Endarkenment...

I recently
jumped out of my way
to be back
on the known path.
Not that
known paths are
safe and comfortable,
they are at times
unavoidable.
Even the rare companions
of the unknown way
share their fears
of being lonely and
not seeing an end.

The other day
I met this friend of mine,
who has never missed her way
though she meets us
here are there
in our known paths.

'So, how does it feel
to be back on the
known path
from your way?',
she asked
with a smile
beyond meanings.

'It feels a kind of
loss of ground'

'Does that mean
you are flying?'

'No, floating'

'Floating and thus
moving with the flow?'

'Not exactly.
This floating is
something like
wandering with the wind'

'Being weightless'

'No, burdensome'

'Why so?'

'Because,
with every strong wind
one is thrown
from one extreme
to the other
and always falls
on the face'

She then took me
for a short walk
under the
moonless sky of
countless stars.
The sky
with its vastness
closes many ways
and opens the right door
when one needs it
the most.

Observing my wonder,
she added,
'This is called
endarkenment.
One, at times,
needs to withdraw
from the light
to be able to see things
that are around.
The enlightening moon
is blinding
and forces you
not to see the stars'

That restored my smile
as I said,
'Ah! That's so profound
my dear'

She could trace
in my eyes
my explorations
in the unknown way
and the huge disconnect
with this known path.

'When released
from its cage,
an animal
has two options,
either to go back to the forest
or to get tamed.
You,
for all so called reasons,
have chosen
what is good for others'

I could just look at her
with a strange calmness.

She wanted to leave
as if she has felt
a huge urge to
move beyond.
'This time
I will tell you something
that is not profound
but simple',
she already had a parting smile.

'When one forces oneself
to be away
from one's own way,
one does not just
forget the way
but also forgets
where one has
come from'

So confused
with its simplicity,
I asked my
last stupid question.
'But my friend,
what about the goal?'

Filling me
with her warmth,
she asked back,
'Isn't way the goal,
my dear?'

,..

a conversation on the last boat . . .

'What if one misses

the last boat?',

asked my friend.

'You will be sent

another one',

I replied

while waiting

for my fifth-last-boat.

,..

Fill in the blank . . .

Silenced by
that morning's pink sun,
her mother was
sitting calm,
when I visited them
last evening.

I saw the girl
looking at the sky
and counting.

'Are you counting
how many stars are there?',
I asked her.

'No',
she smiled.

'Then?'

'I am counting
how many are yet to come?'

,..

The pink sun

'It's the same sun
but another day',
she was trying to
convince the child
this morning.

'No, mom!
It's the same day
but another sun',
said the child decisively.

The sun was of pink colour then.

,..

Possessed . . .

'I have started morning walks',
the poet was telling his friend
last evening.

'You must be writing more poems these days'
responded the friend.

'I don't write poems'

'Yeah I know . . . you must be capturing
the happening poem'

'I don't capture either,
actually, it's the poem that captures me'

'Oh! so you want to say that
poems are capturing you more frequently
these days!'

'No. I select different paths on different days
to avoid being captured by the poems'

'That's interesting.
How's it possible?'

'It's not that difficult,
poems do have seasons.
During the pre-monsoon,
poems come to you
on the wings of
white little butterflies.
One needs to select
the desert path then'

'mm...'

'During the monsoon
in the neighbouring land,
poems come to you
on the mischievous wind.
It tries to enter you
disguised as dusty sand.
One should then walk along the river 
as its flow
will silence the chattering wind'

'mm...'

'During the spring,
poems get into the fragrance
of wild flowers.
It's then better to walk
on the sides of broad highways,
where the air is filled with
the smoke of modernity'

'mm...'

'During the winter,
it waits right next to your doorstep
as an early morning thief.
One should stay inside the house
covering oneself fully with a blanket
and pretending to sleep.
Never come out till the day is warm'

'mm...'

'When it rains
the valley gets filled with poems
and it's wise then to climb the hill'

'mm...
that's why I saw you
climbing the hill the other day'

'Yes'

'But you still posted a poem
that day'

'True!
I climbed upto the hilltop
and was coming back.
After a little while
I just glanced over the valley
out of sheer curiosity.
It is then that poem recognised me,
flew across to the hilltop
only to jump on me from there'

':-)'

,..

where am I now . . ?

My friend the other day
was telling about the rain
playing hide and seek.

I then deviated and started
a new topic . . .
"I feel like moving ahead from
the world of words?",
I said.

"Do you imagine where would that be?",
was her surprise query.

"I don't know . . .
may be to the valley of silence
or to the top of a volcano",
I responded.

"That's such a contrasting image",
she said.

"But, both seems to be equal possibilities to me,
that too at the same distance
and I am exactly in the middle,
floating..."

"Wow!" was her response.

"A strong wind can take me to the top
or a strong flow can take me to the valley.
So, staying afloat can either be a boon or a bane",
I finished my sermon.

She then started laughing
to be followed only by
a strong wind and an incessant rain.

,..

distanced . . .

Once there met two people
on the peripheries of a
destroyed town.
One, an accidental scientist
and another, an accidental philosopher.

"When there is stillness,
there is still
a movement", said one.

"It is the other way around
my dear friend.
When there is a movement
there is still
a stillness", said the other.

Those who were listening
were all destined
to reach their destinations.
One among them screamed,
"What if there is
neither stillness nor any movement
but only a distant destination?"

,..

The first dog's bark...

We were in a local bus
on that hot day.

There was a guy, selling kerchiefs.
“Pure cotton, 10 rupees each”.

One of our fellow travelers bought a piece
and started wiping his sweat.
Within no time we could see
few others buying and wiping.

I then started telling my friend
a known example.
“Suppose in the night,
a street dog starts barking,
then the neighbouring dogs also bark,
listening to that chorus,
dogs of next street also bark,
very soon we can listen
all the dogs of that area barking.
But only the first dog really knows
why it started barking”.

My friend is not a stranger.
Still, he asks strange questions.

As I completed my narration,
he asked me,
“How do you say that
the first dog really knows the reason
for its barking?”.

I just turned my head
to look at the guy,
who bought the first kerchief.

(It was indeed an act of searching
an answer for that strange question).

That guy was still there, sweating…
and was looking helplessly
at his new kerchief.

“Pure cotton, 10 rupees each”…

... dialogue with my friend starts

I have a friend
as all of you have
we always happen to be
questions and answers
and when we are together
there are only exclamations

I just thought of sharing some of our dialogues
as it would start a dialogue within yourself and
you would also get such a friend
in your journey

The dialogue starts