Let loose, as a Himalayan recluse…


Awakened by the squeaking and tweaking,

Feathered claps and beaky clutters,

Rat-Tat-Tat Rat-Tat-Tat,

Wings flapping my bamboo shack,

I caught the Sunshine streaming on to my face,

Right through the bamboo leaks,

Torching my spirit with freshness,

As if persistently nudged by a mother,

Stubborn at her decision,

To see her son up and away from slumber,

To get him ready for a fresh new day…

The bugs and the bees are my only neighbors,

My shack is the only human dot in miles of steep Himalayan wilderness,

Beetroot, carrot, tomatoes are only some of my children,

Growing strong and healthy behind my bamboo-cave,

Mary Jane covers the rest of the mountain,

Like the eyes of a parrot,

My hut stands like a brown peck on a green canvas…

Minty, sweet fruity smoke refines my senses,

Defines the very purpose of my existence,

Drowns me in the mystic tranquility around,

Shoves me deep down into poetry,

Each and every morning, each and every day…

Far away from the hegemony and chaos of urban life,

Away from vicious traps of forced responsibilities,

I’m riding wings of poesy,

Diving deep into wonders of the subconscious mind,

Experiencing human happiness, pain, and emotions,

Unperturbed, alone, only with my beaky mates,

Chirping away tunes into my ears,

Cheering me up,

Encouraging my aesthetic aspirations,

Acknowledging my efforts to submit my entire existence,

Solely to nurture gifts from the Lord,

With nothing to prove,

None to outshine,

Only to shield my smile,

To make it strong enough to last, unaffected,

To fortify my life against unworthy impacts from the unworthy and the unknown,

From complete strangers to my mind,

To carve out my own circumstances, my own one-man society,

To live on terms, absolutely mine…




2 thoughts on “Let loose, as a Himalayan recluse…

  1. where
    the wheel snoozes
    whirring prayers
    jiving, chirpy flags
    fluttering “phat phat”

    snow weeps adios to the tranquil mountains
    trickles to his final journey
    merging in the Indus, drafting
    on his marked course, silent

    Shiva muses atop
    the peaks, snow lathered
    to cushion my creator

    while the patched naked moon enviously paces
    hiding behind the oblivious clouds
    clusters of ardent stars
    chant a joyous paean in glory of my virgin abode

    the odyssey of the naive wayfarers
    brown and green hillocks
    bare plateaus and barley fields
    are a thousand miles away

    I yearn for his calling
    “Son, Come back”

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