The Still Point

 

 

There’s a point beyond which all clamour stills;

you step into it – at the beach…in the hills…

right in the middle of the city square…

and the world falls away, it’s just you there

amidst the rush of traffic, vendor talk,

the cheap trinkets, or the staccato knock

of a woodpecker in the trees somewhere…

 

the sure knowledge settles in your pith, deep,

you know it from then on, awake, asleep –

like a pebble thrown in an endless well

lost in the most complex, magical spell

the planets cast, the secrets galaxies hold

the moonpaths of nights, the daily rivergold –

that point’s finally home, peace, where you dwell.

Flipped

 

He’s been in these new spaces and he’s slept

under this roof, called your name, sat in that chair,

handled utensils and fresh bread. He’s stepped

into the garden, the seafront, on the stairs.

No footprints though. And even though he’s left –

he’s made this into home. The soil, sea and air,

their gritty strangeness now easy to accept.

That’s how it’s happened, happens everywhere.

 

The places touched to home, the unknown stripped

in one instant remade and familiar,

strange flipped to comforting and you equipped

to deal with it. Because someone close and dear

for one brief moment has stood beside you here.

My son was here on a short visit, back in his campus now a gazillion miles away. I forget to panic 24/7 when I am in face-to-face mum mode. :) 

I hope your loved ones are standing close to you, physically or metaphorically. Have a brilliant week ahead.

Write... Edit... Publish... August 2022 : Moonlight Sonata

 

Hello writers,

August has come round quickly hasn't it? It’s time to get back to Write...Edit... Publish... where we are writing to Moonlight Sonata in our series of musical prompts. I had grand plans for this one - wanted to take a different direction, do a humour piece because honestly, what I know about classical music, Western or Eastern, can fit into a pinhead…aaand, well...here I am with a poem, it kept buzzing in my head and wouldn’t be shaken off. So much for the different direction...best laid plans of mice and men, what can I say? 

Before I post the same old same old poetry, I just want to sneak in this delightful rendition of the Moonlight Sonata being played on the santoor, an Indian instrument of Mesopotamian/Persian origins, so a fusion of East and West on several levels.  

And this one a delightful dubstep remix that sounded equally magical to my untrained, vehemently unclassical ears. Enjoy!

 

Finally, here's my entry for Moonlight Sonata, hope you enjoy this one too.

Show me your shine

The moon shines with whatever it has got –

cloudy skies, mid-phase, an extra-large spot,

it doesn’t wait to be perfectly full.

Broken but lit up is also beautiful.

The winter strips the leaves from the forest -

not every season ends up with a harvest,

the river itself shrinks to a thin thread

beautiful still on the half-dried riverbed.

Each life is complete precisely at death,

it must shine within its own length and breadth,

half finished, broken, imperfect its timing

but beautiful still - because it’s tried shining.

There’s more to beauty than shining at full,

shining on empty is far more beautiful.

WC - 103

FCA

Tagline : Shining on empty.

Incidentally, there are so many people I know who're shining on empty right now. Not just shining, but dazzling. You know who you are. Salute!

Read the other entries here :

Lowercase

 

Sometimes I want to write my name in lowercase

so that it fades behind others when misfortune

is prowling the city streets, reading the nameplates,

pondering which door to open, which house to choose,

and at others I want to write it small because

it feels more appropriate for a small person

who mostly does the smallest things. Little drops

of poems. Laundry.  Who’s stressed about the carbon

footprint, the gender gap, potholes, light pollution.

Pianissimo fits better, what’s been written? -

to merit announcing the first sound louder

than the ones that follow? Only those proper nouns

should be allowed higher volume, rising resonance

where the owners made some tangible difference.

Today is Independence Day, the 75th one. A major milestone. I'm celebrating. But that is also pianissimo. Too many issues back home. 

Happy Independence Day to all desvasis. 

May we be free of prejudice, inequality, poverty, ignorance, arrogance and violence soonest. Jai Hind!

Canopy

 

Wouldn’t you rather be in the grasslands

dancing to the winds and rains, being a blade,

being green and grounded, centred in the land,

watching the timelessness of light and shade?

 

Wouldn’t you rather be in temperate zones

be a willow weeping into a lake,

the paving under old arches, or keystones

or those meandering routes rivers take?

 

I do love the grasslands, I love the woods

and I adore the shapes of conifers

but the rainforest is equally good -

the different beauties of the universe.

 

No, there's no other place I’d rather be

content where I am – the current canopy.