The Arrow

March 20, 2014 § Leave a comment

The arrow
darted through the night sky
snatching whispers
out of story books.
Only to fall upon
barren lands
once poisoned by the sea.
The moon
had personally requested
a shadowless space
for mirroring thought,
but the currents of time
brought with it
dust,
yellowing sand,
reddening mud.
And the sallow wind that failed the arrow
blew
into the minds of many,
into the nostril of a dragon
as it raised its belly off the aching earth
and pounced
onto the face of a new day.

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August 9, 2012 § 2 Comments

The wind whispers a secret to the dust in tongues I do not understand, and yet the smell on its breath is enough to know – a storm is approaching.

The fires were put out before the sun could sail beyond another millennia of dreams. Lightening glowed distantly and threw itself against a wide desert sky, leaving pinpricks of light to guide a belated moon to rise. Hours of visible darkness stretched on as beetles and lizards awoke to leave stories in the sand; stories that caused stars to shiver and playfully mirror patterns in the sky; stories that deluded sleep.

July 10, 2012 § Leave a comment

The sun remained eclipsed for days, shining brightly at us via a rainbow round a wholesome moon.

Veeraiya, the wisest of storytellers, spoke to us of forests and our role in repeated wanderings through the same. Our paths, he said, create streams. And thus, where we go, water follows, closely by life.

I may have become from a cultivated sea, but the mountains and the waters they birth are now my home. With each setting day, I grow afraid that my return may be distant and new love, challenging to find. It appears as if these mounds are clinging to me and crying out for me to stay, but it is I alone who weeps. These hills and the lives they sustain are my solitude. I may not know them, but their faces I shall never forget.

***

My descent wasn’t as steady as I foresaw. The dependable moon remained through my last day as the sun rose brilliantly from the ghats. Bamboo Rivers lead me away from my new familiar as my love grew mightier than the deep-seated roots that hold up these mountains despite gravity’s snare. This is now my only remaining hope – that my own travels create space for waters to flow and life to rejoice.

For amidst a sea of cloud, the earth is an adventure.

May 10, 2012 § 6 Comments

Five months ago, the night was torn asunder with the moon afresh and eclipsed. Everyone sat waiting for the shadow to pass, for the daunting time the moon was not at its fullest. They seemed to be waiting for it to be more present, in order to be so themselves. Nobody ate, nobody smiled; the world seemed abstruse. I climbed up further, above the stationed street lights, above the mystical clouds, above my home, to search for it. Some watched it on the television; it had made the news that night. I soon ran back down and called out to the children, convincing them to pull away from the screen and see it firsthand. Nervous, they joined me as we ran to greet the night. A girl of nine couldn’t believe her eyes. What surprised her was that it was real, even in this small little town. That the important people that broadcast the news right into her home cared about something she was witness to; that a town that far too often escaped their gaze was, in fact, a part of their world.

March 28, 2012 § 7 Comments

The moon dangled precariously on a wire lightly strung between Venus and Jupiter. They seemed to be teasing it with their ability to swing it back and forth, along with their laughter. The stars joined in, but growing weary of their foolery, soon wandered off. I remained, hoping to chance upon a midnight mouthful of moonbeam.

The glaring spring-time sun was swift in putting an end to their night-long game.

With multi-lateral and parallel beginnings and endings dropping perilously, we shuffle through the chaos and pick out our own.

February 9, 2012 § 3 Comments

In pretence of a lamp post, the moon hovers delicately over this conventional village, along with low-lying roof tiles scurrying with life.

Again, we sit and watch the bullock-carts and life pass by, as they carry yet another weary farmer away from unyielding fields.

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