The benevolent tree

(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)

Lush amidst the offsprings
and neighbors,
Grandma Green,
stretches out her limbs
to relax.

Its been a good life,
living amidst
her kind,
being the tallest,
and looking across
everyone's head
to the Bay.






Some of the
younger ones,
stand ramrod straight
respectfully,
as assorted
leafy stragglers
climb all over....

The older ones,
managing some
sagging branches
look and nod
understandingly...

Some balding ones,
some Christmas trees,
and some new ones
trying to fit in,
and she,
wrinkled but strong
spreads out her arms,
encompassing them all,
takes a breezy breath,
and
looks up,
and glances
across the Bay
as if to say
"Oh ! what a wonderful world!".........

Marathons,paunches and the art of writing books

Thoughts on reading this post .....(maybe he will write such a book for us dummies....:-)





He runs
swallowing the pain
the pull in the thigh
the doubt in the mind.
She watches,
one eye
on the payasam milk,
needle in hand,
pulling out stitches
to adjust a waistband....


Life's little paunches
are passing things,
testing
the strength
of your mind.....





The dedicated slog,
a celebration of the joints
smooth and shining
in the light
of the glistening sweat....
Like they taught you
as a child,
discipline
is the best puja.

There will be
new years,
new marathons,
new training,
this time
with
your better half,
as she trudges
with you,
a wee step ahead,
to the winning post.

No needles of doubt,
no stitches
No worries
about waistbands....

NO PAUNCHES
at all
in life now....
just huge smiles
at the thought
of some folks
in
Madurai
saying,
Wonderful,
well done,
God bless !

Bright thinking....

(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)
Funny thing,
the mind.

Sometimes
tough as the rocks
that rise up
as sentinels on the
water bank.

Sometimes
malleable,
free flowing,
as the calm ebb and flow
of the waves
in the bay,
tumbling over
an idea here,
a doubt there...


It grows,
nevertheless,
a spring childhood,
adolescence
in summer,
and pining away
for rain.

Winters of doubt,
sharp nettles of hurt,
an inward look
and appraisal
of what life holds...

Meanwhile,
the tear-laden clouds
can hold no more,
and rush in torrents
to green the mind,
once again,
as the sun of hope
emerges
radiant,
and golden,
waiting to light up
your life.

Funny thing,
the mind,
isnt it ?

Manja and the art of cutting edge kite-flying

In response to this post

Moons ago
she swayed
in the breeze,
her dress crackling
in the wind of youth
attached
by
the strings
that
allowed
her to float
within the control
of the Manja ....





Today,
after
seasons of hesitating,
being yanked,
pulled,
and released,
she
floats tiredly,
blue,
amidst
clouds of doubt.

His hand
has bloodied,
cut by the
incisive abuse
of the Manja,
and she twists,
and cuts her past aloof,
floating,
free as a kite
into the future;
unknown,
but away from him,
and safe....

Laden with meaning

(Photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)
Some clouds
in some worlds,
grief laden,
dark
with
foreboding,
and the trees
look up
wearing Raybans
into a dull sky,
as the
wind
sweeps them out
to reveal
the wonder of blue.




The same clouds
in other worlds,
bring a smile
to the face
of
a farmer in his
dry fields,
sitting
on his haunches
shaking a finger at God...

And this time,
He smiles and nods,
as
the wind
just tickles
the darkness
out of the clouds,
squeezing it out
to fall
in
monsoon torrents
over a parched
thirsty land...

Anticipating the Green....

(photos courtesy a friend's friend)
Back
in the days
of greening,
they'd sit back
on the lawns,
verdant with
bowers and trees,
little grasses
at their feet,
as the children played
on the banks,
amidst sprinkles of
the cold blue.




Today,
disappearing
in the Fall of life,
they sit
mutely , virtually,
amidst the
lifeless browns,
and greenless trees;

The little ones,
now grown up,
have gone away,
leaving
a redeye lake,
missing them.

But the sky
is still blue,
the clouds will
travel away,
and now,
in the winter of their lives
they hope
the spring brings back
the children,
and the green,
back into the world....

The sturdy chairs,
wait.....

A golden moment

(Photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)


A dark world,
killings,
bombings of innocents,
because
they look different
and speak odd.....
Cover the face,
they'd demand,
the body too;
lest lashes be
in your future,
publicly....




And one day,
she ran,
hiding,
trembling,
reaching
for another shore.

She shudders
at the memory,
terrified,
her long hair
stiff,
standing on edge...

But she is now safe,
amidst the green
pines, cones,
and a warm fireplace.
She pulls
the blinds open,
a sliver of light,
rests on her face,
and she takes
a deep, thankful
breath,
looking
through her tresses,
with hope,
on the sun,
coming up,
to brighten
a new day,
again....

Lullaby of the Universe

(photo courtesy a friend's friend)

The Baby Ocean
gently breathing,
heaving,
after
the day's
ups and downs,
burping,
a bit of spittle
bubbling in white
on the side.



And the
Mother Sun,
tired but happy,
after
clearing
the day's sky,
glowingly sings
a last lullaby
as it covers
the baby
with a blanket
of dark.

'Cause,
Its time now,
to sing
and
wake up
the Baby Oceans
on
the other side
of the World .....

It's a juicy life.....

Sometimes, painful pining moments, redefine fruit for some folks....


(photo courtsey Kavi Arasu)
Eyes looking into eyes,
they hover
on the
circumference
of the crowd,
at the juicewallah....
Blending their memories
with the
whir of the
blades
amidst the
fruit
and an
acrobatic
throw of milk....





Early days,
Musambi and Orange days,
little flakes of Apple
"kheering" ***
the milk,
summer evenings,
cooled
by melons and milk
following bhel....

The crowd moves,
they reach ahead,
lost
in their memories....
When she left
to go
one summer,
and he ,
lost and forlorn
faced Musthafa,
pining ,
lonely,
a pained glance
at the Menu....

"Menu changed
just for you, saab....
Have Painapple ,
"Viraha"**** special,
No more Pine-ing.....
And when she returns,
I'll do
a special Cocktail
for both of you....."

*** "Kheer" : an Indian delicacy with shredded apple , dry fruits etc cooked and floating in milk
**** "Viraha" : Sentiment of missing /pining-for someone

Colors of Life

(Photo of Alabama Hills by Sylvia Kirkwood)
Newer and newer
children
greening,
leafing....
some,
so little,
and cuddled
on the hip
of the
older yellowed ones;
while come mischievous
spiky teenagers,
show attitude
on the
rocks.



Shorn of any hair,
the parents,
display
their wear and tear
alongside,
toughened mature minds,
rocks in repose,
with an eye on the
grand old ones far away.

While
Away from the trappings
of material life,
the
white haired ones
myopically watch,
shivering and blue
amidst the snow;
their life
as it once was,
and take comfort,
watching,
in full bloom,
the
greens and blues and yellows
of their Colorful Past...