‘He who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered’
                                                   - George Meredith
      
In the solemn silence of the cathedral
Close to the 'sanctum sanctorum'
Away from the din of the world
I sat in prayer for hours

In deep adoration as I sat with eyes closed
Envisioning Him at the inmost shrine of my heart
I sensed His living touch all over my body
The one without form lifted me in His arms

Like a child clinging to a caring father
I opened my heart before Him
Placed my life’s burdens at His feet
Asked for gifts my frail hands could hold!

Coming out, relieved and enriched
At the gate I was greeted by a beggar
Dressed in rags, his hair lying wildly matted
With sores in his body, he looked a piteous sight

In his outstretched hands was a begging bowl
His lips were pleading in silence
From my bounty, I gave him something
And saw the glitter in his hazy eyes

Can I ever discriminate him
When we both do the same thing
While he begs before me outside the shrine
I beg before the Lord inside the shrine!

On the bank of a rushing brook
I sat for hours watching its course.
Peered into the clear gurgling mass
That cascaded down from a mountainous source

Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips
It babbles downhill night and day
Rolling and gliding through plains and dales
It winds its way to the wider bay.

Dipping my fingers in its icy chill
How my hand got repelled as from a shock!
In its ripples stirred by the kissing breeze,
I saw trees, clouds and the jutting rock-

All floating in queer, fanciful shapes,
Shuddering, trembling and standing still
And the fishes leaving zigzag trails,
Swishing and swimming in the winding rill.

As I quietly watched her speedy flight
With her ***** rising in mournful heaves,
In my ears fell her whispering soft
Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves

I hardly knew the time speeding by
Nor noticed the birds’ homeward flight
Or the Sun moving to the west end side
And the Sky reddening at his sight

As the brook thus continued her headlong ride
To be mingled finally with the ocean wide
I walked, brooding over man’s relentless stride
To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide.

A bush lark in the Greenwood forest sings.
She sings all day long near the mountain springs.
Is she trilling in notes so plaintive of her missing mate?
Unleashing her heart of its doleful weight?

Or easing the pangs of a heart that starves
For a soulmate yet to come for whom she craves?
Or sending a missive through the aerial route
Sounding in every ear a low melancholy note?

From the covert of dark leaves, her song percolates.
Through the sinews of my heart it permeates,
Striking a cord between two souls equally deprived,
Stirring in me an inarticulate ache, never once divulged.

Spring clothes the Earth in silk of green
And parades her in a rare sheen
Summer gifts the plants with bloom
And causes the bees to hum and zoom
Autumn makes the leaves yellow
And blesses the season with fruits mellow
Winter brings hail and snow
With icy winds that blow and blow

Mind, like a deciduous forest
has lost all its foliage,
all leaves torn away
by the autumnal blasts

The brain where great schemes were concocted
is now an abyss where spiders sway
It is bare – dismally barren
of all memories – sweet and sour
Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky
moving nowhere, but as the wind directs,
cut out from the past, turned from the present
with the future yet to surge from the abyss
or like serpents intertwining,    
hissing in turmoil within the brain,
unable to sense the gusty blast,
or hear the whispering air,
dead to sounds that disturb,
deaf to songs that soothe,
like a phantom he moves weird,
drifting far away
to a space and time impenetrable  
with nothing to make the mind agog
or depress it to let out a sigh.

Loitering on roads without hurrying feet
with no bliss coming on the way
to run or hasten to embrace
or fear to be missed sore
passing through dark labyrinthine tunnels
forever barred with no exit
churned in oblivion, oblivious of all,
he remains a spectral facsimile
of his onetime self
plummeting into a black hole

The pulse of a heart beat
is all that keeps him alive,  
all else is dead…… !  
with dreary nights ahead
that shall not know another morrow

desire, a mongrel,
perpetually astray
licking everything,
thrown its way.
sometimes famished,
collapsing into a swoon!

he panted heavily
muscles twitching in his naked body
running frenzied, without looking back,
he shouted, “He is after me.... my life”
a rip roaring cry....!

the traffic halted
pedestrians stopped
people from shops came out
women through curtained windows peeped
children stopped their play

“so drunk”.... a man murmured
“A crack”.... someone shouted
“coming right after an ****”
sneered, an oldie...
“pity on him...! Take him to an asylum”
one gentleman suggested.
he needs help, majority opined
‘nab this plague’, the moral police quipped

what is he running from...?

an Assailant....?
corona virus....?
his own phantom...?
two sane men staying,
at a corner wondered.
they had masks on their face

“must be a health worker”..!
one of them said...
“yes, the subtle nuances of an agonized mind”
the other agreed!

as the scene on the road,
had grown into a high voltage drama,
dissensions grew and multiplied!

From the framed picture hung on the wall
Two faces look nobly down
The faces of my grandma and grandpa
Taking me to the times gone by

Smiling at their wavering progeny,
They retell the saga of their blissful life
A life of selfless share and care
Inspiring generations in their travail

Curling back to times and climes primeval
I hear the sound of their footfalls aloud
In a humble dwelling, joyfully they lived
As children of the soil with hands full of toil

They worked together from dawn to dusk
Greeting every new dawn with fresher zeal
Their hearts were securely fastened in love
And had needs minimum and complaints nil

Two fountains that sprang from sources different
Had merged together before their early teens
Through wedlock they had been customarily bound
At a time when they hardly knew what it meant

Had played together as buddies for long
Until instinct made them man and wife
When fledglings were hatched in their little nest
They worked together never knowing rest

Hit by adversities hard, at times they sank very low
But with resilience, bounced back
And frugally saved every nickel and dime
To meet the needs of their growing household

They tottered together in the evening of their life
Serving as prop to each other when about to fall
In their twilight years, ambling the corridors of memory
They reminisced sweetly the joyful events of life

Now they lie together in the same churchyard
Two streams that evenly and tranquilly ran side by side
Never once been shattered on the rocks and shoals of life
Making one wonder if their life is History or Fable

In the swelling magnitude of our life
Though trivial was their share
Yet they stay as beacons of light
Leaving a trail of light to blaze our paths

Walking down the country lane
I saw trees in flower all the way
Gleaming gems among emerald leaves
A medley of colors on fabulous display

The path was carpeted with grass
Thick bushes grew on either side
The sun was mild and the air, pleasantly cool
A quiet place where peace did abide

I felt so thrilled sauntering alone,
Enjoying the serenity of the scene
I hoped it would extend long,
Taking me to terrains unseen

But to my perplexity the path ended abrupt
Forcing me to take a different track
It seemed as if travelled by none
But I was determined not to turn my back

No living soul could be spotted anywhere around
The trees were wild and dull
The path, strewn with pricking thorns and stones
The place looked savage and morbidly still

With every step my feet winced in pain
But giving up half way was not my choice
Determined to reach the farther end
I dragged forward obeying my inner voice

In the Church, I met a woman so old
Bending under the weight of years
I wonder what made her steal my attention
Was it her struggle to hold back her tears?

In spite of her frail stooping figure
She seemed to have an indomitable will
Defeating all infirmities of age, she stood
With a face though sad, yet tranquil and still

Strange enough, she recalled to me
The determined, but decrepit old man beside the pool
Whom Wordsworth had once encountered
Gathering leeches so scarce, but resolute and cool

I watched the woman humbly prostrate
And feebly rise and straighten her aged form
Surrendering herself at the feet of God
Imploring grace for life’s little tasks to perform

In her gnarled hands, she firmly held a prayer book
With the other supporting her frail figure on a staff
And with a sigh of relief, she left the church
As if her afflictions were reduced to half

As the Congregation dispersed in all directions
She feebly walked to her accustomed haunt
At the rear side of the church was a Cemetery unkempt
Where the ancestors slept, devoid of earthly cares and want

Among all the tombstones in marble and granite
Erected in memory of the kindred dead
There was a newly dug up grave
That stood aloof as a heap of mud

I watched the old woman approach this spot
Where she knelt down with a calm demeanor
Her withered hands clasped together in piety
And her eyes closed in silent prayer

With a convulsive motion of her lips
She rose up and once more knelt down
As if searching for a face so dear
Whose memory she could never ever drown

Within that mound, slept her only son
Who died in his prime, a month before
Leaving his widowed mother behind
To brave the shafts stinging, so sore

As Time by seconds and minutes ticked away
The bereaved mother stood up at last
And heavily yet quietly walked away
Leaving the one who was once her own part

                               *                          *

While the wounds of the young are quickly closed and healed
And their ductile affections entwine around new passions
The aged withdraw to the silence and desolation of life
Once when deprived of the love that life no more sanctions!

When the pall of gloom overcasts my mind
And at cross roads bewildered as I stand
I tell myself
This shall pass

When my pain is more intense than I can bear
And no medicine seems potent to cure
I tell myself
This too shall pass

When my mind is full of fear
And I find no single soul to share
I tell myself
This too shall pass

When anxiety invades my inner abode
And there is no trace of comfort inside
I tell myself
This too shall pass

When storm clouds gather in the sky
And my tensions rise high
I tell myself
This too shall pass

When the road ahead stretches strenuous
And the distance makes me nervous
I tell myself
This too shall pass

As I lay pinned to the bed in pain
I got a newer insight of all those in deeper strain
My debilitating state gave me a lot of time to pray
And I earned the grace to overcome all my dismay

When the cycle of seasons keep changing
Life, from sorrows to joy will surely be shifting
Let us wait for the pendulum to have its full swing
And let our hopes heavenward steadily wing!

Serenity and sweetness will again fill the air
Doves of peace will coo in pair
The wintry chill will lose its frosty bite
Spring will come on wings like a sprite

‘‘Nevertheless, the hilltop hour
Would not be half so wonderful
Were there no dark valleys to traverse”
Helen Keller’s words now resonate in my ears

When in dark despair drowned
I was thinking, joy was nowhere around
A gentle breeze from the upland peaks
Came and patted on my cheeks

Softly whispering- ‘joy is here’

When the last ray of hope had been snuffed out
From the vapid plane of my arid heart,
A cluster of orchids, beautiful and gay
Smilingly nodding their heads on my way

Sweetly murmured- ‘joy is here

When I feared the earth was caving in
Under my feet with no chance to win
A butterfly with rainbow colors
Alighting on a bunch of flowers

Euphoniously hummed- ‘joy is here’

When all my yearnings got shattered
And sustenance alone was what mattered
The blazing sun from behind the hills
Wiping away all morbid chills

Affirmed beaming-‘joy is here

When I thought I was drifting afloat
Without any moorings on my boat
A crystal drop precariously balancing
On the serrated edge of a leaf dancing

Confidently chimed-‘joy is here’

When darkness settles on the scene
When life loses all tinge of green
When days seem inert and grey
Don’t be in a hurry to say
    
“Joy is nowhere around”

Before you jump to conclusions dismal
And write off life as abysmal
Wait to see the cycle of seasons change
From winter’s haze to spring’s lovesome range!

Like a warm breath of air
He hovers in my memory
No superman, a meek soul
Not one to squander his time
But one who worked day in and out
To feed those
Whom he loved and sired
What was he?
A teacher, a farmer or an artist

I cannot say precisely...
All I can say;
He was each of these
Rolled into one

On holidays I saw him
Shut in the loft
a brush in hand
His fingers moving over the canvas
The steaming tea by his side
Untouched and getting cold as ice
Unmindful of everything around
He sat by the easel in the attic
Focussed only on the strokes that fell

When a distinct image shoots out
As the moon from behind clouds
A wave of satisfaction would gleam
Across his face,
His frantic nerves at once hushed
Bearing the look of one
Who, in an instant, conquered kingdoms

He would view it from different angles
Never seeking anyone’s opinion
But gloating if he saw
Our admiring eyes fell on it

Being artistically inclined
He lived more in the world of art

But gradually things changed
To his fright, he found his hands shaky
And the lines on the canvas
Going tremulous and disjointed
Couldn’t hold a brush!

On diagnosed of Parkinson’s disease
His world abruptly lost its sheen
He saw the disease weeding
Its way into his life
Suddenly grown old
He lost interest in everything
We saw him sitting in his armchair
So immobile, for hours on end
His eyes stretched to a far horizon

We displayed before him
Paintings once born of his imagination
To see if his world would brighten
And it worked!

Recently, in one of my dreams
I saw him sitting at the foot of Michael Angelo
To learn the art, he couldn’t perfect
In his life time!

Behind me, I hear
The receding roar of years
It sends chills down my spine
Beads of sweat pop up on my brow
What did I do all these years?
Did I sleep through half my life?
Hibernating in my burrow
Did I keep the promises vouched?
Live up to the resolutions made?
Could I light a fire in gloom?
Did I wipe a tear?
Could I bring a smile to anyone dear?

For me, no more sprinting steps
Feeling awkward and unsure
With a fast withering torso
I look on to the track ahead
As the race winds down
And the final turn in sight

Once my life has been a round of cheer
But no more can I cling onto those days so dear
‘Much have I seen and known’
Yet how little!
To what all places I have been!
How much joy and pain shared!
How many dreams I dreamt!
Now in this paling light, I stay
Brooding over joys missed
Conjuring unfulfilled longings
Coiling back all the way to the start

I am an autumn leaf
Now turned red,
And about to shed
As the world goes wheeling through
Somehow I am pushing ahead
Waiting for that tightening grip
Of an unknown caller’s powerful fist!
How am I going to respond to it?
With regret or delight
I am not sure

Do the journey that lies ahead
Take me to a sunlit abode
Oh, don’t ask me
I am not quite sure!

There’s nothing like the lovely rustic charm
Exuded by the far flung lush green country farm
Where trees in majesty sweep heaven with their crown
And birds with celestial music, the surrounding valley drown

Where the air, so pristine and sweet like the forest glade
And Heaven with rich profusion bless the country wide.
Where the rural folk in relentless toil, values and pride
With their simple, artless and modest life reside

My senses have ere long etched every sight n’ sound
Of that country side wherein my childhood inextricably bound
To those days of bliss, I would like to retreat
And splurge in memories that cascade down in surfeit.

On a beautiful day with the sun shining bright
And the white downy clouds lazily trailing west
We walked down to the creek to catch the silvery fish
And waited for them to come to the surface with a swish

On the rocky bank, breathless as we sat
Looking for the fish greedily nibbling at the bait
We felt the hook line suddenly going taut
With something from the other end pulling it tight

Of a sudden reflex as we lifted the rod upright
To our wild uproar, saw a fish dangling and twirling uptight.
“Angling in a brook on a bright sunny day
Is so much fun for the kids”, we heard someone say.

We went after dragon flies, by the side of the pond
And all through the fields and the pastures beyond
Meandering our way, chasing butterflies              
That, from flower to flower do nimbly flutter by,

We pace up and down, ever eager for the best catch
To carry home that winged thing with no other match
To shut it in a glass jar to survey it close
And watch it splay its wings in resplendent gloss.

Back from school when homework is done,
Quickly, gathering friends, we move as one
To the open ground beyond the clump of trees
To run and play in the evening breeze

As black birds wing their way across the sky
And the ruddy orb in the west is about to die,
When shadows slowly shrink and shrivel
And the dusky eve spreads a smoky veil,

Only then, demurring, we leave our play
Cursing the elements that Time doesn’t stay
****** and gritty, homeward as we plough our way
We promise once more, we would meet the next day.

As hot summer fades and dark clouds gather round,
When east wind scatters dry leaves from the ground,
When elders announce the arrival of an impending shower,
Stealthily we plan to go swimming in the nearby river.

On stormy nights as we lie, listening to the splatter of rain
Over tiled roof with the clatter of a speeding train
How swift, we drift involuntary to the castle of Slumber
To be lulled asleep by songs of magical tone and timbre!

Now, staying in the mad rush of a steaming city
With people surreptitiously chasing goals so petty
How I miss those yester years that are fled
And yearn for the sylvan paths once more to tread!!

I hear a wind whispering from the hills
It comes down tickling the woodland rills
From far is heard the frightened murmur of leaves
As it pounces on them like wayside thieves

It shakes the branches of flowering trees
And their weak petals drop like confetti in the breeze
Over hills and trees it loves to skip and stray
Always in motion, never inclined to stay

It moves unhampered over streams and field
With no resistance to its might, they simply yield
Like a child, it romps over the sloppy meadows
In its gentle touch, dances the gleeful flowers

It skillfully pleats the blue chiffon of the ocean
Sometimes curling waves in electric motion
Over the sea it runs puffing up the sails
And over the sky heaping clouds in bales

Sometimes it steals furtively like a lover
And disappears kissing our cheeks under cover
Often it comes capering with a lilt and a swing
We feel delighted when we hear its merry song

Like a nomad, the wind roams from place to place,
Hiding its mysterious presence from our glance
From an unknown hide out it comes like a spirit
But always making us feel its vigorous might!

At times it gains force and roars like a beast
Felling trees and wreaking havoc with its twist
In rampage, it sweeps the sea and the ground
Triggering sparks of fear and horror all around