Bliss in Darkness

Today’s full-moon night

parties with countless stars.

Fireflies play in the silver light,

a coyote howls long

into the silence of the night

a tree-frog croaks, joins

a hooting owl too,

a mystic night unfolds.

Standing beneath the night sky

there’s no longing for a heaven

somewhere unknown,

I have mine, right here

while my heart waltzes

with the moonlight:

a romance of a special kind.

Blending In

Standing under pouring rain

wet all over

rain water overflowing

down the body

flowing down to earth

as barefoot I stand,

willow boughs sprinkle

cool rainwater

playfully on my head,

in their dance

to May shower.

Soggy earth feels different :

parts very soft

some cool

others still warm from the sun,

I dig my heel

its good, let my being go down

deep, deep

the inner light goes right within

to the core of the Earth.

Trees, grass, wet earth

a tiny butterfly drinking rain

and a rain drenched me:

there’s peace

there’s tranquility of a special kind.

So good to blend in

while rabbits from burrows stare,

a human out of its den?

It’s okay, so good,

experiencing the truth:

a part of nature, I’m

just blending in.

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Nests of a different kind

When one has flown from one family to another, one land to next and touched many hearts, memories enjoy rewinding at times. Memory bird then spreads wings and fly to different nests of love it found overtime. If anything, they were the dents on time that made life beautiful. Like:

…an eleven-year old me, quite a big girl, but crying endlessly for leaving a mother I have known. Then a stranger holding me in the arms, the warmth of love, of kindness seeps in and a crestfallen heart picks up, getting ready to leave a past

…a railway station, the train screeches to halt. Grandmother had mentioned that Baba would come to receive us. I have not seen him for many years and yet among the throng of people catch the sight of his head. Yeah, my soul is tethered to my father, only the rope is unusually long

….summer in Belgrade and playing with my brother in the garden. Snails crawl on the wall as plums ripen on the tree overhead. We make lakes on the earth, fill it with water and float paper boats. We have chamomile growing in the garden beside the balls of lilies, Ma loves sits by her flowers. a lazy day of summer, somewhere far away

…a friend’s mother calling me by a sweet name, “piece of my liver” but I knew she meant heart. never understand why in Bangla liver often takes place of heart to speak of love

….memories fly….fly….more nests to rest in…

Day’s confusion

Life often makes no sense, none at all. Many of us say “aye” to it only to ponder on to the next day and again that confusion. I wonder where the spirit goes at such times, why I can’t locate it within. Memories, happenings and dreams delve in, trying to salvage that spirit. But what happens when they too wonder what’s the sense of life after all? They all pause. And a lot can happen when the spirit goes in hiding.Perhaps in the end accepting a senseless life is the sensible thing to do? But again, how are sensible things categorized anyway? Are they the established beliefs and rules or what one believes in? I am back to square one.