To confront truths and accept them as they are. To forgive and to let go and astonish myself. To find grace in falling out of love. To rise again and walk on, to let the grass tickle my ankles and to always look out for the benevolent familiarity of the rainbow – the touch of warmth against a cold sky. And to always ache with a love for life that is at once both severe and tender. Oh, the unyielding wildness of that love!
somewhere between the oceanic holler
and the infinite silence of the skies
that your blue eyes contain
all my soulsongs become yours
I long to see how your smile always stays in your eyes even after it vanishes from your lips and dimples. It isn’t any different from how you ache to see the world with your illimitable love that doesn’t know how not to love. How is that you are never leery of change but let it happen to you with that enviable poise?
When you talk about the African sun kissing your North American skin or of a river swelling past her own banks or of the snow sparkling in moonlight on the jagged mountains of your country, I long to bring you here to show you the prismatic monsoons of my rainforest land. A melody takes under its wings an enduring faith that lives on in me awaiting that day and a soulsong swells within me and I blush to the point of tears. How I suffer this delicious abject ache, my dimple-chinned muse. And how is it that something as nonexistent as a dream keeps our faiths intact, dearest? “Just an ocean,” you say, when I tell you how we are divided by the vastness of an ocean. Just an ocean. How the palms of my hands yearn to cup your face… to hold that infinite pleasure tenderly.
Here, the waning yellow moon is a blot, a pale thing of vagueness tonight, and the sky, a wild purple. The Earth is a soft brown song under my bare feet. The cicadas whirr frantically and the wild winds wander inebriated by bamboo fragrance. Something about all this guards my love for this world in which we live, dear heart – the gently kept secrets of such dreamy nights.
The world is swathed in the dimness of nightfall – ominous in its devastating beauty, but with the tremendous promise of a tomorrow. And I die a thousand times every single time I write you a poem or a letter.
A calm ruin of a girl
At the confluence of the rivers Sindhu and Zanskar. Ladakh, Kashmir. September 2016.
Silence wears colours here. Sky flecked with clouds – you will hear nothing even when the wind tears one and pins it down on a snow-kissed summit. Mountains and their fierce grace. Lakes and streams hemmed to the foothills, beguiling, with their nuances of greens and blues and browns and greys. Soft luminosity of river ripples, sometimes earnestly raking up shards of sunlight spilling generously on them. This fey romance to this etherealness. The etherealness of this very world – an exhilarating conflict right before your eyes. All too quiet, all too quiet. Silence that’s so mysterious. So infinite. So timeless.
Dear Himaalaya, you are loved. Always. All ways.
Calm down, dear heart,
You still have so much in this world to ache for.
in the numinous presence of the moon
when everything on the Earth was drunk on the great, mysterious mercy of the moonlight
the night was perhaps darker in your closed eyes
an enlightened soul whom the world sings of today
whose messages of peace, whose significant truths are sung of,
was a man, that night,
a husband who left you to the agony of abandonment
a father whose heart was deaf to the wails of his newborn son
his resolution that night – one of the greatest moments in the history of mankind
perhaps not all dawns bring promises along
some bring betrayal
for how long did the taste of abandonment stir in your young blood?
what integrity and what absurd strength stopped you from poisoning young Rāhula’s innocent heart
with stories of a father who didn’t know how to stay?
how did you, dear woman, strangle your own sobs to calm your young lad’s longing for his father’s presence?
quest for great truths
wasn’t it the same land as his
in whose soil has seeped eons of ancient wisdom and extraordinary truths already?
wisdom whose origin wasn’t tainted by abandonment?
one day, he returned, didn’t he?
the master, the enlightened one, the one who lit the path of Nirvāṇa for those who followed him
the enlightened one in his saffron robes and a halo over his head and half-closed meditative eyes and a peaceful smile
and you followed him, piously,
do you know, dear woman,
that the world sings of your fidelity, too?
of your sacrifice and loyalty in following the master of many?
but some of us wonder –
did you have a choice? ever?
the world, dear woman, still suffers
desertion, betrayal, lies and war and hunger and hatred
in spite of the greatest, timeless truths discovered and spread by enlightened souls
and some of us
have been frowned upon for simply asking why
by even those who claim to be treading the path laid by the master you had once mutely followed
may they be enlightened
on a new moon night, Yaśodharā,
some of us want to tell you
that you aren’t and will not be forgotten
(Image source: www.dhammatalks.net)