Strings of Strain

It has been raining for three straight days now

It has something to do with the constant sound
Of rain falling on the windows and ledges
On drooping leaves
And tin roofs
That springs forth sudden bouts of existential sadness
From the very dungeons of my being

It is almost as if I have lived many lifetimes
And yet
There are seeds in me that are yet to sprout
And await the causality of death
To cure this cycle of inconsequential living!

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Readers: This is not a poem on Depression. As per Indian scriptures the life that we live is an illusion and full of existential strife. Spiritual journey begins with the appreciation of existential sadness beyond temporal joys and sorrows.

Comments

Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

Complex Things

On a video call with Mom, I told her that I am making Sambhar, something that never really turns out the way I wish it would. I am accustomed to having Mom's version of the Sambhar since childhood. It's taste is imprinted in places where I have no access to. The tongue knows when something is off. Sambhar is a complex dish. It is not like a plum cake or a bread, or even Avial, where, eventually, the grated coconut and coconut oil evens out all the other tastes and brings them to a consensus. Sambhar is complex. The ladies fingers have to be slightly sauteed, else they disintegrate into the ocean that is Sambhar, and you can see that they existed once in the little seeds twinkling here and there. The Drum Sticks have to be just right, else they stand out. Drum sticks have to bend to the will of the greater cause that is Sambhar, but not break. Then there is the coriander powder and the Fenugreek Powder, and the asafoetida chunks that should melt entirely, else they raise hell in

Stardust

All this time That has now gone by Is all in here All at once Together Einstein says That time lives on Eternally in the present Scattered about Across a universe of memories We We are not meant to live in the shadows We are Stardust We burn bright as Stars And then we are dust ...

Works of RK

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