Thought Garden


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Coveting a bouquet of my own
I pay homage in flowers
the blooms tied back to me
by my strings of expectations

 - Avi

A matter of taste

and they wondered
which honey was superior?

for one was pristine, pure
off bees fed on orange blossoms
its taste distinct, its hue pure gold
the nectar was but the fruit distilled
the brew marked its lineage
of how industry had into art evolved

and the other was sired by unknown flavours
yet it contained a wildness and spirit
of a whole forest, and its myriad flowers
each strain of flavour joined
to form a new whole, the tale
was no history, yet was a saga

between the ones in the apiary
and the ones of the forest, they wondered
which honey was superior?

- A

Beauty and the Beast- The Ogres Bride


Shrek

In a forest glade, once upon a time in a land afar
Lived an Ogre seeking a mate
And besides him was a spring
From which came out the sweetest water, therein
it became a pond and went on to be a stream

And around the pond formed a beauteous arbour
of light and song, laughter and twitter
Blossoms tittered, lilies with bees flirted and frittered
Birds, butterflies, leaves all a flutter
for the water of the pond was sweet and serene

Like some nectar, and it created around a garden of about a hectare
and from here the Ogre had gone, sought far and wide
for one who would stay besides, yet none came to be his bride
So settled down he, in the glade, with his lute and pond of nectar

One day came along a maiden sweet and fair
Princess of a land she were
The Ogre smitten by aroma of unknown tides and times
got down on his knees forthwith and said ‘Be mine’

The princess was taken aback by this diktat
Whoever had heard of such delusional diatribe?
In which tale was it written, the Ogre
could have a princess as his wife?

Yet out of consideration and compassion
She dallied and parried, neither accepting nor rejecting
While sipping the soothing draught of the pond
and then on sundown left on a well set song

Entering the safe haven of her castle she sighed
That had been a lucky escape! She cried,
Imagine a life as an Ogre’s wife!
Oh where’s my prince who will give me a new life?

The princess forthwith decided to never venture
in the direction of the Ogre or his glade hereafter
Busying herself keeping a look out
for any knight errant who might come hereabout

Yet within her throbbed an unknown ache
Thoughts of the Ogre she couldn’t completely forsake
and there was within her a thirst sublime
for the water of the pond seemed divine

Once she had sipped she experienced a curious thrill
a fortuitous magic within her it seemed to instill
the water had brought within her a new melody she sang
Around her a new tune from the clouds rang

On its sip she awakened a thirst she never knew she had
But go back to the Ogre? You must be mad!
Yet within her was this constant yearn
to take another sip, maybe just wet her lips?

So every once in a while she slipped away
to sip the water without giving herself away
While the Ogre slumbered she slipped into the glade
and even while sipping wondered about the Ogre’s fate

And so this went on for many moons thereafter
the princess at nightfall would slip in
Sip the water and leave like some furtive undine
While the Ogre, to her unknown, under the guise of slumber
Spied on her through the corner of his eyes, and sighed

Until one day the Ogre accosted her
‘Why do you need to slink in, oh beauteous sylph
Pray tell me what is it that you so surreptitiously seek?
It’s simply yours to ask, and forthright shall I freely give!

Yet the princess remained mute, guilty, knowing not
what unknown price might she have to pay
and there was always the fear, that the Ogre
Might again seek her troth as bargain

So silently bidding her adieu, she went away
and for many a days far from the glade did she stay
But after a while she couldn’t resist the call
She had to again sip the soothing draught and catch a glimpse of the Ogre
She continued her clandestine tryst with the pond and its water

Then one day came a knight handsome, fair and fit to measure
Asked the hand of the princess and offered her his lair
and forthwith espoused they went off to the horizon
The princess left her kingdom and along with that the Ogre and his glade

A new life she found for herself
A prince fair and a kingdom besides
Garnished with all the royal embellishments of life
Yet something within her was still, didn’t seem to stir

She suddenly realized her songs were faded memories
and within her was a strange lurch
A storm within her was astir
An unfathomed tempest seemed to catch her unaware

For all the pond’s water she had sipped, seemed to come alive
and within her they set off a strife
Boiling and roiling they robbed her off her peace
The water which made her, seemed to cry amiss

‘This is not our home, this is not where we belong
Take us back to the realm from where we did sprout
Take us there or let us out!’, verily in revolt did they shout
and ’ere the maiden fair was caught in a quandary!

Unknown to her the Ogre had sprouted the spring
from his own soul song, for which he didn’t have the voice to sing
So allowed it to gurgle and mumble in the form of a stream
and the water thence contained his soul, his dream
and now responded to the play of his lute

The soul song within her now astir, dreamt of a Pen
The ravishing swan, which would one day reside in the glade
For all the water she did peculate, she had to pay a price
For all the fount's nectar she had imbibed,
a large part of her, through it, had become the Ogre’s bride!

- Avi




Train spotting


Pic Unni K , flickr.com


Peering into a blur
Of fleeting frames
Twinkling panes
Of memories,
Sparkled at each other

Eyes seeking glimpse
Of recognition...reflection?
Within windows
momentary stories
Now histories, in a rush

Closely observed some
Trains of thoughts
at kissing distance
Attached to their tracks
Passing each other by

- Abhi

Recognition



As I broadcast
in ever widening circles
you may think
I seek acclaim

How can I explain to you
As I go knocking
On so many doors
it isn’t the number that counts

But some intangible quality...
Seeking some resonance
which will remind me
of memories lost,

and also perhaps
lead me to what I know can be...
Yet even as I quest
I stop to query of myself

When I seek others
Am I only
really seeking me?

- Abhi

The Water Bearer

The water bearer of Marakesh: A.S. Forrest

 

Along the dusty trails
At a forlorn crossing
Sat a water bearer plying his ware
Whence came a thirsty traveler
To quench, readily a bowl did he fare

And ‘ere as he gulped,
the traveler, the draughts
and sought satiation
Wiping the moisture from his beard
He verily declared,

‘Many a watering holes
Have I come across in my travels
But ne’er has the water tasted as sweet
nor as refreshing

Blessed be you
Dear water bearer
Not only am I quenched, I’m renewed
There must be some magic
With which you author your draught!'

‘Sire, it’s the heavens
Which bring the rains,
The stream which carries it herein
I merely carry this from the riverbed
What magic might I place therein?’

‘Ah foolish you, to not espy
The spice with which you lace
Your drink, tell me forsooth
When you do serve water, do you not
serve it with love and care?

‘Sire, your words fill me with warmth
Your truth I dare not decry
But pray tell me, if the heavens rained
Months before, foretelling your thirst
How can the author be I?’

‘There’s the wisdom
In what you say, my man
Yet water have I forever tasted
And in this quench special
Can you, your participation deny?’

‘Sire, the winds participated
in taking moisture from the sea,
the gravels of the river bed
lent murmur to the draught
True with my goatskin, there also was I

But were it not for the Sun,
Your throat wouldn’t be parched,
Were it not for your dreams
You wouldn’t have travailed to travel
In this mystical cosmos

Wherein do we then draw the line?
And declare whether the author was YOU or I?
When the heaven decreed to rain with love
Let us all also go about our day with love
My dharma is to quench, yours is to travel

And perhaps the water and thirst between them
Authoured a YOU and an I?'

- Abhi

 

Return...


“Return of the Prodigal Son” painted by Baroque artist, Rembrandt (1606 – 1669) shortly before he died

Is the past lost?

There are times in transit
And states in flux
mayhap not lost, nor ungripped
just a passage of time
marking changes


And what transpires
Is conspiring illusions...
Allusions?


For what do we have to lose?
But ourselves?
What do we have to find
But us again?

And in the missing
One may find 'me sing'
Once more...

And in so doing mayhap define,
within our self involved orbits,
yet another turn

...return?

- Avi

Inspired by a line I came across in Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.
Aslan: You never experience the same thing in the same way twice!

And then there was a message from a pal.

Let go - A winter's Tale

Winter's Forest: Marianne Mathiasen

‘Stay yet a while’
Begged the tree of the leaf,
‘For this is but, time in transit
Just a season, meant to pass
The bite of cold
Will release its hold
Then again will there be
The season of plenty
Stay yet a while’

‘Nay, I can’t tarry,’
The leaf affirmed,
‘The others have left, so will I
The grip of cold is strong
And to it you might yet succumb
Bent over as you are by the force of gale...
Whence again shall I receive the invite of wind?
So the time is nigh to let go
Forthwith I bid bye’

The tree understood the leaf’s quandary
And even as it wondered,
How was one to choose
Between holding on and letting go?
How could it tell the leaf
In separation, it isn’t the tree that withers...
Resigned as it were
To the play of nature

In its parting smile, it hid its sigh

- a

I let go


I let go

I find myself again
In yet another square one
The miles I've traveled
Are all undone...

I let go

I live I cry
I dance I fly

I let go

Of broken thoughts
Forgotten woes
Unkept dreams
Begotten foes

I let go

I forsake myself in a desire to be
Not an encumbered history
But a spirit renewed
A potential set free

I let go

With no yesterday
Neither a tomorrow
No fantasies of pleasure
No baggage of sorrow

I let go

I have now
And now has me
The coming moment will decide
What the next step will be...

For I'm but an idea upheld
Another idea can also be me

I let go
To be another me!

- a

Written a few years back now re-edited and re-posted.


Dedicated to someone whose light and wisdom has touched many a lives.
Creative Numerology


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