Somewhere in Saat Taal, Uttarakhand, India

Ruins of Solitude

Ripples in the lake multiply

My hair dries out in the gentle breeze.

The leaves make music as

Sunlight filters from between.

There’s a beautiful word for it,

Komorebi.

And then there’s the singing of birds,

Which ones, I have no clue.

They are of different kinds,

Definitely more than two.

A bunch of loud boys,

In the distance I hear.

The man in the yellow

Kayak has returned

In his orange vest

And a blue helmet.

And someone is asking

If this is the right lake,

With their feet exactly

in the right place.

I unintentionally eavesdrop

on a conversation

About the toppling of

the State government,

and a possible President’s rule.

And I care little about that

But more about how

I can hear the wind no more.