The journey to nativity

Darkness….lovely darkness…the smoke around..

Swirling up…sketching elf in white cloak…fading somewhere;

Alone…the silence…mind drowning thoughts endlessly…

Lay me there….sink me deep…to the native land

Where once I floated for a while…

Before laughter came out of loud cries…

Where it all started before it all about to end so soon…

Destiny has already scripted the epilogue….in absolute darkness.

Couldn't.....

Couldn't ride that fast car
Couldn't be someone
Couldn't be a moon for you, mom

Couldn't be a sun for you, dad
Years smiled to let months grin
Moments sobbed to let days cry loud
Couldn't restrain leafs destined to fall
At the end of road, I stand alone
With just a lone rose for you

The paean and the pyre

He had never seen gentle smile on his mother. Never had he known his birthday. Since sensing the beauty of this world, his only own and known person was Father Brown.
Father Brown was a clergyman who had spent several years of missionary service in his native place. Devastated Europe after two great wars had a handful of people of ability and sincerity to work for the society and after his successful attainment of a degree in medicine, he wished to spend rest of his life in social service. When he opted for serving lepers in some remote Indian village, a great society of missionary colleagues had considered it a huge loss for Europe; but he travelled thousands of miles with a sacred smile spread over his face like wings of a springtime butterfly. He was soon seen cycling around a few small hamlets—bulged with numerous humans of diverse age attempting to sustain with primitive superstitions, poverty, and ignorance. The soil of civil society was yet to be irrigated with moral values, education, and basic living conditions. It was long past when the man of fifty-four years started residing in a small hut at one edge of those clustered darkness.The boy pressed his weak palms over bearded face of his old friend; a few drops of blood oozed out from those lips that smiled for its last time. The boy wept for the first time in his life. Through a hot smoky curtain, he could see Mother holding her son; burning and melting, still holding. Within his swollen eyes he held that image so long he could keep those open. He stared at. His body, soul, blood and existence—all were melting along with his dreams—his mother. She held her close to lap, comforting. He could see that divine smile on her face. The boy smiled for the last time in his life. His eyes were dreaming—closed with pain, sorrow, and joy for being through the life; it went on dreaming until darkness evaporated into the eternal slumber.
The next morning was bright. The peace was perfectly pervading all over while a burnt hut and a bundle of charred life inside reflected its muted existence in life, in its entirety.

Bless me with that silence, mother!

Those droplets of tears, I still remember. I still remember those few words and a long silence following. Still I remember the last cast of that angelic smile. I only remember not how hours turned into days, then nights, and months and years while flowing stream of life went on aspiring for the unattainable; and, within dark irises of those unnerving eddies of gone-by moments, all treasures of memories are sunk deeper and hidden. Memories slid into sheathing of omnipotent time. The ring remained sucked inside that unknown fish. Yet, once it is held upon the palm, it resurrects; one after another, the gems of life’s only possession dazzle in shining beams of remembrance. Forgetting is an art till it bears the passion for remembering; till it has innocence of truth and love at its core. Memories have no divinity if it resurface as matters of fact—like just some routine errands. I enjoy this gentle summer dawn with one such ring held upon my stretched palm, my dear Mom!

I sit alone, face to face, with them—those last few moments of ours. I hear sweet tunes of its supple stream. I enjoy holding them long, smell fragrance of its guiltless presence, and get drenched in sprinkles of its innocence. This fascinating rendezvous let my dreams run wantonly seeking pleasure of juvenility. I fear not to lose it forever; yet, I fear that my sins are enough to smudge the painted past of virtues.

Still I journey through it—through them—through those moments immortalised by presence of only you and me. Yes, mom! I hear you! I feel you by my side, holding me. The worms of cancer crawl in, silently invade every castles in your lungs, liver and body. The marching army plunders every cell and burns each pages of life. Nero plays the tune. Tiny rivulets of endurance end up in few droplets of tears leisurely disappearing in glistened eyes. Yet, I see a gentle smile, overcoming of all unendurable agonies, is slowly spreading its wings over those feebly thin lips. It hangs unknowingly there till I hear you saying something. Yes, I hear it—“It is time now...., my son!” A long silence follows stretching itself to eternity. The sky looks on, so the trees and I. The life hides itself in life and its pains and pleasures. Words ever fail in paying tribute to a soul that only loved and loved and loved. Love, perhaps, only blooms in silence. Bless me with that silence, mother!

O Mother !

This is a repost originally published two years back on the 35th death anniversary of my dear mom....

"Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls
For thy neck with my tears of sorrow"......Rabindranath Tagore

( These expressions of Tagore from Gitanjali were quoted by Sidharth while reflecting on original post )
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Time alone can only beat time. A few decades have silently walked past and fast. This day of May resurfaces as unnoticed as blossoms unfurling its petals into full-bloom and as ritually as tides offer itself on tranquil banks of rivers.
Yes, we parted on one such day. The day was for my eyes and cries to accompany each other for too long. Yes, the day was there to teach me that sorrows and joys were not apart until time would dart a neat arrow of moment to draw a line between.
It is the loveliest in you that you brought me here. You let me sleep for months over that divine lotus gently floated in a pool of sacred water inside that beautiful world within you. Although the sky was dark with no stars to twinkle, no moon to shine and no sun to dazzle; yet no fear was there to sequester my feeble mind for ever-comforting warmth of the sanctuary in accompaniment. I never longed for freedom; yet lovingly you woke me up and let the string loosened and let me set sail in an unknown world of allurements. Why did you let me come out so early ?
It was your jolly bright face that my eyes could experience its first sight in. It was your gentle voice that my ears could savour in its first listening to music. It was that divine drink which you offered to quench my first thirst. It was that sweet scent of your body, which intoxicated me with the first sense of smelling. It was you whom I shed the first drops of my tears before and it was you with whom I shared my first love and joy. It was you wherefrom the first beam of life for me emanated.
With only a few seasons of togetherness to spend by came the divine ordain and it was time to part again. It was then for you to move to another world which my life could never reach up to until it denied itself. Why did you leave me so early ?
Days and nights passed by, and again this day of May resurfaces. I miss you not for I know that you have laid your loving eyes wide in those millions stars in the sky to take care of me. I miss you not for I know that your wishes roam around me with every fallen leaf of autumn, with every gentle drop of rain, with every ray of morning sun of winter and with every gentle breeze of summer. I miss you for not being by your warm presence. The poet said—“For love, the month is May”. Yes, true was he; yes, true he is. And, on this day of May, I miss you for I know I love you so much.
I miss you too much for I know I miss you too much, my dear Mom!
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