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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. 
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
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
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