Bio Note: : We visit our cottage in a Himalayan village for a few seasonal months in a year. It's the solitude of the evenings and the clarity of star-filled nights that provide natural silences. The evening walks, on the other hand, are full of communication when one stops to chat or greet people, both known and unknown. It's this balance of silence and connection one brings back to the city; it makes me want to write about it. Hence, this attempt at a poem.
A Secret Shared
It is while living in the hills that I feel the force of Nature. In its duality. The long walks through sunsets The early rising with the sun Slopes of wild flowers, level and precipitous. A peeping gazania in my garden, a blackbird gazing at the sky. Pumpkin, red chillies, cummin drying on terraces. The thrift. A village woman scrambles down my garden slope cuts an unwieldy hedge separates leaves from twigs for fodder and for warmth hoisting a head load home. In her ragged sweater she glances up at the hill deity - her snow-capped mother, Nanda Devi and her sense of sacred communion communicates. A storm communicates. I listen to its tumultuous rhythms, its rage I speak to it and tell it I am afraid It speaks to me and tells me we are one. Power outages follow, roadblocks. No movement, no journeys for days till rocks and trees are cleared, Storms are spent….but not sunrises nor the sunsets The tattoo of a woodpecker, and a log being spliced, The springing up of a healing herb, an orange poppy flowering in duality. In the city, I carry back a love for this wild harmony as I watch a robin hop across my lawn, pigeons beak at the feeder. A kite’s stillness on a treetop in the park, a garden geometric around a ruin. This is my cultivated face. I smile.
©2022 Neera Kashyap
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