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Summer night–
even the stars
are whispering to each other.
– Haiku by Kobayashi Issa
And they are whispering, twinkling blue and green, sharing the secret we all know… that love is in the air.
The summer earth blooms for it is in love, the summer sky sways for it is in love.
A promise is made with joy in the eyes by every soul, promise to live and rise.
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We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
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This excerpt is from a refined piece of poem by Maya Angelou which shared then and is sharing still the truth.
We all call a pale blue dot in this magnanimous universe our home, and then we forget. For what else can it be if not weak memory that we repeat the same blunders and invite catastrophes?
We are full of contradictions, we are the chaos, we are neither devils nor divines… and yet we are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world. Why?
Because we can think, we can create, we can sing and dance, we can understand the science behind everything, and we can write a poem to share with everyone A Brave and Startling Truth.
Because deep down all each one of us want is peace. Yes, but only if we remember… if we remember to think.
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When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear
When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
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Read Maya Angelou’s beautiful poem, A Brave and Startling Truth here.
Know more about our planet, the Pale Blue Dot.
My inspiration for this post – A Brave and Startling Truth: Maya Angelou’s Stunning Humanist Poem That Flew to Space, Inspired by Carl Sagan and Read by Astrophysicist Janna Levin (a fabulous article written by the fabulous Maria Popova).
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Let go please
This is noise
You are holding to
Getting moulded too
Remember you were hit by
A typhoon, in monsoon, oh my
Oh my, you’re carrying the broken
Dream catcher like a token
Of a promise you made to yourself
Forgotten the recipe? Oh well, just melt
The mind and heart together, then clap twice
Look in the mirror, smile, yours is the choice
Colour the dream catcher in deep green
Of your eyes, in the rainbows you have seen
As a child. Voila, it is ready, a new dream
Catcher that’ll carry your old dreams
To its destination, so… let go.
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Violets—
how precious on
a mountain path.
– Haiku by Matsuo Basho
The violets, the lovely peaceful charming quiet perfect violets, helped me see the path that I had covered, the mountainous journey suddenly filled me with warmth and glow and I blushed.
I know not what lies ahead, but I am sure to see some violets.
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In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
Riddling the riddle, puzzling the puzzle, I walk ahead.
The memories made, the dreams fulfilled and the forgotten ones merge to make me smile, to make me cry. The voices locked in the chamber of my heart can sing, it can make me time travel.
The visions are laced with hopes and surprises and successes and miracles… is it not magical enough?
Promises are magical too, especially if fulfilled.
And in this moment, I wonder how did it begin, how will it end, how much have I understood and how much have I measured, how to define and how to let go.
What this moment has to say is the truth… the truth that quietly then slips away into another moment.
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Keep your dream light on. When bright it reveals the Narnia world, takes you to Alice’s Wonderland, and introduces you to Peter Pan and the Wizard of Oz. When dim it shows you the path that no one can see in the, hah, real world…
The real world of oh so beautiful Earth, the real world of oh so enchanting colours, the real world of oh so troubled minds, the real world of oh so trapped hearts.
So keep the lantern ready and walk towards the dream light. Tip toeing the wooden floor, tap dancing on the way, gliding on the sea, swirling high in the sky, however twisted maybe your turn, the lantern will keep on glowing, it will never betray you, even when you go blind.
How to select a lantern for such a trip? Always, write it down if you want, always choose the lantern that chimes, hums and whistles, after all music fuels dream lights.
On the lonely road towards your dream you will see things that you have never seen, meet djinns and dragons, flying carpets and cars, funny friends and foes and your doppelganger for sure.
And when you fall down, when your heart breaks, close your eyes, breathe and believe, you’ll then remember to follow your dream light.
So keep your dream light on forever.
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| Cassia Fistula, golden shower |
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Gori knows not where the path leads to, the wet air, the dusky flora, and the mysterious tunes do not guide either.
Soaking in the newness she walks forward.
And why is it that we always choose to walk ahead, why does not the uncertainty collapse us?
If we stop to rest, if we feel defeated, if we turn back embarrassed and ashamed, we still reach, in some time, at the glorious hour of a beginning.
The tired, wounded, and sullen eyes once again look up, once again fathom the depth, once again find the path.
Taking the rope bridge, climbing the echoing mountains, crossing the glassy rainbows, Gori saw that valley where her loved one awaited her.
The gush of wind cheered her, the dew heavy leaves blessed her, the clouds played the drums for her.
And why does it seem that the whole world dances when we dance and the whole world moans when we moan?
How come we hear the call when there is a concrete silence around us, when facts dispel hope and when dejection raises a toast?
In anger the head is alone, when rejoicing the heart holds it all.
The illusion rudely reveals the reality and Gori faces the brazen cold marshland.
What happened to the beautiful valley, to the lover’s promise, to the perfect dream? Hush! The monster rises, its shadow darkens Gori’s faith.
Thundering sky strikes with lightening that Gori catches with her bare hands. Heaving, she runs towards the monster.
Why is life so epic, so grand, so ambitious? Why do the storytellers talk about ‘once upon a time’?
If the legends appear amused by the mundane, then how many of us are at folly for it is the ordinary that becomes extraordinary?
The tales have never ceased to be melodious, we live perpetually enchanted.
Gori starts walking, leaving behind the triumphant air, gravity shining on her forehead.
She resumes the journey as a narrow track becomes visible to her now, a solo night jasmine tree on the way, showers her with its flowers, Gori takes its fragrance along.
Gori knows not where the path leads to, soaking in the passionate silence she walks forward.
Are the night jasmines very ambitious to wait for and shower a victorious warrior and not anyone else? Yes, they are.
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The dark old lady walks like lightening devouring the night sky, she is swift, she is fast. Her dusty feet, darker than the broken black slippers, know exactly where it is to lead and where it is to stop. Draped in a saree lungi style, her slender figure boasts of agility and strength.
Amma, it is a cold tonight, and she covers her head, her ears with a towel. Does she look funny? Not at all, she looks as beautiful as that flower kept in that book. That flower, dark coloured, tells a story, pressed and noted neatly in that book, stored for a chance meeting.
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Amma what time is it, nine thirty she says and at ten she has to go to a flat and clean the dishes, clear the kitchen counter, set the culinary world in order; often Amma plays music and her dear plates, cups and spoons dance on her tune. Amma beams then like she is beaming now – Amma’s toothless smile.
On her way back home, at night, embracing the darkness Amma moves briskly, but stops in front of a small house and asks Sunita bahin if she can get a water-can and take some fresh water; yes, at Amma’s place you won’t see a water-tap rather there are colourful canisters lined up – yellow, blue, faded red and dirty white.
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Amma is stylish, her dark self knows what colours to wear – white and orange and green, mixture of all these and add some flowery designs, this completes her look. Do you also wear the colours of the road, the trees, the dark sky Amma? For you look as quiet and great as them.
And your eyes, that glance, killer! Amma your eyes are sharp, your eyes smile – your eyes are familiar with Time and that’s why you don’t mind, you don’t curse it, you don’t cherish it; you know how to live it. Whatever it may be, a raging tempest or a happy carnival or a visit to the temple, you get up the next day and leave for work on time.
I wonder if you have not spoken with everyone until now. Because you are alive, you know Time, you know the society, you know poverty and you smile with your eyes.
Amma cheers to your journey. The dark old lady waved a goodbye.
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Sujata – The Voice of the Unheard
Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam – A tale of role-reversals and downfalls
Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi (That which moves is called a car)
Mrinal Sen’s Aakaler Shandhane (In Search of Famine)
La Strada And The Round-Faced Clown
Sherni – Even in the dense jungle, the tigress knows her way.
Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on. Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.
Essentially Gold, The Lavender Hill Mob
Ranked as one of the greatest British films of all time, The Lavender Hill Mob confides in the audience, letting them see, feel, laugh and think without tickling persuasively with a joke here and a punch-line there.
Regina Spektor’s Musical World – Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V
Of Monsters and Men and This Journey
The Circle Game, Joni Mitchell, You and Me
The Answer Is Blowin’ In The Wind
The Wonderful Mr. Tambourine Man Song
Weather Forecast Says Listen to George Ezra
The Choir and Their Toads Sing ‘Double Trouble’
Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.
Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?
In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
