Image credit – hippopx.com

LET THE WATER SIT ALL NIGHT

Let the water sit all night, drink it in the morning.

The earthenwares brought from the potter's place
filled with hand-pumped water, extracted from the well
were left in the courtyard all night. The water soaked

the shimmer of the stars and the hum of the easterly winds,
spreading the aroma of the earth, near and far. Be patient!
The moon floated in the vessel and whispered when I lifted the lid.

The earthenwares, tall and round, spun on the potter's wheel,
were pieces of art. The wind, the waiting, and watching
the water refine in the stillness was science.

What I drank from my cup that day was knowledge.

The impurities settle when the water is still.
The breathing vessels keep the water chilled.
Back then, there were no fridges and filters at homes.

The mind is nothing but tainted water in a body of clay
as we say, spun on the wheel of the unknown.
Be still and breathe like earthenware and cool off.

The vessels appear in my memories
like Buddhas sitting in the lotus pose,
in a moonlit night, under the summer sky,

bearing the secrets of Nirvana.

 

INHERITANCE ISN'T A MATTER OF CHOICE

The most humbling lessons of life
are learned instinctively.

We discover them while listening to
the murmurs of our hearts and the sounds of
ancient streams running through our blood vessels.

We find them in the encryptions
and the grand design of our DNA.

Every cell of our body carries
the memories of our ancestors,
their torments and fears,

hopes and healings, songs, and prayers,
handed down to us with the gift of life.

We inherit the dreams aborted from
the eyes of our forefathers and mothers.
Inheritance isn't a matter of choice.

We look into the eyes of the storms
and bear the torch our forebears couldn't carry.

The most profound lessons of life remain obscure,
beyond the concept of time.
They appear in our dreams,

breakout in the beads of sweat in our nightmares,
inviting us to discover all that is hidden in us,
all that is safe in water, clouds, and space,

lying in ruins, on earth,
waiting to be decoded.

 

JACARANDA

Jacaranda blooming in my backyard
brings me the hopes of spring, purple-blue.

Its elegant rows on the streets of California
remind me of Gulmohar, the Flamboyant trees
ablaze in spring and summer in my country afar.

I ate my lunch at school
under the scant shade of a Gulmohar tree,
admiring its orange-red flowers.

I wonder if the tree still stands
in my school's playground
and carries my memories.

I list every tree I remember seeing
while growing up, and hope,
they remember me too,

a child wanting to attain their fruits,
a girl swinging from their branches.
O, my swings! The ropes...!

Marks appear on my hand.
The haze of purple-blue
stretches over the continents revolving.

What have I lost to deserve the beauty around me?