Imagination/Writing Life/ Night
One
Nightly Clouds, Halogen Cafe, Catching the Ray
“We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”― William Shakespeare, The Tempest
T his night
This halogen washed winding road
This silence of after-shower
This beam of light that enters the
window of my now darkened room
They don’t belong to me
Yet I am drawn to its mastery
The collision,
The sporadic brushing past,
The sudden explosions invisible to our eyes
light up my vision
The sky adorns my shade of blue
The clouds borrow ivory from my
Paint tubes, the bricks their colours
from a past canvas….
They all present themselves in
sepia as if visible through an ancient lens
happening in some other planet,
one fine afternoon
They come back to me from the torn, illegible
pages of history I have never read
Images conjuring from cracks of the unknown
Fluttering like wings of a butterfly serenading a bloom
Rustling like leaves on a windy day
They blink and vanish leaving its
imprints on the skin of my being.
The first man to ever walk those
cobbled roads, basking in its glory
to have bathed in the shimmer of
the drooping sun forming a halo over the skyline,
The first rain that touched the planet
drenching his soul, mind dripping feelings
In the milieu of chaos he closes his eyes
for he hears the first tune from a string
strumming from a location undisclosed
His soul swings with the suspense
Leaving behind the noise of eruption
The yellow spread of the setting sun
His boots tapping the shower-washed
slippery road, but not falling
he reaches the melody…..
How the cacophony of chaos churns a
sweet tune his mind hums —
The first poet born
Words followed words
Poets followed poets
From one word to one poet
From one poet to many words
They walk, they crawl, they laugh
They run, they cry, they sing
They dance, they fall on streets dry
The faded comes alive
Painting their own colours
Ushering their own shades
Similar yet unique
Mundane yet resplendent
Pages lift words, lips spell them
Minds awestruck hold them close
A mantra for life, living, manifesting
A world created from the world
Floats around like a ship in synergy
with the waves looking for a light house
in the dark
I stretch my arm and hold a piece of air
imageries and metaphors tickle my palm
flow over my fate like a river walking
on earth……
You don’t know how an unheard afternoon turns
into a nightly carnival of silver shower and
sprinkled moon dust
In imagination I survive
In this world of billion
as One
“You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.”― Saul Bellow
If you have trouble sleeping put your headphone on and experience this music that works as lullaby. You wouldn’t realise when sleep will find you.
You don’t have to believe me but check it out yourself with this piece by Maestro Hariprasad Chaurasia, in flute playing night raga, Malkauns. Enjoy:)
