Bees are on the menu for Chestnut Bee eaters

I get to see Chestnut Bee eaters on a daily basis, and what a sight these birds are. It’s quite a spectacle to see a slosh of colors acrobat the sky, catch flies.  Hymenoptera (ants, bees and wasps) comprise their diet, with a marked bias towards honey bees. Little green Bee eaters (covered in earlier blog) are common across the country while Chestnut’s are confined to southern hills of Western Ghats to north eastern hills, and towards to south east Asia.   

Soligas: The Children of the Bamboo

The Soliga tribe are known to have immense knowledge about forest and traditional insight on conservation. I was reading that “……a study performed in 2008 looked at the Soliga claim that forest fires are in-fact beneficial for biodiversity. Generally, forest fires would be extinguished by the forest department using modern fire-suppression regimes. However, the Soligas claimed that natural fires are inherent part of the forest biome and extinguishing such fires leads to increased parasitic load. The above study looked at infections of Loranthus - a plant parasite - on Phyllanthus emblica (Amla) trees and found that fire indeed reduced the parasitic load on these trees and increased their survival. This example points to the importance of considering local, folk knowledge in any biodiversity conservation regime”. Must say it is quite interesting, I am reminded of Yellowstone Park fire (in USA) about two decades back, and how forest fire came to be looked from entirely new point of view.  

Soliga means ‘children of bamboo’ as they believe that their ancestors originated from bamboo. They   are nomadic people who live off forest produce like honey, berries and timber. They live in small shelters called pudus deep inside the dense forests of Western Ghats. Soligas worship Champaka tree (Michelia champaca), the magnificent tree called Dodda Sampige in local language. There are settlements in BR Hills and MM Hills wherein they are exposed to modern influences.  In 1979, Dr. H Sudarshan, a young idealist doctor, came to BR Hills to work with the Soliga tribes, and since then is helping the Soligas negotiate the influences and as also fighting for their rights and cause. I did meet him during the public discussion on Forest bill in 2006 in Bangalore.  The Soliga lifestyle of shifting cultivation, foraging and hunting harmoniously in tune with cycles of the forest till the forest rules came into effect and all economic activity including collecting firewood became illegal. Soligas faced immense hardship.   

Organizations like ATREE, the Vivekananda Girijana Kalyana Kendra (VGKK) by Dr Sudarshan, the Soliga Abhivrudhi Sangha and the Karnataka Forest Department have played a significant role in livelihood enhancement of the Soligas and in rendering their help in biodiversity conservation in the Western Ghats. Soliga knowledge of the forests and their affinity with nature is sought to be conserved. I recently had the good fortune to visit a Soliga settlement in MM Hills. MM Hills is sad story of Lantana invasion, it has completely overwhelmed the forest. It’s quite a terrifying sight. Soligas who have a traditional expertise in bamboo related work are being trained to use lantana wood as substitute. I was gifted a keychain (I insisted on paying, and did make them take the money) made from lantana. Though it was exquisite piece of work but I was informed that wood quality is inferior to Wrightia tinctoria (Aale mara or ivory wood) -one used for famous Channapatna toys. Despite these it need be mentioned that the effort to find economical value to lantana has been a significant success and lantana wood do find its use in construction of chairs and beds. 

I went to Gorsana, a rather emaciated looking hamlet. Dhoduthusidha is the headman, he promptly said he has no much knowledge about songs but yes his wife sings Soligas songs during marriage ceremonies. His wife and few ladies with children were seen crowded around bangle seller, trying out colorful wares.    Dhoduthusidha called out for her, she showed extreme irritation as she answered still working her way through the bangles. Dhoduthusidha seemed to have got the cue “I don’t think she remembers those songs now” he said. He gave reference of an elderly woman in the neighborhood, who sings on all special occasions and is indeed repository of oral tradition. He said he had seen her singing ever since he could recall.  

Puttamma was bathing when we reached her hut she told us to wait. Outside a middle aged man was chiseling the wood.  Giriappa was creating sculpt of Nandi bull which he said he will donate to the temple. He was quite focused in his work and seemed to enjoy it. I could very well see the passion and the reason why they called themselves “children of bamboo”. The connection to nature was rather strong. A piece of wood in Giriappa’s hand was metamorphosing into a craft, unique in its sensibility. Puttamma was ready, and looked quite excited. Her excitement was compounded when she was asked to sing traditional song. She seemed keen, and promptly sang a marriage song. Sonnaamma who was sitting nearby couldn’t resist the temptation of joining. Next song (the video herein) was sung during powdering of ragi seeds “we don’t do it any more” she said “there isn’t any ragi to pound”. The song was based on interesting theme. It was imploring god who had gone away into the hills to come back. Now why did the god go away, I asked, very much curious. Well…he found the crowd in the temple too overbearing!! O how much I love these. There is so much fun here. Enjoy the video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KoVusc9fqNI&context=C4b2aa09ADvjVQa1PpcFPJgAcgwUqv2VnI5C5-Qp-DapLneOOmgK8=) and the unique people called the Soligas… 

The threat of lantana: Lantana, Lantana camara to be specific, is one of the vicious plants around. It’s considered ten most invasive species in the world. The threat is real. What makes it worse is that these plant’s leaves are mildly toxic for animals while the flowers are preferred by butterflies and bees, and the berries are relished by birds. They bloom in abundance thus decimating the local species. I happen to attend a seminar sometime back wherein they showed the satellite pictures of lantana spread over the decades. It really is scary.   

      

Channapatna the toy town: I happen to be at Channapatna, the town known for toys made of wood. Toys from here have international market. They are even protected with Geographical Indicator tag. It was Tipu Sultan who got the artisans from Persia that set up this art form. The wood commonly used is Wrightia tinctoria tree, colloquially called Aale mara (ivory-wood) and lacquering it (lacquer comes from Sanskrit word laksha meaning "one hundred thousand). These toys are environment and child friendly.

from my scribble pad...

 

To negotiate

The myth sown in yesteryear’s slack noon

in the temple ground

has fermented

into conscience, bitter sweet froth

to negotiate sharp turns and dents  

Lightening in the rain

Do we recall the names

so easily settled on our lips

summoned and discarded.

Filial concerns on a stormy night  

cracks into flashes.

Comprehend the stillness
that envelops and keeps on. 

Arctic skua: To spot a transequatorial kleptoparasitic migrant

Earlier this month on a bright Sunday morning this blogger had the good fortune to be part of a full day Pelagic Bird Survey organized by Cochin Natural History Society and KeralaBirder. We were a motley group of twenty odd people, after exchanging mandatory pleasantries and short inaugural speeches we were cruising along the historical coast of Arabian Sea. By noon we had ventured about 20 nautical miles. It was probably first of its kind experience for many in the group, sighting some of these never seen before pelagic birds added to the excitement (unfortunately for me I had taken anti vomiting tablet that left me drowsy, and quite disoriented…but to my credit I did stay awake and took some credible pictures). Taking pictures on wobbling boat of never-will-be-still birds was quite challenging, adding to the fact that I was carrying 70-300 manual lens!!

Back in the comfort of my shack I studied the pictures and to my surprise found Arctic skua (the lower pic i am not able to confirm clearly). Though a common bird, Arctic Skua is a rare sighting in this part of the world. A transequatorial migrant that breeds in the north of Eurasia and North America, and winters in south America through Africa and the coasts of Australia and new Zealand.  Also called Parasitic Jaeger, Arctic skua has a well-earned reputation as avian pirates, stealing much of their food from other birds. "Kleptoparasitism" is the term used for stealing food from other species, while "jaeger" is derived from the German "hunter." These are aggressive agile birds that attack in midair forcing their victims to drop their kills in flight, they are relentless in their pursuit sometimes even working as a team. Arctic skuas are true pelagic birds and live most of their lives at sea, and come ashore only to breed in the Arctic summer.

       

Palleyan tribes of Periyar wildlife sanctuary

Palleyan are the tribes that used to inhibit the deep forest that is now classified as Periyar wildlife sanctuary. They are honey hunters who also indulged in shifting cultivation. They speak a language that is almost Tamil. The story goes that during the construction of Mullaperiyar dam, in the noise and commotion that suddenly invaded their peaceful world the Palleyan saw signs of calamity befalling their clan, so they migrated en masse to deeper part while a section who came in contact with the outside world found work in the construction site (some converted to Christianity). This is the segment that settled in Kumily. As years passed, an accidental meeting in the forest of these fragmented community led to reunion. There are now about 2000 Palleyans and most are found around Kumily. I was in Kumily sometime back so visited the hamlet (kudi), quite coincidently Palleyan dance program was arranged.

I met the Kannikaran (named Mr. Aravi) who is supposed to head the clan. The Kannikaran is helped by Thalayari and Thandakaran. Aravi, a middle-aged man, also acts as the temple priest. The religious tradition seems to be very much influenced by Hinduism (even the bad references like mistreatment of widows). The main deity is Palleyankudi devi. The goddess is believed to have thousand eyes “ayiram kannu da aliu”. She also is “elaithu pallichi”-seven river goddess. The song says…

Elaithu pallichi

Elairum vilkar

Elnathi vanthu vanthar tharakame varai

Elnathi ootadathu chirumalayi varai

 (rough translation)

Seven river goddess

equivalent to seven thousand warrior

Seven river goddess forbearer of sacred hymns

Seven river goddess fountain of mountain life  

 

There is also a legend of woman who was abandoned by her brothers with a child. As the woman starved the child seem to have walked faraway (towards Tamil Nadu). The woman later converts to goddess with the child (the picture herein). Even now during festivals a Palleyan member is invited to adjacent Tamil Nadu village and treated as esteemed guest and bathed in turmeric water.   

 Aruvi happened to be the man who had partial record of vanishing oral tradition. He also uses his talent (he calls it god’s gift, I caught a shade of ego in his bearings or was it pride on his cultural inheritance?) and experience to add new lines. I took the picture of writings that is handed over orally for centuries, Aruvi has written it down. Some he sang, the one in the video here is a dirge (uploaded at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zXPBDReAV_c&feature=youtu.be). He did mention that after death, the connection is cut with the living these lines are quite significant.

Nee thee ayi maari

Njan palluayi maari

Innikum ninakum

Oru bandham illa   

You have become fire

I have become milk

You and I

Have no connection

This translation of the song contained in the picture herein…it’s a song about couple going to market and the husband trying his best to convince his wife against buying!!!  

The land we are going to

The land we are going to

Esdanakankani Esdanakankani

Where the cloths are sold

Esdanakankani Esdanakankani

The land we are going to

The land we are going to

Esdanakankani Esdanakankani

Where the anklets are sold

Esdanakankani Esdanakankani

The land we are going to

The land we are going to

Esdanakankani Esdanakankani

lame are you what use for you

Why buy these

Let’s go let’s go

The land we are going to

The land we are going to

Esdanakankani Esdanakankani

Head of five villages is not my father

Rich woman is not my mother

Let’s go let’s go

The land we are going to

The land we are going to

Esdanakankani Esdanakankani

Villisundaram, Vellasundaram

Villikabbi, Sellaakaari

are all not my relatives

that youngster is not even my brother

Let’s go let’s go

Pick up your bag

let’s go from the market 
   

from my scribble pad...

Sunrise

The uncomprehending eyes

can but see the moments

that spill colours.

The mountain, the clouds, the trees

and i here

become one in the canvas

that spreads and spreads.

Blessing

A damselfly’s connection with infinite 

is difficult to hide

endowed with subtlest blessing

disclosed in hasty presences. 

    

Plain Prinia: no time for small talk

Previously referred to as Indian Wren Warbler, Plain Prinia is a small bird with relatively long tail, commonly seen in cultivated land. It differs from Ashy Prinia for its brownish upperparts.    

Irulas: people who know snakes

It was while i was cycling from Chennai to Puducherry -at Madras Crocodile farm, earlier this year that i thought of visiting Irula tribes. Few months later i was back in Chennai, about two hours in local train will take you to suburban town of Chengalpet, if you are lucky you will get a direct bus to Thandarai. About a Kms walk is Irula Tribal Women’s Welfare Society (ITWWS), founded by Rom and Zai Whitaker in 1986 with an aim of “protecting natural resources, empowering Irula women using the knowledge of forest resources for economic prosperity”. It is a membership based organisation initially started with five villages and now covers an area of 4 districts working with over 60 villages. The Centre is a repository of Irula knowledge, the collection and documentation of seeds is enviable. Apart from this, medicinal herbs and trees are also properly catalogued. I found the literature on Irulas wanting, and had to rely on Anthropological Society of India library in Mysore.             

Irulas are one of the most backward tribes who are facing innumerable challenges. The name Irula bear a reference to the dark jungles they live in. A legend says that goddess was interested to create people who could collect honey without being stung by bees, and she created one out of her sweat, who was successful in collecting honey without being stung. Even now it is said that bees and wild life flee at the smell of Irula’s sweat.   Another legend speaks of origin from irul mara (tree)

   Irulas are classified into various subgroups based on linguistic and social variations. These are Malenadu Irular, Kasaba, Vettakkara Irular, Urali Irular and Villiyan. The first four subgroups share similar ethnic and linguistic features but with slight variations, and are mostly found in Nilgiris and so referred to as Nilgiri Irulas.  Villiyans (villu meaning bow -a reference to hunter) are ethnically and linguistically different. They speak Tamil dialect, and are also referred to as pambukaran (snakeman). They are the one found in Chengalpetu region.

Every clan among the Irula has its own chief called naatamkar, who also doubles up as medicine man and priest. Irulas are known for their expertise in snakebite treatment. It is interesting to read that they use powdered mixture of eight types of plants for snake bite. The bark of the tree (kuruvi or kodachaali) is given to the bitten person to chew if the patient gets sweet taste then it is identified as poisonous bite while if it tastes bitter then it is non poisonous.  After ascertaining poisonous bite, further steps are taken. And yes it is recorded to have worked. By the way leafs of vottam talai (couldn’t locate the scientific name) tree are used to commit suicide. Organic suicide anyone?!!

Kanniamma is the principal deity (Mariyamma in case of Nilgiris– Thurston mentions it as being Goddess of small pox) other deities are influenced by Hindu gods. Kanniamma is represented by five pots arranged in square with a single pot in centre filled with turmeric water. Some trees too are considered sacred, as also the termite mound. The fame of Irulas may lie in snake catching skills but their primary occupation happens to be honey collection, toddy tapping (atleast that is what i read).  Irulas though non vegetarians avoid beef (i haven’t come across a mention of them eating snake, which is strange), rabbits, rats, porcupine etc are on the menu, roasted termites is a culinary delicacy.

Kannimar varniththal is a Irula fortune teller, he beats the drum and shakes while his wife sprays turmeric water over him. Soon he is possessed by Kanniamman. His wife unties his tuft of hair, he shakes rapidly and hisses like snake. He calms and addresses the crowd as if he is the goddess, saying

“Oh children! I have come down on my vehicle, which is decorated with mango flowers, margosa and jasmine. You need fear nothing so long as i exist, and you worship me. This land will be prosperous, and people will continue to be happy. My precious vehicle will be immersed in tank and will be taken out in procession after that the land will become more prosperous”.

Questions if any are put to the ‘goddess’ through his wife. If nothing they chant the praise of kannimar for hours at stretch as more and more people join in.  

I got a CD of Irula songs from the Centre, and last many months i have given to many people to get it translated into English. It has passed from one person to another without any success!! I thought of putting this blog once i get it translated, but since it’s taking too much time i thought of going ahead with the blog. The moment i get it translated will upload it.   

From my scribble pad...

Connecting
We took the heat
in the blood
to grow stories of passion,
as an afterthought on life
we created myth,
while the marrow grew steady
connecting the synapses

Chamomiles

Delicate slashes

placed appropriately in heart’s desire.

So much beauty hurts.    

Jerdon’s leafbird: camouflage specialist

Like barbets leafbirds are exceedingly difficult to spot on a leafy tree. Jerdon’s leafbird (Chloropsis jerdoni) are no exception, a rather remarkable looking bird it vanishes in the canopy of leafy tree. And here I was standing under the tamarind tree armed with my camera and loosing the bird all the time wherein it was always hopping on the nearest branch. These birds are adept in imitating the calls of various other species of birds. Spotted this charming one (it’s a female) at Miligiri Forest where we had gone earlier this year for mammal census. A herd of hapless wild elephants –consisting of about 15 odd members with calves- were being chased using crackers by Tamil Nadu forest guards onto Andhra Pradesh, the favor was promptly returned by Andhra Pradesh forest guards. The elephants were reduced to elaborate ping pong played by forces of two states. In the melee the elephant raided nearby villages for stored tamarind sacks and managed to kill a villager. Miligiri doesn’t really have much of mammal population; we spotted bear scat and few bonnet macaques, or maybe we missed other mammals.

Theodore Roethke: I learn by going where I have to go...

At Woodlawn I heard the dead cry:

I was lulled by the slamming of iron,

A slow drip over stones,

Toads brooding wells.

All the leaves stuck out their tongues;

I shook the softening chalk of my bones,

Saying,

Snail, snail, glister me forward,

Bird, soft-sigh me home,

Worm, be with me.

This is my hard time.

Theodore Roethke (1908-1963) was a significant influence on American artists of the 1940's and 1950's generations; he is considered as one of the greatest American poets of the twentieth century. Roethke spent his childhood helping his father in his work. He weeded greenhouse beds and gathered moss in the tract of original forest on the family property. He also roamed the game sanctuary that the family maintained. He described it in an interview. "I had several worlds to live in, which I felt were mine. One favorite place was a swampy corner of the game sanctuary where herons always nested”. Images of these crop up frequently in his poetry. He wrote, somewhere else that the greenhouse "is my symbol for the whole of life, a womb, a heaven-on-earth." Roethke was a master stylist of both free verse and fixed forms. Many of his poems are intensely lyrical and draw from the natural world in all its mystery and fierce beauty.

Once More, the Round

What's greater, Pebble or Pond?

What can be known? The Unknown.

My true self runs toward a Hill

More! O More! visible.

Now I adore my life

With the Bird, the abiding Leaf,

With the Fish, the questing Snail,

And the Eye altering All;

And I dance with William Blake

For love, for Love's sake;

And everything comes to One,

As we dance on, dance on, dance on.

Long Live the Weeds

Long live the weeds that overwhelm

My narrow vegetable realm!

The bitter rock, the barren soil

That force the son of man to toil;

All things unholy, marred by curse,

The ugly of the universe.

The rough, the wicked, and the wild

That keep the spirit undefiled.

With these I match my little wit

And earn the right to stand or sit,

Hope, love, create, or drink and die:

These shape the creature that is I

The Reminder

I remember the crossing-tender's geranium border

That blossomed in soot; a black cat licking its paw;

The bronze wheat arranged in strict and formal order;

And the precision that for you was ultimate law;

The handkerchief tucked in the left-hand pocket

Of a man-tailored blouse; the list of shopping done;

You wound the watch in an old-fashioned locket

And pulled the green shade against the morning sun.

Now in the misery of bed-sitting room confusion,

With no hint of your presence in a jungle of masculine toys,

In the dirt and disorder I cherish one scrap of illusion:

A cheap clock ticking in ghostly cicada voice.

Child on Top of a Greenhouse

The wind billowing out the seat of my britches,

My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty,

The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers,

Up through the streaked glass, flashing with sunlight,

A few white clouds all rushing eastward,

A line of elms plunging and tossing like horses,

And everyone, everyone pointing up and shouting!

My Papa's Waltz

The whiskey on your breath

Could make a small boy dizzy;

But I hung on like death:

Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans

Slid from the kitchen shelf;

My mother's countenance

Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist

Was battered on one knuckle;

At every step you missed

My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head

With a palm caked hard by dirt,

Then waltzed me off to bed

Still clinging to your shirt.

Journey Into The Interior

In the long journey out of the self,

There are many detours, washed-out interrupted raw places

Where the shale slides dangerously

And the back wheels hang almost over the edge

At the sudden veering, the moment of turning.

Better to hug close, wary of rubble and falling stones.

The arroyo cracking the road, the wind-bitten buttes, the canyons,

Creeks swollen in midsummer from the flash-flood roaring into the narrow valley.

Reeds beaten flat by wind and rain,

Grey from the long winter, burnt at the base in late summer.

-- Or the path narrowing,

Winding upward toward the stream with its sharp stones,

The upland of alder and birch trees,

Through the swamp alive with quicksand,

The way blocked at last by a fallen fir-tree,

The thickets darkening,

The ravines ugly.

This poem Elegy For Jane has become one of my favorite poems, the imagery is brilliant and filled with so much love…

Elegy For Jane

(My student, thrown by a horse)

I remember the neck curls, limp and damp as tendrils;

And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;

And how, once started into talk, the light syllables leaped for her.

And she balanced in the delight of her thought,

A wren, happy, tail into the wind,

Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.

The shade sang with her;

The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,

And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.

Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,

Even a father could not find her:

Scraping her cheek against straw,

Stirring the clearest water.

My sparrow, you are not here,

Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow.

The sides of wet stones cannot console me,

Nor the moss, wound with the last light.

If only I could nudge you from this sleep,

My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon.

Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:

I, with no rights in this matter,

Neither father nor lover.

Scribble from my pad

Ants

Since they still make war

and wallow in greed and waste

let me sing with the birds

lie on the grass

count the stars

let me go for a long walk

on beaten trails

in the deep woods and riverbanks

and see life between little steps.

Brahminy Mynas: the temple bird

Brahminy Mynas used to be so very common once upon a time, and here I am searching for weeks and months and then chance upon one in the outskirts of Bangalore. A handsome looking bird with black tuft and penetrating eyes they are found (or should I say “used to be found”) in groups. I am wondering since these birds too are omnivorous why they aren’t found in abundance in cities as is the case with common myna.

The name Sturnia pagodarum is from its early abundance in and around temple domes ‘pagodas’ in south India. Not strictly arboreal they could be seen foraging on the ground. 

Desanka Maksimovic: I seek amnesty 

Through night and moisture

Wild geese go south

Crying in painful glory.

I feel like writing

A dark story:

Them carrying away

On their two white wings

I don’t know where,

I don’t know what

Of my soul’s dearest things

That was the English translation of Serbian poem “Migratory Birds” by Desanka Maksimovic (1898 –1993), a professor of literature and a member of Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts. Her poetry dealt with love and patriotism, exuding youthful enthusiasm yet they were serious and sensitive. A very popular figure, so much so they made a statute of her and installed it in centre of the city despite her fervent protests. It is said that the Serbian language is best sung in the poems of Desanka Maksimovic.

 When she heard of German soldiers shooting primary school children in Kragujevac, she wrote "Krvava Bajka" ("A Bloody Fairy Tale"), a poem that speaks of the terror practiced by German army in World War II. The poem was not published until after the war had ended. 

Bloody fairy tale

It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan

far, far away;

a troop of students

died martyred

on one single day.

They were all born

in the same year.

For all of them, the school days were the same:

They were all taken

to the same festivals with cheer,

they were all vaccinated

until the last name,

and they all died on the same day.

It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan

far, far away;

a troop of students

died martyred

on one single day.

And only fifty-five minutes

prior the death moment,

a small troop of fidgets

sat beside their school desks

solving the same hard math quest:

“If a traveler goes by foot,

how much time he needs to rest...”

and so on.

Their thoughts were filled

with same figures and tags

and there was a countless amount

of senseless As and Fs

in their notebooks and in their bags.

They were squeezing

a whole bunch of secrets that mattered--

either patriotic or a love letter--

on the bottom of their pockets.

And everyone of them supposed

that he would for a long time,

for a very, very long time

run under the blue sky--

until all math quests on the world

were done and gone by.

It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan

far, far away;

a troop of students

died martyred

on the same day.

Whole rows of boys

took each other’s hands

and leaving the last school class

went to the execution quietly,

as the death was nothing but a smile.

All friends in rows were,

at the same moment,

lifted up to the eternal domicile. 

I don’t have any more time

I don’t have any more time for long sentences,

I have no time for negotiations,

I type messages like telegrams,

I don’t have time to ignite flame,

now I bury handfuls of dying fire.

I don’t have any more time for pilgrimage,

the path to estuary is suddenly getting shorter,

I have no time to look back and return,

I don’t have any more time for small things,

Now is time to think about eternal and unembraceable.

I have no time to think on crossroads,

I can arrive only somewhere close.

I don’t have time to study anything,

now I don’t have time for analysis,

for me water is just water

as if I had drank it from a well;

I have no time to split the sky into pieces,

I see it as children see it.

I don’t have any more time for foreign gods,

I haven’t even got to know mine well.

I have no time to adopt new commandments,

the old ten are already too much for me.

I don’t have any more time to join

those that are proving the truth.

I have no time to fight against chasers.

I have no time to dream, to walk slowly.

Joy

I no longer watch the hands turn,

nor track the sun’s hot path;

day is here when his eyes return,

and night again when they depart.

Joy does not mean laughter, and

his yearning outweighing mine;

joy to me is when we’re silent,

and our hearts in tandem chime.

I do not rue that life’s rivers

will carry off my own life’s drop;

now blast youth and all to smither’s;

enthralled beside me he has stopped

I seek amnesty

FOR THE NAIVE

For those who believe

that all are equal,

poor and rich,

weak and strong,

the untired and the untiring prisoner,

the armless and the man with both arms,

the absolved and the man who has lost his faith,

the invited

and the one who waits at the door,

for them, for myself,

for everyone,

I seek amnesty.

There are many more beautiful poems of her that can be found in the net, this blogger requests all the readers of this blog to go through them

From my scribble pad…

The coral jasmine at the temple courtyard

(ambalanadayile parijatha pushpam)

The lone coral jasmine at the temple courtyard

has an expression of amusement

at the passing devotees.

The boy in blue shirt rather watch

the flower’s merriment in the passing zephyr

despite mother’s insistence.