Showing posts with label hemanta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hemanta. Show all posts
december
december
until last year, was full of lucid magic for me.
with your choosing this month,
to pass onto an unknown journey
you've stirred it with memories of you
and the fathomless magic of death.
now, soft with remembrance,
i'm welcoming december in a place, inside me
where all magic truly happens.
evenings like these
evenings like these
there are evenings,
evenings like these,
when i stand beneath the sky
alone against its limitless expanse
and feel like a flower bud in spring.
opening and unfolding
spreading out my soul in all it's entirety
until, without a noise, the landscapes begin to match.
both the inner and the above.
small memories of winter
small memories of winter
it's the first day of winter.
and already evening has come tiptoeing,
wearing new moon for a smile.
we've lit earthen lamps in our balcony
and sit watching their soft flames conversing with the stars.
i tell saanjh how this evening is made special on the ghats of varanasi
with millions of lamps glowing by the riverside
amidst chants and a dense smoke of devotion rising from many hearts.
dev diwali. a festival i'm ethereally drawn to
without ever being physically present
by the ganga to partake in the celebrations.
when her papa returned from work, saanjh lit sparkles sitting in his lap
countless stars came sprinkling out, flooding the night.
as i stood watching, i felt myself turning fluid like a river
amidst the glowing lamps, the new moon,
all the stars in the sky and dancing out of those sparkles
and my own my chanting heart.
later that night i learnt that we were celebrating on the wrong day
the festival was a fortnight ago.
but i couldn't dust off what the night had brought.
so it's magic stayed. real.
. . .
it's a beautiful december morning
the sun’s tenderly holding the earth
while the birds drench the air with their steady singing.
. . .
as if i'm surrounded on all sides
by a garden overrun with beautiful weeds,
the intoxication of poetry buzzes in my mind
making me restless with joy.
notes from winter
notes from winter
this winter was yours
in life, death and memories.
feelings, understanding and new meaning.
i gathered everything that it brought
in my mute words and let it linger inside, unheard.
while my love, light and divine like the sky,
flowed eastward, to meet the rising sun
and live thoughtfully each new day.
makar sankranthi
makar sankranthi
the hindu festival of celebrating the sun
of waking up at sunrise
and being outside under the blue open skies
of flying kites
and welcoming the sun’s gold
into our skin and spirit
. . .
friday morning
the fifteenth
pauṣa
stillness
stillness
stillness. i sit with it,
in between work and loving my family.
it feels like being at the centre
of a mandala of nothingness
only dense calm
stretched all around
and far into the distance
then, your memory
like the wind penetrating a grove
gently breezes in
and wraps around me
like a familiar shawl
in those moments of stillness
i let myself be held,
and shaped by your thoughts.
. . .
sunday nightfall
the tenth
pauṣa
these days
these days
my life reflects the season outside
the cold mornings and night
hurt fierce like your missing
while a deep serenity,
like the warmth of the winter’s sun,
fills up all the space in my chest.
we wake up at dawn
and visit the awakening ghat
as we sit listening to the sanskrit chants of your antyeṣṭi
my mind begins to find divinity
in the smell of incense that embraces the mist
in birds perched on wires, sunbathing
the kindhearted december sun
in diyas and flowers placed in leaf cups floating on the icy river
my edges feel softened
and i offer you my own humble shraddhanjali.
at home, i weave your memories with our everyday
make a twig-star for saanjh on christmas
gaze at your picture on the wall many times a day
light a diya of remembrance, every morning and dusk
make your favourite mithai again and again
smile often
.
i'll remember these days
. . .
tuesday nightfall
the twenty ninth
pauṣa
18.12.2015
18.12.2015
listening to you call my name
sitting, shattered and helpless, by your bedside
seeing you battle pain
giving you sips of water
caressing your face
and finding my own solace in the touch of your hands
it was the time for waiting
as dawn came, and the sun rose
your soul rose too
leaving your body quietened forever
for the first time in my life
i met death
i felt
.
i ignited your pyre with my hands
saw you embraced by the sacred fire
and carried into the sky by the wind
lightness filled me
and i wanted to share what i felt with you
but you aren't here
.
this morning, we collected your ash
consecrated you to the holy water
and offered our obeisance
earth. fire. wind. water.
mokṣa
.
i cannot birth words that can contain my love for you
so i remain silent
sometimes unexplainable tears flow
sometimes mid-sentence i'm touched by your memory
i'm still learning to comprehend
but, at heart, i'm ungrieving
it was the time to let you make your journey
i will never know where
.
now, every morning will remind me of you
and with every sunrise,
you'll arise in me
i will continue to do my karma
with a knowing, that your story will continue in me
. . .
a soul born in the mountains of nepal
orphaned at young age
migrated from his country land
orbited for years through the breadth of india
chose to marry an orphan
created a family of two girls
worked till the age of eighty
became nana to his granddaughter
completed ninety years
lived a full life
my papa. my wise-old-sage
. . .
saturday nightfall
the nineteenth
mārgaśīrṣa
these days
these days
i'm letting life's tenderness float in my eyes
working hard, sleeping less
stealing moments to dry my freshly washed hair in the winter sun
tending my heart's zen garden
. . .
wednesday noontide
the tenth
mārgaśīrṣa
tread softly
tread softly
the magic
is beginning to stir
happy december
. . .
monday nightfall
the thirtieth
mārgaśīrṣa
wintertide
wintertide
the season of
light, celebrations and soul-dancing
AUTUMN, is parting.
tomorrow, on the dusk of dev diwali
the last of the diyas will be lit
the last of the festal songs sung
and the last of the firecrackers kindled in the night sky.
then, autumn’s gold
will melt into winter’s silver.
the mellow morning sun will drape the world in its silk.
earth will inscribe love notes on withered leaves
and let the wind, whistling through the lanky trees, carry it afar.
the sweet smell of the blossoming stars
will perfume the year’s deepest nights.
and life will meditate in the cathedral of quiet.
. . .
tuesday nightfall
the twenty fourth
mārgaśīrṣa