Saturday, January 12, 2008


Among the wooden pillars of my ancestral home
I see a figure in white
Do not touch
Do not go close
The moment will fade in just a minute

The warm eastern winds are bad for my skin
They rob the moisture and no cream can heal
Skin peels off and you see the veins
Arteries forget to carry oxygen anymore
She tells me to go inside my room to rest

Pictures on the wall reminisce a world of power
I am afraid of legacies that need to be carried on
Much of my mind is taken up by those on the walls
Rest is lost in the moment that is
Stolen by the dreams of tomorrow

My eyes wander over the wooden ceiling
Nice little squares some one many ages ago designed
Each seen by many before me
Each left a little dream in every of those little squares
I get mine embossed unseen too

The pulley screams pain as water is drawn from a well
Birds hurry to their homes before sundown
The mighty western ghats sigh of another day gone
Listen to the silence of a crowded village…
It sings a song of an age that died a slow death

I am resting, running away from the eastern wind
That comes rushing thru the mountain pass
Its good for the crops, the pests on paddy is blown away
But I can not afford to let my skin be peeled
I need to keep my shape intact

She comes in and whispers its time to get up
And say my evening payers to the gods
Who are busy listening to million other prayers in any case
She tells me to push my days ahead
To things and places that she never got to see
I say yes
I get up and start my walk
My journey to the world that is mine and mine alone
That she gifts to her grand child
All of her and what her children didn’t want

Did you know the color of pain is white?


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