It was the last full day in India. The smoke had been chokingly thick for the entire month I’d spent in the north, and Delhi hadn’t even been the worst of it. Still, I’d found a decent rate at a decent hotel (some small comfort in exchange for the respiratory distress) on the edge of Old Delhi’s fantastical Chandni Chowk markets for the final days before my flight home.
These leaves may seem
Like a reminder of past glory
These leaves may seem
Like a reminder of future possibility
But the leaves
Are just leaves
All the rest is just stories
I tell myself to make sense
Not of leaves
But of my own existence
angry sea
angry sky
in between
the boughs all fly
tree trunks bow
wind tests their roots
and salts the air
with whitecaps flare
so here am I
lens held to chest
braced to keep
a steady frame
while all around
the chaos roars
a shutter click
renders it tame
rain falls
pittering the leaves
pattering the earth
nature’s sutra
gently chanted
outside my window
inside
warm
and calm
quiet mind
full heart
present in the moment
life finds a way
in the most inhospitable
conditions
places
times
to
survive
thrive
flourish
so too
can I
Geometries of Euclidean beings
Dominate the irregular perfections
Of organic patterns
And I
A lover of both
Math and nature
Am left unsure
Which is
The greater beauty
Is such judgment
Even necessary
Or wise
After all
Beauty itself
Is the construct
Of an eye
And a mind
Who am I to say
What you should find
Beautiful
Such soothes the grief
Of one life’s sad lament
Whose diminished light
No longer casts
Onto the stilling sea
Sufficient light
To bounce a single ray
Confused and lost
Mind gone astray
Now take another breath
Do I
Remember bounteous light
Which shimmered off
A rampant sea
And know that souls
Are infinite
That one life lived
No matter grand or small
Is but a drop
Where raindrops fall
So many more still yet to come
And this one
Though diminished now
Once was bright as raging sun
Gentle current
Beneath the ice
Downstream rumbles
Break the crust
And I am freed
For the moment
Only a thin sliver of hope
Graces the sky
Soon enough
The stars
The constellations
The galaxies
As the grand parade
Of existence
Once again
Fills the cosmos
Pix to Words 