Hellos and Goodbye’s

The fields, they whisper
In tepid silence over sweeping meadows
And beyond the valleys of gold
Where the poppies in millions, they grow
Shadowing the rays of life
As they pour from the heavens
In a rainbow of colours
Like the kisses of a love lost in time
Waiting, lingering, wandering
Through the pages of memories
Etched in the pieces of a heart
Yearning for a quiet gasp of air
That beats through veins so pure
Breathing life in to me, breathing life into you

The marshes, they sing
In tunes of croaks and cricks and tweets
A familiar hum of the muddy waters
As hollow hogs grunt through the grind
Following in quiet unison
Lines of fear scathed with wounds that bear
Scars that disappear in the fog
Fading in time across the faces
Of those that wore them through moments of despair
Waiting, lingering, wandering
Sense of every second of a shrouded light
Casting a spell of black and gray
As they fly together in flight
Taking with it an innocent life


Spaces in between

Spaces above, spaces below
Spaces in between, sheets and pillows
Wrapped around arms of hope
Through clouds of dreams and spaces as they roam

Spaces above, spaces below
Spaces in between, doors and windows
Lit by the hues that belie our eyes in colours
Of everything and nothing in crimson red, blue, green, and yellow

Spaces above, spaces below
Spaces in between, shades and lights that glow
Darkened by the tears that fall from your brow
Over the moor that forms beyond the ridges of sorrow

Spaces above, spaces below
Spaces in between, stars and tomorrow
Flying through the skies in black as they follow
Trails of mystical paths that shape our lives in a world borrowed

Spaces above, spaces below
Spaces in between, imagination and those that scream
Muted expressions of disbelief in words of truth
Whispered like lies hidden in the folds of spaces

Lost in tea!

I miss sitting on the porch with my grandparents, drinking cups of tea, talking about the here and now, and all that was, and all that we hope will be. At home, in the hills of Darjeeling, tea plays an important part in almost everyone’s life. And until recently, in more than a couple of mug full’s, for my grand dad who still enjoys his tea but his consumption has surely reduced to when I was a schoolboy. I especially enjoy watching my grandparents sit on the porch and look out in to the far horizon, across the valley that stretches out in to the plains and the sun, almost as if in replay, poses a fiery red as it crosses to set in the West, beyond the hill that lies behind our little home. No conversation. No loud noises except the occassional honks of cars passing by in the distance, as it echoes through the emptiness. Just the calm, quiet, and stillness of that moment and the occassional flicker in their eyes as they gaze into the distance… it tells me more than words could ever say and I love those moments of quiet.

And as though in sudden awakening, one of them will start talking about their years as children. I love listening to my grandmothers never ending stories of ‘sokpa’s’ (Yeti) that according to her enjoys munching on cartiledge rather than meat and how it cries, stories of shepards who would disappear along with their herds, stories of places deep in the mountains similar to Noah’s ark where every possible living creature lives for a day when life in this world will come to an end and there’ll be need for regeneration, stories of wizards and witches, golden geese and UFO’s, and more… and as she tells them, I can see it in her eyes… the excitement and the fact that its not that she’s growing old and senile but the fact that I’ve heard these stories from her ever since I was able to understand what people around me were talking about. She has stories of mysterious lands and creatures and beings that today would be laughed upon as nothing but an ‘old wives tale’ but there is no mistaking what I see in her eyes… To me, her eyes tell the truth that she’d been there and she saw what she saw, or at least that is her impression of what she saw, and that there can be no denying her the fact that she witnessed things that we, her grandchildren, will probably never see. I can’t but wait to be home again, up in the hills, sharing a cup of tea with them, listening to the same stories over again and this time, I think I’ll record them, so I can tell them over to those who’d like to listen of some truly amazing things that most would discount as pure imagination.

Lost in tea is a few short verses of my moments with them, lost in tea 🙂

Lost in tea
Over jugs, mugs, cups, and vessels unknown
Trickling over the spouts of metal mouth’s
Of stories untold and mysteries that unfold
Through shrill cries of the wind in the valleys below
We sit, lost in tea

Lost in tea
Over earthen pots, udders of milk and cold burning coal
Spilling in little spots and splashes of warmth
As the fragrance reaches deep within our souls
Capturing memories of fiery sunsets
O’er the mountains as she goes, lost in tea

Lost in tea
Over little cup cakes and morsels of love
Life, she goes, moving slowly across the horizon
As we stumble and fall, standing up only to crawl
In silent prayers as we speak
Raptured in dreams we sit, lost in tea!


Picture Courtesy Google Images

Bound by arms
Clenched in an embrace
Tired and tied by the weight of emotions
Curled in a silent prayer

%d bloggers like this: