The Brave Pedestrian

I have passed this way before And nostalgia grips me now Asks me to seek out old haunts Revisit old friends Peer into unknown faces Gaze into their eyes for a mark of familiarity Perchance to say, or to hear, “ I know you, although you Have forgotten me. We have met before And loved When you were someone else And I had a different face… “ And this, my long-lost friend… This is where you sorrowed For your many losses And we shed our tears with you, for you. “ See these trees that have grown so tall Indifferent to your existence or mine… We watered them together In a bygone age When they were saplings. By giving them our tears We gave them life. “ And these stone walls still echo Our whispers, our laughter Yours and mine. The dusty silences still hold Our memories frozen in time Although you have forgotten.” Nostalgia… Memories that are not quite memories But only a place in the mind where memories used to live… ...

Often, walking home amidst traffic, I think about how fragile life is and how mortal we are. How easy it is for any moment to be the last. And how infinitely precious that moment will be. And so, in that context, this is my prayer: When the moment comes for my lifeblood to ebb away, I don’t want any unfinished goodbyes, regrets, unsaid apologies, anxiety, anger, clinging, weeping. I don’t want to see tears or shed them, or even to see the faces of near-and-dear ones. No final farewell, no famous last words. I hope to have lived in such a way that all my love has been given, and all love from others has been accepted, so that there is nothing more left to give or receive from anybody in this world. As the lights dim, I want my last thoughts to be of love and contentment, and serenity. I want to be literally able to kiss the earth with my lips and fingers — feel the soil, gravel, grass, pavement, whatever… and say goodbye. Maybe some wet doggy noses, or some cat...

Under a straw roof In a village courtyard Within high bamboo fences, Alone I waited. For whom? For what? I knew not. Maybe it was for the young man Who came in through the wooden gate Deadly intent in every stride. Was I to fight To scuffle To flee To cry for help To beg tearfully on bended knees to be spared? Panicky thoughts Scrambled. The blood ran cold. Too late! Cold steel pressed to my head. Say your prayers, he said. Was I to die then? Unbelievable! But I chose To believe. These were last moments… Precious moments. No time to waste On hope and fear and regret. Eyes closed, All thoughts exhaled Fresh air inhaled I saw my priorities change. Ah, the time had come For the iceberg to melt In the ocean! Ah, for the bubble would burst And be with the air above! Ah, the raindrop was plunging to the end of Its brief free-fall To be absorbed by The green earth! Ah, my Friend, my Beloved, my only Love You would embrace me again! Ah, Father, Hallow...

Morning walk. A big white stray I’ve never met before Abruptly puts his paws on my chest. No wagging tail, No lolling tongue, No panting, No doggy grin, No wet-nosed kisses. Strange grey eyes Gaze into mine. “We know each other,” they say. Standing there, I stroke that big head for a minute, Acknowledging a deep bond. I never see him again And I don’t need to. But I understand that No matter where I go, No matter who I am, My friends and I Shall Always Find each other. Thank you, Old friend, For reminding me So beautifully. ________________________________ I first wrote this in January 2007. Is it a poem? You decide. This is an accurate account of an incident that actually happened to me on a morning walk, and the thoughts that flashed through my head then.

I write this tinged with sadness. I feel sorry for us… For the tragic comedy that is the essential human condition. In the midst of a carnival of plenty, Some of us are dying of thirst. In the midst of a deluge of love, Some of us feel left out and lonely. There is no dearth of emotional give-and-take in the crowd of relations that we stand amidst… Father, mother, brother, sister, son daughter, spouse, lover… And yet we suffer bouts of feeling heartsick and unloved. Yes, I feel sorry for all of us. Poor forked animal, whose overdeveloped mind afflicts him, Ambushes him with emotions that have little to do with the present. Poor forked animal, who carries a baggage of emotions from the past, And borrows some more from an imagined future. Poor forked animal, who cannot be simply happy With things as they are. We live our lives with the sour aftertaste of Yesterdays and yesteryears. We live with the bittersweet foretaste Of what the morrow will bring. We live in a world that has plenty,...

Two and a half bowls of curd rice Satiate both tongue and belly. Yet, gazing at the world with greedy eyes, Dreaming of swallowing it whole, I wander hungrily. The honest love of family Satisfies both heart and soul. But with truth in my heart beating steadily, I seek intriguing lies. With heaven within reach, I stray about restlessly. Your serene cup I thirst, my Lord, I crave your warm embrace. But I cannot drink, forgive me, Lord, From you I turn my face. For how shall I forsake this wanton earth? An artful, lustful, faithless woman… Daily she wounds me, nightly she heals me, Professing undying love for me, for everyone! Of the smell of her bosom I’m unduly fond. Father, how shall I ever leave her To join you in the Great Beyond ?

PRAYER – I Softly, softly He enters my heart Wearing masks I can never recognize. In my innermost recesses, He cuts me, leaves me bleeding. Gently, gently He wounds me, And in my bleeding, he rejoices. Mere mehboob, mere dost My beloved, my friend… Silently he sits with me And shares my sorrow, my grief And through his own tears, smiles. His smile makes me forget my tears. He laughs with me, He laughs at me, Sometimes the distinction blurs And frankly, I don’t care. I gaze at his radiant face And pray that he never stops laughing. (If he does, I shall gladly play the fool Let him laugh at me.) But I see him raise his hands To secretly wipe his eyes. And I seize his hands Because his salty tears are mine Mine by right to kiss away and to drink. PRAYER – II Mere mehboob, mere dost, mere aaka You struggle to express your love And then you struggle to conceal it. I have felt your wounding touch. My be...