Walks and writing go hand-in-hand. Just ask Charles Dickens, Virginia Woolf, Henry David Thoreau, William Wordsworth, and more recently, Rebecca Solnit. I love to go for walks too – not the legendary, miles long walks of Wordsworth over hills and dales, or the gently pondering ramble of Thoreau in the woods – but something shorter, on a comparatively empty stretch of a sidewalk that runs parallel to the buzzing energy that is Sheikh Zayed Road, surrounded by fantastically shaped towers that pierce the sky, palm trees that line the sidewalk and multi-hued petunias and vincas working hard to make you forget that you are in the middle of a desert.
Sometimes, I am present in the walk, deeply aware of the people, the traffic, the extraordinary range of cars and the people, always the people. But usually, my mind and heart are somewhere else. As I walk by a woman pushing a stroller or a man digging for coins to put into the parking meter, I am hundreds of miles away, walking along the shale and pinecones lined path that winds its way along some of the foothills I have been fortunate enough to hike on. I breathe in the cold, sharp mountain air as I cross The Conrad Hotel, and look out into the misty shadows along the sidewalk. And as I walk, fragments of poems form in my head and I either type them into my One Note or if I am alone on that stretch then I record them into Otter.
Why am I sharing all of this? Two reasons –
1. As an introduction to the fragmented collection of verses that I am sharing below. And,
2. To ease into my future posts which are part of a series, which I very ‘humbly’ call my Himalayan Odyssey.
Do let me know what you think of this post. And as always, thank you for reading.
The Tree and the Sky
He rested his head on her shoulders
she at times rested on his lap
on the sky-high branches.
“Oh, isn’t it beautiful?” she said,
“The world at large,
so far below us
asleep at last!”
The Sky
And once in a while at night
step out and look
up at the night sky,
And wonder
for a little while…
How and why
You got so lucky
As to still be alive.
A Weed
Like a wild weed
tossed around by the wind
It’s meaning yet to be found.
Hope is running out.
The world, my saviour,
is the one
that is weeding me out!
During a Walk
The yellow carpet of God
being woven on the spot
every falling bloom
a perfect part of the weave.
Silence
God speaks in silence
When everything is still
Every thought graceful
Every moment a flutter of breeze
Our heart full of reverence
God speaks through you and me.
I loved the soothing tone that you set the piece in. It had a calming effect on the mind.
I like the style. Simple lines, as if you are talking to your inner self, yet which convey a lot. Like when you say 'As I walk, fragments of poems form in my head..'. Somewhat similar to my fav Gulzar sahib.
Looking forward to more from you. Great writing.