenable, desolated

For me losing that naiveté, once gifted by thee.

These might winds of thou rip my soul apart

And purges me from the vices and vile acts,

Once again I feel the austere touch of thy hand

Only less loving, less indulgent, less warm

And yet I feel blessed, yet I feel sanctified

For thy sight revives me, unburdens me from

The heavy stones of life, wafts me to the abode,

And even when the zephyr mellows and the trance deadens,

I carry thy message to humanity: to shed dejection, for thou

Never leave thy child bare. . . .