To cap off the POETRY MONTH, I share with you all one of my poems that I had written few months back.


I had not seen my Gods’ images
or heard about those constellations of chants
and incarnations and names,
A whole pantheon of consecrated faith,
never before this day,
encountering them through the hollow of conch shells ;
and the tremulous echoes of my heritage lay on that hilltop,
where climbing a thousand stairs brought me dozen steps closer to fatigue
and exhausted quests,
for there was the sacred spot for the pinnacle of beliefs.

On that skyward nursery of pagan stones and red smudges and incense sticks,
standing in a mindful mist of breaths above the toe of the earth below,
I found the East beckon me, exhaustion sans hopelessness spilling to the pilgrimage of my unseen past, spilling over my parents’ exacting voyage through seven seas.

Beholding foreign monikers meandering and then charmed by a distant tune,
a boy and a girl relieving the overwhelming scene, each with a flute.
The identity given to the principle of ONE.


Who is that three headed lord
and in what light is cast the fierce feminism of  the Goddess with ten hands,
with her trident brandished for the annihilation of evil patriarchy?
I asked once, completely  severed from the land of myths and legends.

With the power of the third eye and an universe of goodwill journeying to the forehead by elders’ palms,
I have seen the  idea become consciousness,
manifest in lucidity of work, ethics and free will.
I have seen clay idols left to dry before October winds,
painstaking as the makers’ faith and witnessed gatherings of infinity,
with light on the faces of the youngest child,
chiding even agnostics for the trinity of celebrations, release and humility.


There is a soul behind those arpeggios of bell tolls,
a balletic motion to the way virtuous simplicity becomes one’s religion,
the grasp of virtue and sin to be decided by  long walks through stages big and small,
tested by communal  flares and ensnaring dilemmas of diversity.

All of these dance before my inquisitive eyes,
the first imprints of dewy marigolds and peacock colours,
the first spring of discovery in eighteen years.

A sparrow tip toes with morning greetings
while the homeland’s guardian maina twitters acceptance as she plays on my fingertips.
This homecoming is unblinkingly real,
the third eye rising with the suffusion of OM, OM.
Standing atop this hill,
nations and future mosaics integrate as the spirit,
the everlasting fervour truly conjugates with ‘spiritual’.
A gradual exhalation ingressing towards this impressionable soul.


NOTE : the above written poem had been gestating in my mind and I finally gave it shape. It is about a Non Resident Indian, hitherto separated from the spiritual ethos of the nation, discovering the mosaic of faith while on a trip back home with her/ his parents as the gender is no bar to the speaker’s mindset here.

On my part, this is imagination stoked by subliminal attuning to the worldviews of foreign settled cousins who underwent the same experiences or perhaps I imagined their passage to India as such. Hence the title HOMECOMING.

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