Oh, the lifetimes it will live!

 

I get that all flesh is grass, quite apart

from the lofty meanings of transience

I get it the green that sprouts must also dry

but inside my head, deep down inside my heart

there’s a rejection of both faith and science

the decrees whatever blooms must also die.

Spare me the lectures, I’ve heard all that before -

my flesh is the grass and the herbivore.

Yes it dies and no it doesn’t, lives beyond

many lifetimes and treads the grass it’s made of,

how do you measure its lifespan as finite? –

make it fit into words to correspond

exactly as given, sans leeway and love,

demarcate its death and its depth and height?

Riki's Prayer

Image : Riki Roy

The prompt

"Can you write me a poem too or a prayer whichever you like...where my ashes be strewn in the Rockies near Jasper..as I am in love with the place...and may I be born in Canada to snowboard in Jasper's amazing slopes...where my hubby is my instructor and I fall in love with him again in a new time and place and we marry amongst the singing slopes and enchanting lakes..."

The poem

I.

Snowmelt’s going to be washed to the oceans

someday anyway, so give my ashes to

a fresh snowfall laid at the feet of mountains,

give them to the arms of pinewoods,  the immense

worlds tucked in a print of a caribou.

Give them, my love, to the vast stillness, the flakes

dancing to the leaps and whims of snowstorms,

trembling on the ribbed ripples of tranquil lakes

and when the universe finally remakes

them, may they again take a woman’s form.

May I be reborn around these mountains, close

to these spring-touched fields, these winter-bright slopes;

and one day quite by chance walking these snows

may we meet again where the conifer grows

as stars pin clouds in place with their sapphire drops.

May I be born here on the ridge of a mountain,

come face to face with you, and fall in love again.

II.

Let me be grateful for each scar, each success,

every step taken with you by my side;

and every step taken alone in some dim recess

of memory, but special nevertheless

because each led here, where our paths coincide.

Let me be grateful for wonder and its huge breadth,

the depth of my passion, the lightness of mischief;

the bonds between us that persist beyond death

and the ken of humans, beyond narrow faiths

and streams speckled with leaf-shadows of grief.

And grateful for each grain of sand and grit,

the barefoot mornings, carefree and wriggly-toed

coming in with summers swinging at their hips.

For the jewelled ice on winter nights’ fingertips,

for pristine snows on hard shoulders of the road.

Grateful that you test the knots, ease every climb

just by going ahead or backing me up all the time.

III.

Praying that when I’m remade in some future birth

I walk along this same majestic icefield;

or wavy tracks on a slope where snow’s disturbed,

a red helmet moves against the sky and earth

in graceful loops; and again, my fate is sealed.

It’s déjà vu, “I know you! from someplace else,”

you’re nonplussed but too polite to contradict.

Far below, the green lake ripples, the snowmelts

chuckle gently, trickle soft in their channels.

You’re visibly relieved as I change the topic,

“I’d like to learn snowboarding, give me a try?”

and you unstrap and step off, ever courteous.

I’m shaky as I mount, and your palm’s a sigh.

Thunderstruck at this touch, your smile’s awry -

you finally make the connect between us.

“Notice the helmet’s still red, what does that prove?”

the board steadies underfoot as I start to move. 

For my dear friend Riki Roy, with thanks and much love and friendship. May she be guided to her love and happiness unerringly, in every life that is granted her, and may they both be equally inspirational partners in all of them, as they are now. 

This one is strictly 'write as it comes' - no editing, no over-thinking, posted as soon as written, from the heart to brain to blog in half a morning's work over three consecutive days.  I hope I have been able to do justice to the prompt, Rik.

Min Zamaan



Yeah, I know you’re surprised that there is no poem here today.  That’s because I am guest posting on Some Facts, Some Nonsense, and mighty thrilled I am too, to be doing so.  If you are here from IndiBlogger, then I don’t need to say anything more.  You already know this fantastic blog and Debajyoti’s tongue-in-cheek take on blogging and the blogosphere in general, his perfectly hilarious cartoons and commentary.  If you’re not from IndiBlogger, then I must tell you that SFSN has been on my blogroll for the longest time, so you can imagine how pleased I am to be guest posting over there with Min Zamaan, a story about Trishna coming to Old Cairo and discovering...um....more antiques than she had bargained for.  Go on over and read it - click here for the link.

Getting back to the sudden lack of poems/stories, I came across a forum discussion recently where the majority view was that a hotchpotch of poems and flash fiction does not even qualify as a blog.  Having a blogspot attached to one’s space doesn’t a blog make, apparently, unless personal opinions and life events are showcased therein.  And all this time I thought I was blogging! Anyways, be that as it may, I have now remedied this dismal situation by posting my opinion of SFSN.  And finally, to twist a well-known phrase, hopefully beyond recognition – facts may be sacred, but fiction is not; and comment is free.  So do please add yours, here or over there.