Sometimes that is all you want to do,
rise above the city of melancholy
and watch the yellowing leaves fall.
Trace shadows of foliage in neon light
and watch our shadows grow tall.
Plant sweet kisses to dull traces of regret
of having loved in spite of it all.
To see viridian green against azure sky,
is in itself a prayer answered.
To hear crisp, gentle rustle of an oak,
above city’s din is nature’s love song.
To feel an eagle’s shadow graze over your skin
is sweet assurance that you are being loved.
When you are tuned in to bird sounds, you hear them even midst cacophony of wheeled, smoke-spewing monsters. In a bumper to bumper traffic I heard a barbet call, clear and loud. It isn’t the loveliest of bird sounds but it massaged my aching heart. Barbet, I am tuned in to you. 45 degrees tilt of the head and the world is so much more charming.
I was at my parents’ house in a quaint little, quiet town. I didn’t just see birds, I stalked them there. I exaggerate not, but some magic has happened since then and it is very special. For instance, one morning I said to myself that I wanted to see a new, bigger bird – and two minutes later into that manifestation, an Indian Grey Hornbill flew right in front of my eyes. She perched on a beautiful Amaltash tree, and I ran to confirm. It was indeed her!
My mother said to me that evening, that considering how much I love birds and spend time watching them, perhaps I will be a bird in next life. I asked her, “Will you keep water for me every day.” “Of course,” she said.
Notes inscribed on tree-rings
a song of life flows,
You wont drown in waters
meant to quench historical thirst.
Where your heart bleeds
scarlet flowers also bloom.
Winter’s icy blood
thickens in our veins.
Trees know a secret or two
winter warm settles
on their leaves, fresh dew.