Deciduous December

Trees shrug off old and worn out leaves. It is not, however, any rejection of the now-so-insignificant, but rather an acceptance of the transition. It is a farewell to the departing. It is that sad beauty of letting go of the things without any grimace. Melancholy, after all, is a meditation of the soul.

Those leaves that are destined to dry and wither aren't sorrowful either. They sun-dance in the winds. They celebrate their transformation into stardust. What is more beautiful than a yellow leaf, seemingly lifeless yet drunk with rejoice, sweeping across landscapes? What is more beautiful than going away with a belonging that nothing can take away?

Await we all like deciduous trees in the winters of our lives. To be taken by the hope of unseen springs.

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At Dusk

At dusk, the tale starts, Light recedes from around, I feel ajar. Pour out of me an invisible dream, A verse too old, a melody; I lose all flesh, radiate; Whatever remains, escapes, Along a river stream, I stroll. The moon emerges, Proves again its showmanship Upon the row of boats And the water below; I float, sink and float.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull is the world's edge

I remember when I picked Jonathan Livingston Seagull for the first time. It was long ago. A thin, square-sized book that it was, with every sentence Richard Bach had me to the skin. It was as if the time had frozen. Although I was too young, I could gather what I had bumped into. It wasn’t a book. It was the edge of the world. Upfront was the dark abyss of all your fears and apprehensions about the life. And somewhere far far ahead a faint light seemed to break in. Right then that day, I dashed into that tiny dot of light, not caring if my way ploughed through the deep void. You see, there is no abyss ever. It is you at either side. Validating the abyss is denying your connection to what is beyond you. Don’t be afraid when they tell you that the abyss stares back at you. It does not know the way to trespass on its own. Right across it stand specks of hopes, dreams, joys pulsating through the spectrum of your being. Transgress a little and you’d see that all the ashes burdenin

100 words - Fall

Auburn mesh of mellowing leaves and a shade Of mild sun in the sky, isn’t the world shying up for a long quiet? Slow arrival of the dawn, its brisk departure into evenings, I embrace The night with an intense warmth now. Stars seem to photodegrade, their tiny dabs stitching up The cloak of the mists around. The earth has become solemn, the breeze tells. I can sense the fading whispers of trees as a lull Slowly forms upon the hills. Few drifting clouds look for ironies and leave Disappointed. The music from the rivers has turned cold on them.

ink bridge

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