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Reminiscences…

Certain moments remain
poised – forever,
like the drop of water, after the rain,
at the tip of the leaf blade: waiting to fall.

Certain faces cut
through
the cobwebs of time, and
peek at me, from these hazy woods.

And, I
keep staring at this drop of water,
wondering:
why does it hesitate.. to let go?

Sometimes, I
find myself talking
to the faces. They remain
silent, returning my words like echoes in a long, empty corridor..

I wonder why ..??

They are dead, perhaps, these faces. And it is their ghosts
that I see, walking idly,
along the long, empty lanes of
my memory

//Date Unknown

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Little stones
smooth and polished, lie
on the bed, staring out of this
clear, cool water. Somewhere, a bird calls out,
piercing the silence like a needle through the ears.

Rustles of dried leaves,
disturbed by the soft breeze through the woods
along the banks, whisper some song – unknown
to me. A fruit drops into the water: plopp,
abandoned.

Pack of trouts swim
in, curious. And afraid. Wide eyed,
and hesitant
they began investigating the flesh
of my legs.

And, quietly, flows the river.

//Date Unknown

Whom do you seek? what’s his
name? does he have a home?
A wife, or a face,
perhaps?

There was one sucha
man, here, yesterday. Met him
at the tavern,
an incorrigible sot, was he.

Over the noise and smoke,
I heard him yell: “Hey, if someone
looks for me, tell ya I tossed mah name
to a cold, hard wind. . . burden ’twas all mah life. . .

Now, I can fly high
up beyond the sky, and live
a nameless life, walking quietly, through the woods
of time. . .”

//Date Unknown

Come
fall
into my folded palms
that are stretched out: begging
for that one single touch, for that one single drop…
of love.

//Date Unknown

Does the river ever stops?
Sure of its destiny, it flows on.
Its death an offering: carrying along the silts
from the past, it gifts
their richness to the future of life.

And, men always live
with the burden of carcasses that died
long ago – breathing the stench all their lives.
And death is a relief; for with them, are burried
the rotting flesh of their past.

Cry. Let the tears flow. Unhindered, and uninhibited.
Then offer these pearls, and your gratitude
to the dried leaves of the past, before
having them buried
in the garden of your life.

And, behold your tommorow
rise
from the soil
thus enriched.

//28th Jun 02

Did the wind whisper, or was it my own breath
that sighed
at your figure, silhouetted
at a distance?

Why do you just stand there
speechless – as if stabbed by
the moments
that are now gone?

The moments
that left your eyes bleeding for the honour
robbed
by surreptituous hands – ragged, ugly and sinful – that seeked its
own heavens in warmth of your being;

The moments
that disrobed you and draped you in shame, disgust
and loathing. The moments
that are gone now, burried in layers of time.

Come, sit by this fountain and wash off the dirt
left behind by those seeking paws. Wet your flesh.
Play. Splash water all around. And giggle in delight,
for your honor is
safe
with fragrance of your own soul.

Yes,
your honor
is immaculate still; and untouched.
There it is, smiling quietly at you and blooming –
way beyond the reaches
of any probing hands . . .

//Date unknown

Pushing its way through
the mass of water, the ferry
moves on. People, on the banks,
bathing, and washing clothes.

Waves rush in one after another, and
slap the gray mud, lining the banks. A flower,
abandoned by a priest, perhaps,
rocks with the water,
undecided:

To rot on the sodden riverside
or
to float away. .

//16th July 2002

the words
echo
through the voids of silence –
carrying
a hope
of a heart to be cherished
long after its
gone.

//5th Jun 2002

what gift could
possibly beseem
this face
that
is lit by the
passing hours of dawn?

I wondered
for a while
and
then, thought of no better present
than
the silence of my soul

And these small footprints:
my words,
scattered
along the vast white fabric
of life

//4th Jun 2002

Look,
here it is!
settled
on this blade
of grass,
staring
into the morning mist,
with
tearful eyes.

Is it waiting,
for
the first rays of sun
to glitter?

//2nd Jun 2002