Musings
1.
Between Chaukhambha and Nanda Devi,
grow the hardy stencils of a winter shrub -
flowers drooping with frost
thorns upright in resilience.
Happiness transient
Pain immovable.
2.
In the bower of pear blossoms,
birds chirp
delicately outlined
against the white, long-lashed flowers,
each bloom a morning in itself.
How will I ever leave this
and return to a dank, rubbery city?
3.
From the weatherbeaten mud track
we look up at the mountains;
its steadfast benevolence
a spine for all things fragile.
As we commence our climb
our footsteps wobble
on loose stones
Sage-like, the peaks
watch us like a thought.
4.
The last vulture
of my generation is gone.
Hooked ivory beak
three-metre wingspan
wing covert - gone.
Diclofenac poisoning.
The sun must be crazy
to pour light
on their carcasses.
5.
She’s crossed borders
flown over cracked partition-earth
drilled colours into calyxes.
In her light bag of bones
she carries more conviction
than all our heavy flesh,
putrid with divides.