The Prompt Was Friendship

 

With friends. Far away and long ago. 

Can't claim too many friends - 

I've moved around too much,

it's hard to say goodbye,

harder to stay in touch.

Social media platforms,

letters and video calls

can't bridge the whole distance,

they can't plug all the holes.

And therefore by and by

the connections taper off -

two worlds too disparate

and keeping up too tough.

I can count them on one hand.

I'm thankful for the few

who've remained through thick and thin

and that it includes you.

Some poetry group that I belong to on FB put out this prompt on friendship and I wrote this but then couldn't locate the original post where I was supposed to submit - story of my life! - so I thought I'll post it here instead. 

Nope, I've haven't been abducted or quit blogging, just quietly prepping for the A-Z which I thought I'll join in this year with some sort of theme and coherent posts after the haphazard, cobbled-together-at-the-last-minute type posts for years now. So yeah, I'll be there.

I hope March has treated you well. A very happy Eid in advance to my friends celebrating. I'll be back on the 1st. See you soon. 

This Too Is Love

 

It's been quite sometime that you've gone away - 

there's a creeper growing in one of the cracks

on the ledge - rather a pungent bouquet.

It's sinking in that you're not coming back.

Your coffee mugs lie dusty with disuse.

Your bedroom slippers are neat on the rack.

Absence feels like a gently spreading bruise - 

a purple tide, because you're not coming back.

Vases and glasses wear chips on their rims,

pages crumble along silverfish tracks,

even the light in these rooms is muted dim.

A strange cast that knows you're not coming back.

I still open windows. Dust off the years.

Keep keys safe. Just in case. Though you aren't here. 

~~*~~

February has just zoomed past me. There's been a family wedding - so a mega reunion of the clan, gathering for a few days from all corners of not just India but the world. That's always super pleasant, to catch up with the gang. Cousins remain my firstest, funnest and bestest Valentines ever. 

For every high there will be an immediate and corresponding low - the offspring picked up some ghastly bug, therefore an ER visit had to be made, stressful at the time but all okay now. This too is a milestone, first time admission in the hospital. Anyway, all's well that ends well.  

As you can imagine, not very conducive to poetry-ing. However, there's no control on thinking. The thoughts come unbidden, without any respect for timing or place or state of mind - whether the aforesaid mind is panicking in the ER or teasing out the meanings behind the rituals at a wedding ceremony. Always a chance to get fresh angles to love throughout the year. Weddings can celebrate it publicly and very visibly, with solemnly taken vows, effusive displays of affection and joy, heaps of tinsel and glitz. Love can equally mean a whole host of quieter, everyday things. Long loves are mostly made up of ordinary stuff - giving a cup of coffee, refuelling the car, adjusting the thermostat because you notice the sheen of perspiration on a loved one's forehead. Just small acts of consideration and courtesy, offered freely without having to be asked.

At the wedding, a cousin of mine saw my father in my son. We talked about our loved ones who weren't present, remembering past weddings they had attended. "How diminished we are now!" my cousin said. But are we really? They weren't there physically but they permeate our life. We see them everywhere, in our children and in their values handed down. The memories are fresh, almost tangible. And we carry our departed loved ones with us into every family reunion  and into everyday dinner conversations. We tell and retell the stories they told us, hear their voices in our own and laugh again at all the same places. We keep the keys safe. Is this  not love too? 

All Season

 

A sunset may look like a sunrise,

a flat bread may look like a cake,

not all things appear as themselves -

to assume that is a mistake.

Mild winters often fool the public

into thinking it's already spring.

Remember that some leaves will wither

as the rest of the tree gets blooming.

A backyard can contain deep snowdrifts

as well as robins overhead -

call it a miracle or mundane,

birds flying in flocks of hundreds.

What's seen though is often not equal

to what you might manage to get.

Some stranger slams in from outside

and skews the whole game and the set.

Compassion's never a guarantee

that the very same will be lobbed back -

you can send all the cakes and roses

but karma's a tough puzzle to crack.

No particular time for despair -

it's an all-year, all-season thing.

Just like love, hope and happiness.

None of them is confined to spring. 

The video above was sent by my school buddy Riki Roy who lives in Alberta, Canada, thank you Riki!  

But why on earth should images of snow and ice and -30 deg C temperatures result in a poem on spring? Because it is Vasant Panchami here in India, which is a kind of advent festival observed for the start of spring.  Vasant is the word for spring in several Indian languages, it is called Rituraj Vasant around these parts - the King of Seasons, the season of renewal and rejuvenation, of planting and growth. Cusp season, love season too, as it is the wedding season in India. 

Just as a matter of info, the minimum temperature in Srinagar today, the  northernmost provincial capital  in India, is 1 deg C. And where I am much further south east, the min temps are in the 20s. 

While we prepare for spring in India, my friends and family south of the equator are readying for winter. Indo-Fijians mark Vasant Panchami the same as Indians, though their seasons are completely flipped over there, they are observing a 'spring' festival during their own autumn, isn't that piquant? Yet they have completely adapted to the local seasonal rhythms for all practical purposes, they have to. The contrasts across the planet - extreme, awe-inspiring and aren't they utterly fascinating!

Wishing you a fascinating time full of inspiring contrasts. Happy February!

Constituent Parts

 

Within me you'll find my parents

and in me you'll find my sons,

you'll find them all everywhere in me

but they're not the only ones.

There are folks too that you'd never know -

friends, and strangers I've met just once.

For we aren't only our forefathers.

And we're not just our descendants.

The houses that I've ever lived in

continue to live in me.

The beaches I've picked seashells from

shop fronts I've looked at longingly.

The woods I've walked, the glory of stars,

the shadow of bird and tree.

For we're not just folks that are in us,

we are all that we hear and see.

The sum of my whole's never equalled

the sum of my constituent parts.

Each word I wrote and then scratched out,

every stumble and all false starts.

The half done poems that missed a beat,

the stories that made me fall apart.

For we come to be all that we've loved,

everything that's nailed to our hearts. 

 

Saffron, white and green are the colours of the Indian flag. Here today because 26th January is celebrated as Republic Day in India, to commemorate the adoption of the Constitution in 1950 and so completing the transition to a sovereign republic nation, where everyone has an equal chance at happiness and freedom. One of the many important things drilled into me by family elders, teachers and even random strangers sometimes. Nailed to the heart in short.

Happy Republic Day to all Indian citizens. May democratic values prevail across the world and in India always. 

Resolution

 

I'm resolute that I'll let joy arrive

at its own pace, I'll not ask it to rush,

nor will I turn away from the less joyous.

Everything comes at its appointed time.

I'll wait and learn. To keep the flame alive

whatever is served. Not let months crush

the night flowers slow blooming in darkness,

the rivermagic supreme and sublime.

And I'll learn to listen more acutely,

to love deeper, in more effacing ways.

Make sure my love is felt, not seen nor heard -

I'll erase the extras most resolutely

till less than joyous also feels like grace,

beyond the need to spell it out in words.  

Well, here we are  - the first post of the year. Hope you've had a brilliant time these past holidays and that those good things are going to repeat throughout the year. Wishing you lots of happies and merries in 2025. 

I don't really make resolutions, New Year or otherwise, the above is pure poetic licence overload.  Mainly because I suck at keeping them. However, the general idea is to do a bit better, to learn something new and go someplace new. To work on the patience quotient, which, after decades, is still not at an acceptable level. And the less said the better on the detachment/decluttering index, yikes. Work in progress, work in progress. Sigh. 

Do you make New Year resolutions? Tell me the secret to not fail at them.