Growing up - II

A Melding....

Those were periods when the moments seemed to fuse into one another and there existed only a swirling darkness. And the sound of my footsteps echoed in the silence trapped within the recesses of that darkness.

The environment, the skies, the moon and stars did not exist any longer.

A gentle drape of quietness born out of nothing covered all.

And from all that nothingness came the birth of a new beginning....

Tendrils of a Root -

The Re-birth

From what was all around

And within

There came to be

The tendril of a root.

A coming alive of a part of me:

Innocent, frail,

Yet much stronger

In it's insubstantiality;

A part of the music,

Equally subtle, haunting, will-o'-the-wisp.

Fertile, virgin ground

As long as I could help it grow

Within it

The essence of the possibilities

Dormant within and around.

The tendril:

Within me,

And yet not mine.

Carrying within it the hushed sounds

Of the sifting desert sands,

The cadence of the raindrops

Drumming against the windowpane

Under grey darkening skies;

The turbulence of a snow blizzard

Cupped in the stillness and silence

Of the towering snow-clad peaks.

And the songs,

Flowing in the wholeness

Not of the self

But transcendental;

A linking with all life around.

* * *

And then

In the whirlwind of life

It got lost;

Leaving behind a sense of loss

Undefinable, undeniable,

Devastating in its permanence.

Life swept into a whirlpool

Deeper and deeper

Accumulating more and more

And being

Less and less.

A lassitude

Drowsy in the sleepy warmth

A desire to curl-up and sleep

And in that sleep

To wander and probe gently

Into the remnants

Of the lingering loss and disappointment.

* * *

Then

One day

When,

From an innocent sea of frustration, anger and despair

A tear welled out

Then another and another

To become a river flowing from four hundred sources

Soothing and cleansing,

It came alive

Soaring into the skies on the rustling winds

Carrying the hushed sounds of the sifting sands,

And the haunting, subtle, will-'o-the-wisp music;

To be heard once again...

Growing Up - I

The Teens...


From the gentle caring shadow of a mother or a doting father it was a gradual movement away into an alien environment. We had all seen the power, the strength that was wielded by the elders and this had nurtured the desire within each to grow up and be like them.


And yet what was happening was all too different. Unable to understand, we had come face to face with uncertainty for the first time in our lives. And we had not yet learnt to cope.


The fear was stark - it was a period of raw vulnerability.


For some who had the strength of an emotional security handed down through generations it was easier. For the system of values was almost a 'kavaj' - an armor.


Almost....It was easier, yes, but the uncertainty still had to be faced......




                            NOSTALGIA


The long walks
Alone.
Hunched in a greatcoat  
Against the cold.


Learning to be alone
In an adolescent wilderness
Without adolescents.


Learning in those years
To be with myself.


Moments of searing loneliness
Shared
During those walks 
With the deep blue sky, the stars,
The waxing moon,
And the echoing footsteps
On dimly lit streets.


The beginning of a communion
Which was to last almost a lifetime.


Coming to know the music
Subtle, haunting,
With a will-o'-the-wisp presence;
And the slow blending into it
Of the skies, the stars, the moon
And echoing footsteps,
Weaving an invisible fabric
Of peace, tranquility and harmony.


Never realizing the gentle, quiet threads
Invisible in their incandescence
Which flowed into me from the two brightest stars
In my galaxy: 
Loving, protective, encouraging
Nurturing 
And letting me grow up into my own self.  








Photo: Courtesy - Night Colours by Rasins