And. Tangibilising thoughts on a web page, still keeps them intangible.
Let me tell you a story about a sea's immediate barrier,
About a thing that though stops, is a pleasure carrier.
I was driving through it's projections, its three rills.
And through a bird's eye, it was, beloved, Pali Hill.
I was gliding, enjoying, my lifting thermal,
gazing, down at the stars: the Kapoor and the Khan.
their glory, their pomp, rendered ephemeral
By Malabar's suburban sister and all her brawn.
For some reason it lacked verisimilitude,
For some reason, upon its green cover, there seemed something grey
Maybe it was my flight, maybe it was my altitude,
The people seemed entranced, maybe it was some contraband's hay.
They summoned me over to join in with them:
While I screeched above, they sang below,
My music to them was cavil
While I sang above and they screeched below
Their music to me was hollow.
We were almost past summer on the calendar
But on Pali Hill, it was sultry and the heat was painful.
The rain gods Indra and Zeus failed me
They capitulated to the sun's fiat.
And as I lose my rhyme sequence
And as I lose my rhymes
I look down below, I look at home
Its wet now, its raining.
Filled are its rills
Its green is grey no more.
It is, beloved, Pali hill.
And as I glide, in the monsoon chill,
ReplyDeleteI see silhouettes at a window sill,
Seven of them, in their own ways, having their fill,
And I know it's not over, still
This, my beloved Pali Hill.
I don't want to fly away.
ReplyDeletei want my secret seven.
ReplyDelete(do not want to strangle me- i said secret seven because i loved those books and i want to be a kid again)
Hence the Invocation at the start. Its said whenever one gets maidenized.
ReplyDelete