Since long some music floats in air
Unknowingly, my eyes get filled with tears.
Relationships long lost, remember me today.
Nostalgia of bygone times hum a tune in the head.
The voices of childhood woven in my dreams.
The ice-cream vendor’s voice and the induced craving.
Why have the raindrops lost their mellifluous voice?
Does your absence make them so listless?
The journey continues, some more miles before I rest.
May strains of some happy music be my journey’s mate.
PS : The picture brought about a whirlwind of thoughts inside my head, which refused to be subjugated into some sort of rhythmic flow. The original of the lines produced here came to me in the form of a ghazal in Hindi. I have translated them.
On 21st May 2021, India lost a personality who would probably rank as one among many of its great sons. Sundarlal Bahuguna was a visionary who understood the value of a trees and how preventing their mindless felling would go a long way to improve the environment at large.
His unique movement was named “Chipko”, literally meaning “Glued”, in which he inspired ordinary women from the villages of India to hug a tree each, thereby preventing men from cutting down the tree. A true believer in Gandhian principles of non-violence, this was a peaceful way to protest the mindless felling of trees.
We certainly need more such “friends of trees” in today’s world.
Mission to save trees-
Simple folks inspired to act
Doomsday! Doomsday!! Doomsday!!!
This is what every blob of cloud seemed to say.
Mankind was on its way.
Advancing slowly, but certainly towards doom’s way!
Not a single tree now survived.
In a land that was once lush green.
As mankind aimed to propel itself towards the sky.
A jungle of concrete, on land grew up to thrive.
Pollution poisoned the air making it toxic.
No longer did it retain its freshness.
Smoke from the factories and vehicles
Hung heavy everywhere, static.
Spewing at a rate, beyond any speculation.
Tall columns of smoke presided, hardly any respite.
They burned the eyes and clogged the lungs
The days grew dark, the thick smog shut out the sun.
Uncontrollable now, doom seemed the only prediction.
Humanity’s death knell seemed to have been rung.
Slowly but steadily advancing each day.
Mankind kept pushing itself towards its own extinction.
PS : In Hindu religion, a crow is considered to be a carrier of the soul of a dead relative. When the dead relatives wish to visit the earth, they come in the form of crows. A reason why crows are sought during a funeral rituals and provided offerings; by that it is hoped that the dead soul also gets the offering. This haiku is a derivation from this ritual.
Through the centuries
Human endeavour to
Scale up the peaks.
Tear down forests.
Dive into depths.
Shoot into space
Seek all that is unknown,
Let nothing remain a secret
From the hungry, inquisitive mind.
So the race continues.
Everyone seems to be running
In their own direction
The knowledge gained however
Seems to be of no avail.
The smaller mysteries-
The anguish of a fellow person’s heart
The cause of someone’s tear
A silent scream
Emanating from a grieved heart
Its causes not yet deciphered.
Neither does the world seem to care
On breaking down individual walls.
No time to stop and ponder
About nature-the silent sufferer.
On individual tracks,
Cocooned in a world of one’s own creation,
Humans keep going,
Know not where!
This world is a maya,
A creation, magical,
To lure and entice
suited for the mankind.
Stimuli that caresses in various ways
Provocations entice and endeavour to deviate.
Mind weaves dreams of comfort and ease.
Safety of a haven
We forever strive to achieve.
With our limited foresight,
Not knowing what lies ahead
We move along blindly;
Lured by the promises
The illusions, magnificent.
Then one day we reach the end
When the obstacle is insurmountable
The pleasures of life
Have gnawed and chiseled away
The resolve to brave the odds.
Walking on a narrow strip,
There is no going back.
A bubble am I.
Born from confluence
Of water and air;
Instantaneous in birth.
Wearing a sheen of light
I let go of my roots
And float about.
Perhaps of no use to anyone,
Except that little girl
Whose face lights up in smile,
On seeing me dance
In the barmy breeze.
A bubble am I.
Carried by my brethren,
Savouring my moments;
Of my brief existence.
Nothing to lose nor gain
From the vagabond existence.
When its time,
I leave not a trace,
Before merging with my brethren.