Ekphrastic/Nature/Thoughts
Sage is Earth — Birth of Green Triplets
Solitary Cloud, Earth Cafe, Catching the Ray
Conversation: An Ode
the old pond
frog leaps in.
sound of the water
— Haiku,Old Pond, Matsuo Basho
W hat started with a simple click on the button is slowly shifting to creating a Canvas. Now my photographic escapades look for the frame that writes poetry.
Travelling some distance in search of those moments, you realise the place comes walking to you, embracing you like tentacles of an octopus and what you inhale are notes of poetic symphony.
Life turns a verse from where the tar infused, weighty, suffocating air slips into a cold, light, fragrant breeze.
And standing by this pond, meditating in the stillness of the neighbouring quiet, nourished by the afternoon sun, soaked in the silence of the place, your mind is magnet to the words swimming in the dwindling visibility.
Images of this venerated Haiku flash upon your algae eyes, knowing it’s futile to force your own famished words on this petite piece of heaven which sings its ballad unrehearsed.
You wait with bated breath for music to emerge from the tranquil of the green,
For the frog to jump…..
Whisper:
See the earth rising —
Wet, clamped, shapeless
surface veiled with smelling moss,
string roots dangling from
its sides,I don’t look up
My mind caving in
to vertigo,
Sky is the limit.Less.I inhale in my shadow hovering
above the soil,
Juxtaposed on the trees
Camouflaged. Invisible.Pariah.
To the world below me.
I am earth.
— By Author
A class of Shorea Robusta stand painted — nudging each other in their deciduous existence, falling to the tunes of the season and birthing new greens to the call of the sun.
From the pages of the torn and thrown you emerge, as a point to point understanding of the psyche of a place that appear in confusion.
Thrown into reality words stutter and stop.
You are alive, walking out of dream, mirroring self on the circling ripples of the soft pond static yet floating.
Rowed truth, a reality of once fake, clustered and presented with memory of the ancient only you carry .
Unpretentious, unmoving yet moving in imaginations pondering how shadows on open water draw charcoal.
My mind change attire, break endlessly on the rind of nature, violated by the astonishment at the wanderer soul — the monk, who came with his weapon to build, donate his ears to the wind, to water, running through dead phloem, to hear the majestic whisper…..
Here dreams are frequencies vibrating from an antique radio-brain,
And silence imitates the monk who pickled telluric whispers in the book of infinity.
Promise:
Consumed by the sludge she flows,
Reticent to the morphed sun
at a distance,Take her to the pyre —
Silence captured in her unformed crease
Splitting the earth of dirt ‘n dust,
the cacophony, the Hums of day,
She flows, moving beside the village
you call life….A little rust is what it takes.
Simplification of the complicated
starts with the mind.
Soul tastes lavender.
— By Author
A n abandoned corner, a Waterbody and a Story.
Local waste and mould hanging mildly on the water surface, a sublime rust, cooling under distant sun, lends closure to the verdant inadequacy.
Nature’s way of declaring no frame is complete without dirt-o-reality.
You fold your pain neatly and push it inside a side-pocket of your skinny jeans, carrying it like a walkman, ear-plugs pierced into your tympanum, a nagging dissonance playing in loop, till it slowly metamorphoses into music that begins to resonate and you hum away unaware, thinking of the promise water carries in its ebb, —
Stalled, moved, disturbed at the thought ,“I am inspired, what can I create today?”
This is when your soul tastes lavender.
Cafe Earth: We are snowflakes, melting on the tongue of the universe.”― John Mark Green, Taste the Wild Wonder: Poems
An inspiring story of “overcoming obstacles” by B.R. Shenoy in Man-who-did-not-read-or-write-until-his-late-teens-becomes-cambridge-universitys-youngest-black .The title says it all!
Two book projects from Dancing Elephant Press has been announced and the biographies that steal your attention are:
Christopher-grants-biography by Christopher Grant
Who-is-annelise-lords by Annelise Lords
A story of ‘standing up for one self’ wrapped in resilience and self-love from none other than Dr. Preeti Singh in I-never-knew-the-meaning-and-power-of-self-love. Always inspiring !
Thank you from Soul Bay. It’s refreshing to come back to the routine, the conversation, the inspiration this space lends me and can’t be more thankful.
Leaving with a calming Raga for relaxation, on flute by legend Hariprasad Chaurasia:
