Maelstrom

 

Photo by Foad Roshan on Unsplash

Sometimes, even the winds can’t imagine

how far they’ll take the dandelion seeds,

the river can’t tell where the rocks fall in,

the exact direction of the whirlpools’ spin,

how low branches – by inches, come to impede

shore hugging small crafts. Force them to cross –

midstream. Sometimes, even gods are at a loss.

 

Those who are always buffeted by fate

directionless, in search of a place to peg –

a mooring from where to learn to navigate,

to untangle themselves and lay limbs out straight,

know that walking has least to do with legs.

Know that feet themselves can be the maelstrom

regardless of where they go or come from.

Strange things have been happening to the weather here, Kolkata has been giving itself airs that it is the Arabian desert. Though it's got the temperatures almost correct, it's way off the mark in humidity and the result is an unbearable mix.

The lemonade is certainly coming in handy, no dearth of lemons here, further ones have materialised since I posted here last - hey, we have a never ending supply! As usual poetry - both reading and writing, is a peg of sorts and therapy and a huge comfort. As is the blog and your company. Hope you are cooler and more comfortable wherever you are logging in from. Thank you for being here.