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Sunday, April 5, 2026

A sapling and a citadel

 A sapling and a citadel

“Curse these creepers”, he thought to himself as he bent down to pluck the tiny little plant off the ground adjoining the tower of the citadel. The tiny plants, came in with the rains; their roots dug into the rocks, causing cracks and weakening the structure. As he bent down, something caught his eye – a tiny bud, just about to bloom. As he bent down further to take a closer look, a sweet fragrance from the tiny form of life went through his nostrils and touched a spot long forgotten, in his hardened heart. He straightened himself and walked away, unable to harm that tiny and yet beautiful little sapling.

As he walked on, he got reminded of a long forgotten self – the carefree young lad that he had once been along with the long lost love and tenderness. Sara, his first love. She loved plants. Her father was a gardener. Every morning, on his way to his school, he would stop by their garden to watch her watering the plants. She would smile sweetly from across the fence. Some days she would walk over and give him a rose or a lily, which he would carry with himself, despite all the taunts from his friends.

The smile and the flowers slowly blossomed into sweet fragrant love. They would meet under the trees, near the river, away from the world. Their meeting was forbidden. He was the son of the chosen ones; those who had chosen to become a part of the brethren; she was from those, who chose their simple tradition and earthiness, revering the trees, the woods and the stars in the sky. Their dissimilarities did not hinder their love, it ran its own course, beyond every logic.

He still remembered the day he had to leave the city for his war training. He ran over to Sara’s place, it was crowded. On further inquiry, he heard that her father was taken away for execution for throwing a stone at an official. The official was his own father. As he quietly turned back and began walking towards his house, Sara came running after him – she begged him to take her to his father, so that she could beg for her father’s life. She said that the whole thing was an accident; her father was cleaning the garden, and his father went past, at the right moment, when unknowingly, her father picked a stone off the ground and cast it across the fence.

He pushed her off and ran, knowing his father fully well. He hated the ‘lot’ as he called them. They were the scum of the earth, fit to be killed at the smallest mistake. Sara was relentless, she ran after him all the way to his luxurious dwelling, despite his protests and orders. At his gates, the inevitable happened – Sara was caught by the guards, who took her to his father. Unable to contain himself, he followed the guards and her to his father’s ‘room’.

He watched mutely as Sara fell at his father’s feet, begging for mercy; he saw his father lashing out at her with a cane, till she fainted, and ordering the guards to ‘take her’. As the guards were carrying her to the quarters, he ran to them, and told them to give the girl over to him, telling them that he would punish her aptly. He gently carried her back to the trees. In that anguished state of hers, she reached out to him; he took her in his arms; their bodies blended into one, she gave him her trust and maidenhood; his soul claimed hers, before he took her back to her house and left her to lament along with her newly widowed mother, over the body of her father. He never told her that it would be their last meeting….

When he came back ten years later, having completed his training and having taken part in the war, where his sword secured victory over many slain enemies, he found that the garden was long gone. The citadel wall covered most of the land where the garden once stood. Nobody remembered them, except as the traitor’s family, whom they had tarnished and banished into the wilderness to die. They were one of the many, who chose to stay and die, unchosen, and disappear into nonexistence….

That night he was unable to sleep. He got out of his bed, dressed up quietly, got on his horse and rode over to the citadel. He walked over to the tiny plant, bent down and whispered softly, “I am sorry Sara, my love”, he then stood up straight, wiped the tears off his eyes, caught hold of the plant, and plucked it off the ground!! After all, he could not let wretched creepers weaken the citadel of brotherhood.


Tuesday, February 25, 2025

Moments of a memory...

 I saw her walking along the barely lit cobbled path..

.. along the long faded remnants of glory long past ..

… Under her feet, the road once magnificent lay broken …

… The dead hedges to some forgotten beauty lay a gray token…

She paused, hesitating, in front of a broken wicker gate…

Wondering perhaps on the propriety of a visit so late…

She stared at the house, damaged beyond remedies …

… Amidst nettles, brambles, dried leaves and dead trees…

She stood a while, lost in thought watching the flickering light…

… coming through the cracked door from a source beyond sight…

… Closing her eyes to the pallor and gloom, as she smiled wistfully…

… tears streamed down her cheeks, divulging her melancholy …

Of laughter and innocent fun, a long lost and forgotten memory…

… touched her heart, maybe a bit sweet and little savoury …

… of swings, sunsets, rainbows or games of hide-and-seek…

… long buried under the present day desolation so bleak…

…The smile faded, the tears ebbed, her face was now serene…

As she moved towards the house covered with ivy dark green…

Reaching the door, she raised her first, as if to softly knock…

… but stopped midway… her hand dropped like a rock…

…She abruptly opened the clasp of her dear designer purse…

Shaking her head, as if waking from a hazy foggy dream…

Taking a few notes, she placed them gently on the floor …

… and away she walked, purposefully, her back now to the door…

Hot or bitter, sweet or savoury the days of past are long gone…

Change is as true as the end of a night heralds a glorious morn…

These were the words of wisdom, in her voice, or so I heard her say…

As she walked off towards the bright walkways of the current day…


Wednesday, June 7, 2023

Wind rider

 The blinding flashes of the lightning do not quell me..

The thunderous skies for me are drum-rolls and melody...

I ride over the clouds, rocking and rolling all the way...

The wind rider I am, the wings in my heart hold the sway...


Twisters and terrible tornados have no hold over me...

Storms and gales fill my soul with adventurous glee...

Alone I am enough to conquer and rule the vast sky...

The wind rider I am... In my splendor, undaunted, I fly...


Tuesday, February 22, 2022

A dawn ... a medley ... a view... and a few words...

 The golden rays played a game of hide and seek with the clouds so white…

As they quietly crept along their way on to Gaia enveloped in a dark night…

A sleepy Terra rubbed her eyes, rested, and sated in mirth and glee…

A merrily speckled sky, with bright glimmers and mighty clouds, to see…


She beheld a promise of a glorious sun full of nourishing bright light…

And of nurturing water from the clouds and their thunderous might…

Assuring them of a creation that captures their heavenly essence…

She sprang forth in a colourful medley of green and florescence…

Sunday, June 20, 2021

The eve of the Crone

 On she walked in the dreary realm - feeling death and fear...

watching saddened weary lives, toiling for those they hold dear...

knowing about the morrow - seeing the futuristic bleakness again...

a curse of being a seer - helplessly unable to hinder strife or pain...


Cheery voices she heard about - wafting with sweet fragrant aroma...

sounds of laughter and gaiety - piercing the veil of deathly trauma...

the mirth sparked a strange feeling in the nearly heartless crone...

some blissful freshness amidst agonizing wails in melancholic monotone...


stopping in her tracks suddenly, the Crone veered off her well trodden path...

seeking the source of the glee, that pierced her soul's protective rath...

She saw some young souls huddled around a great cooking hearth...

In a tiny alcove tucked neatly behind a dark and dreary garth... 


The pure young souls were sharing many a bellyful of warm sustenance...

hungry souls were gathering about greedily seeking that ambience...

A wild temptation captured the crone's soul hitherto non-existent

In she walked into that twinkling brightness after a hesitant instant...


From her endless journey she begged off a few stray moments...

to assist and spend with those pure soulful embodiments...

Realising the importance of that instant - beyond all - so precious...

Time stood still, savouring the lingering aroma of the food delicious...


That night, the ageless crone lived a million and more lives...

forming bonds that can't be cut or severed with earthy knives...

she found there some more like her, cloaked in smart disguise...

wizened beings imbibing those precious drops of paradise...


time moved on, ending the fellowship, helplessly unable to  linger...

though crone and the other wizened entities wished it were longer...

hesitant and sad, but aware of the inevitable eventuality...

they parted in the world though linked forever till eternity... 

Tuesday, October 6, 2020

She

She knows not anything beyond the walls holding her...

Sacred walls of subjugation, wrought with crippling fear... 

Bindings invisible and yet strong and constraining...

Locked in drudgery, constantly struggling and straining....


Dread as her master, she is a slave to her own trepidation...

Mute acceptance her stance and quiet subdued affirmation...

Freedom and acceptance a distant pipe dream long forgotten

Solitude the only witness to her poignant saga unwritten....

Monday, July 6, 2020

Shadow by the wings!!


 Work through the concepts... witness the audition…

Stand in the shadows… effect a perfect rendition…

When the final notes of the act the prima donna sings…

…remember… it is time to exit off the wings…

 

… lend the hand where needed… render them pert and ready…

… a living cue card always be… prompt every performer needy…

… a knot, brush, stich or a pin … a helper there where necessary…

… the pat on the back, the invisible hands that hoist or carry…

 

… ere the applause begins…  get set for the next flight…

… a bow in the shadows… beware of the passing limelight…

… do, be done and disappear… never a backward glance…

… melodramatics floods the stage… flee while there’s still a chance…