In motion
I am still
In stillness
I am empty
In emptiness
I find no peace
Hollow
Haunted
Vacant
Amidst this familiar pandemonium
I alone am solid
Yet invisible
Carrying as passenger
A pain which pays no fare
Answers no questions
Offers no solutions
The me of this moment
None will remember
Not even I
But here
The pain shuffles off
Into the crowd
And I will not remember it either
Rishikesh to Delhi
World in flight
Through a bus window
At 80 kph
A flurry of images
In unknown tongues
Gone too quickly to understand
Collected in 1/680th time
A moment stopped for further consideration
On a later date, today
Bold art, like old propaganda…
To announce a new hydroelectric dam?
Drag the photo into translate
“Great Compressive Strength”
Ah, just an ad for concrete
I wonder again
At how unfathomable
The wide world could be
Before Google
…and yet, remains still
A night market lull
Politics and jewelry
Impatient vendor
Suffocating smoke
Smothers glimmer and glee
Even the sun subdued
To wan gloom
Long before it sets
Still
I know colour lingers beneath
Recall its effervescence
Manifest the latent joy
Until that rises above the horizon
Of my heartÂ
Sun burns white hot
Through dissipating fog
Sets wildflowers ablaze
With its morning rays
Sonic beacon rendered mute
Its clarion calls to clarity
Invited cerulean hues
A day begun
In dour temper
Manifests its beauty
Ripples
In the soft
And the hard
On the water
A gentle breeze
In the moment
On the granite
Storms and ice
Over aeons
In my spirit
The rock and roll
Of the history of me
Solitary sentinel
Faces menacing skies
Steadfast
Resolute
Safe harbour signal
Sought in distress
She reclines on the porch swing
Sways with gentle breezes
She loves this spot
Overlooking the bay
Always the picture of calm
Even if the sky threatens rain
Artful reflections
Flow over glassy waters
The ominous clouds tempered
As the wash of a watercolour
On which her mind paints
Stories of transformation
In the morning
A mug of americano
Vapour wafting
With the scent of roasted bean
Then the garden
No more than a thin film
Of rock-strewn topsoil
Spread over a bed of granite
Now the afternoon
Pinot gris
The bottle at her feet
Chills in a bucket of ice
This afternoon
Began earlier than others
Though not the earliest retreat
She may not need
To replenish the bottle
In the off season
Lobster traps wait in repose
Fishers count the days
Pix to Words 