Precious Moments

Maybe it's just me but Life has a way of flying by even as I take a moment to inhale the wafting scent of jasmine or absorb the twinkling smile of a child. Even as I live in each moment, Time seems ruthless. But I suppose that is the beauty of it all. The knowing that we exist for a tiny blip in the timeline of the universe. Knowing that even though in the grand (I mean really really grand) scheme of things, it doesn't matter if we existed or not but in our reality our existence of course means everything.

And then on top of everything, some moments seem surreal...they seem so precious that it's hard to believe that they exist at all. To me these are the most intense moments in my life. They are moments when I felt truly loved or when I was truly loving. They are moments without prejudice, of complete surrender and of complete acceptance. Some are moments of clarity or genius when everything laid out in front of you makes complete sense. And they may not necessarily be happy moments. Whatever their content or reason, for me they tend to be such passionate moments that I wonder at how we ever exist without them. They make us. They make Life.

This is a poem about moments:

Precious Moments

Precious moments

Intense moments

And moments of open arms.

Dreaming moments

Fleeting moments

And moments when we aren't

Compassionate moments

Silent moments

And moments steeped in the stark

Only moments

        Of Life

        Of reflection and redemption

        Of hearts

        Bruised and golden

Our moments 

Blue and raw

In moments 

We truly dissolve.

--Megha (23rd Sept '12)

Paradox

This was written a few months ago for my Sounds of Isha (Seattle) group. I wrote it in Hindi first and then attempted to write a similar one in English. I didn't want an exact translation but much rather preferred that the essence come through. The last 2 lines of the english version used to read:
"And in my own destruction finds
Me Alive"
And that somehow did not fit...I didn't like it. I think what I have now is better. If you can read and understand hindi it would be cool to see what you think of the two different versions.

भरे मेले में छुपी एककी सी
खुली सराय में दफ़न गुफा सी
शाम होने को है फिर भी है दूरी सी
चैन में धड़कती बेकरारी सी
कुछ होने को है
कोई हल्ला या घनी ख़ामोशी सी
मखमली अँधेरे में है मदहोशी सी
रुके हैं हम क्यों रूह ने ली उड़ान सी
कोई जीने को है और है किसीकी
तबाही सी



A Paradox. Of the existence
Of celebration with solitude
Of an immenseness within emptiness.
The night is upon me and
These distances are yet to be overcome
A restlessness stirs within my peace

Something is to happen
A chaos or a bottomless quietude
Drunk on the darkness within
I'm still but my Soul...It soars
And in my own destruction finds
LIFE
--Megha (9th Aug '12)

Winds of Change

Sometimes it feels like change is upon me. In fact I always feel like things are in a constant flux and I quite welcome change. But sometimes I feel like I've worked hard for some change and worked long and that yet it is not enough. I feel like I'm on the edge of a precipice of change and yet I'm about to miss it's happening and will get sucked into something else.
This is a poem about change, about going from death to rebirth  and about longing for a much deeper change within; from slumber to wakefulness.

Winds of Change

Winds of change blow down the streets tonight,

And although the night is warm and the skies are clear,

The rain that is to come will wash me down with it

Soon I lay my body down and watch the final procession

The pyre, I watch as paper turns to ash and I disappear

Into the trees, the grass, the stone and dirt

And soon enough I will rock myself awake

And cry innocent tears

Dance and sway and perhaps look like a madman.

How many lives I wonder

How many times have I done this!

Foolishly, How long have I been lost

And how long before I'm found again?

I've longed for lightening, the thunderous strike

Oh! How much longer before it rains

So this slumbering seed inside me begins to stir

Pulling life from the I in me until

I am not and never again will be

---Megha (13th Feb 2012)

Spring

As summer has left us here in Seattle and we're enjoying the wonderful winter weather! :D  I thought posting a poem about spring might be nice.

This poem about spring that talks about more than spring. It's not about hope but about knowing what is surely going to happen someday.

It's also about love. I imagined a love between the Sun and the Clouds and of how even though we might think of them as opposites (metaphorically) but in another world perhaps they could be lovers. Written by the Cloud

Spring

Soon it will be spring…

The trees will blush in the arms of the sun;

Just as I would in yours.

Leaves will curl out of their cold bosom

And bathe in the warmth….until they turn gold

Soon the sweet nectar of life will flow forth

As the sun and rain spin magic.

One eclipsing the other-back and forth

Jesting and mocking

Then embracing.

Like lovers, spent

Watch, as across the still sky

Sprouts forth a smile in seven colours, content

The trees will blush…Soon

It will be spring.

----Megha