Autoimmune Disorder/Season Change Flare/ Art of Coping
Colour
In-between Clouds, Festive Cafe, Catching The Ray
D id I hear the tintinnabulation of wind chimes?!
Zephyr always carries a story
Zephyr
The word I haven’t used
for many days now
It smells like old…very old
Some days you can’t decide to be pain-y
The wind is pretty, gold sprinkled
The thatch of the sun making a roof
over my fuzzy crown
Dots of dust squirming in the laminar glow
like death slipping through the blinds
They don’t blind, they bathe you in fulfilment
A yellow butterfly camouflaged over
a yellow wild, thinking it can hide from
the world
There are always spots of black in that bright yellow
they cannot escape
The brook by the road side with muddy rippled exhibit
flows with less complaints
The grumbling gurgling sounding like whistling today
Carrying the brownish-yellow soft-brittle leaves
detached from source matching the rhythm of the water
Unhurried, floating to its destination
Where is mine?!
Peaks at a distance are shrouded
by the mist
Emerging through floating clouds
it beckons me
What if I move through the mountains cutting
through the rocks —
I cannot name them. I am not a geologist
But I know, if I can push through them
the rocks are softer than I am
If I start walking towards the high will it tell me when to turn?!
The grass on the edge by the sidewalk
is tender cooked in October dew
always bending when I set afoot
mildly tickling my feet for attention
I can be that grass…
Is it wrong to be a poet just in mind
growing wings, flying to places uninhabited….?!
Or you have to fill up those lofty pages
for the world to call your attendance
yes. I am present. Present in my haze
Shadow of an unkempt ,growing taller
by the shortening days
My wall in front, the projector screen
moving slides from the past picking
on the beats of my imagination
One day
I will break the rainbow into pieces
and scatter its shards on earth
Dense, tight yet capable of filtering light
You will see how
every nano particle of soil will then carry a rainbow
Earth will witness the fragrance of colour
Cafe Notes: I realised I haven’t used the word ‘zephyr’ for a long time, which brings me to the question if I can write like before.
A change of location is a good reason both Philosophically and realistically.
With season change symptoms kicking in, my head space occupied with jobs to be finished, before I feel a bit settled.
I wonder if a part of me is lost or has grown.
Growth for me, every time has thunderously emanated from the left over of the ashes.But that only time can tell.
With festivities knocking as close as next week, there is enthusiasm all round, just that my system steeped in fatigue only want some rest and lone time. That’s far from coming right now.
It sometimes become imperative to journal your clinical confusion, poetic flights and pathological rage just to feel yourself again. But not quite.
I am fascinated by everything Japanese.
Today’s music is rendition of Shakuhachi (Japanese flute) by Kohachiro Miyata.
I found the sound more dense, woody hence raw compared to the sound of Indian flute.
Quiet fittingly it feels like a bellowing conch shell or Shankha as it is called in Bengali, which is used to mark the onset of celebrations in my culture.
With this the bugle ushers the festivities for this year (and also my partial hibernation). Happy listening :)
