Whispers in the Sand

There's a sea humming inside every shell.

Listen, and the waves may speak to you. 

But it's hidden in plain sight. 

And its voice fused with the cacophony of all times. 

Listen, intently, curiously; but not to learn anything new, or unveil secrets. 

Listen to that hum, 

it's the force of the ocean. 

It's the primordial murmur of your heart. My heart!  

-

A wave washed me awake.

The sun's now a bright red spot,

but I still feel its warmth reaching out from across. 

It's time to return.  

-

I looked around for a souvenir to carry this moment to her.  

Something to hold the ordinariness of this air, the sea and its glow.  

Like a shell. 

And so I started sifting through the dark monazite sands, 

searching for the perfect piece. 

-

Wandering along the coast,  

I witnessed the layers of many lives

unfold and happen around me.  

There was a lifeguard in a yellow vest,  

patrolling the shore, armed with a red flag and a whistle.  

The sea here is capricious, with deep and violent undercurrents.  

Like an oracle, he prophesized a certain doom to all who shall dare enter.

At the edge of the last wave stood the tourists.  

And the wave and people swayed  

like they were locked in a cadence.  

There were also children flying kites.  

Families finding each other. 

People searching for themselves.  

And humans trying to find their way.

And there was I, searching for a seashell,

to conceal my heart in it. 

-

Finally, I saw something shiny in the sand, half buried.  

It almost reflected the crimson sun.  

I walked to it, elated that now I had found the perfect piece.  

And there it was, a plastic scoop,

one from a million litter scattered across the sands.  

Refusing to break down for another thousand years. 

-

I couldn't find a seashell. 

But, on the search, I have felt something simple, something precious. 

And I reach out through these words,

for they are my seashells, for you.  

- Harishna 

28/03/24, Thursday 

Finding my hate

Hate.

My loathe is nowhere to be found. 

Misplaced as it always is,

Where do I find my hate?

I set out in search for it, 

and I traversed through the archives first.

I went to its dark corners,

to see if it was trapped under some parched logs of the past. 

And there I saw regrets and despair, 

with all the untold stories,

and nameless verses.

Some forgotten, some gasping, some longing.

But I did not see hate anywhere there,

and so continued the probe. 

Then I went to the court,

to see if my hate was under trial. 

There I saw the judge and the jury,

and the many witnesses. 

And there stood my truth, 

alone and bare, facing judgement. 

Still, my hate was nowhere to be seen. 

Next, I stopped by the temple.

Hoping the gods to be kind. 

As I entered, I saw a woman washing rags

near the temple pond. 

I asked her if she saw my hate.

Without raising her head, 

she said that she was busy rinsing those rags,

and asked if I could lend a hand. 

Irate, I climbed the ancient steps,

and there, I saw my hate,

sitting outside the Sanctum Sanctorum,

near to my mercy. 

Stunned, I stood there, silent.

Hate began to speak, 

"I am not the one to be sought and yet here you are..."

and it asked, "why do you seek me?"

I didn't know what to say, and I mumbled, 

"I was sad... and I was angry... 

I felt unheard and unseen... I felt alone... and my love remains unrequited... 

I didn't know anything else..." I stopped. 

Hate laughed out loud, and said, 

"Silly boy. I am not a refuge, 

nor am I your home to run into. 

I can devour you this instant, 

but I take pity on you now. 

Skedaddle, before I change my mind."

Here, mercy stepped in with a smile. 

Caressing my pale face,

she reminded me who hate is,

while making me feel who she is. 

And when I asked why I found them both

together in this temple, she said, 

"I am the warden of hate. 

I pacify him and keep him on a leash. 

But you should know,

that I derive my strength from the choices you make. 

Sometimes, when you forget me-

when the empty tries to catch you, 

hate surfaces to remind you

that I exist, as a possibility,

as an alternative, as a choice, for you to make. 

Hate is a powerful force, 

but your compassion binds him within limits. 

Always let your mercy prevail over your wrath." She stopped. 

Now, I've found my hate,

but I no longer find it necessary. 

Yet, my heart aches with the burdens

I carry,

from the archives and the courtroom,

and the market, and the many lives I came across.

"How do I cleanse myself? 

How can I remove all this weight?"

I prayed. 

And merci responded, 

"Go wash with love". 

And then showed me the way out. 

I walked out,

wondering where love is. 

I went to the pond, to wash my face,

and there was the woman, 

still rinsing and scrubbing those rags. 

Now that I've confronted hate,

I walked towards her, offering my help. 

She pointed me to the nearby stone

and gave me a few rags to start with. 

What a strange woman, I thought.

I offered my help and there's not even a glimpse of gratitude in her ways. 

Nevertheless, I began to wash the rags,

and it was then I noticed something peculiar, rather familiar. 

These rags, had my name imprinted. 

And as I looked closer, 

I saw my life embedded in its fabric. 

"Go wash with love"

these words resonated in the air.  

And here I am with love herself,

washing my rags, cleansing my heart,

without any burdens. 

Now I see love,

and together there's much cleaning left to do. 

-Harishna 

 

The Web of Life

The desert winds carry

the key ingredients of life.

The oceanic currents that bring warmth,

keeps us all alive.

In a web of connections,

in this web of life,

there are the chains that link us all,

to this planet, to our world, to our home.

Not all chains are shackles.

Not all chains are to be broken.

Some exist, just to hold us right,

hold us together, to keep us in place.

The mighty of the oceans.

From the tiny plankton to the,

cheerful dolphins, warrior sharks,

and gentle whales.

Life thrives and balances itself

in the depths of the great blue desert.

There is the harmony that follows,

the melody of the many.

It's a beautiful world,

It's a wondrous world of blue.

In the great plains of Serengeti,

the Wildebeests roam free.

There again is a rhythm,

the rhythm of the rains,

of the desert winds,

and a million hoof beats,

that reminds slumbering seeds,

deep in Earths bosom,

that it's time to sprout, to arise.

In the dense forests,

under the canopy of mushroomed green,

life manifests in all its wonders.

Orchids bloom,

so the bees can fall in love.

And that love would carry the pollen grains

so that much more love would bloom.

And so goes the many miracles,

of this potent web of life,

where each string resonates,

as music for another to follow,

even from miles apart,

to dance as together,

as one life and as one planet.

-Harishna

 03/07/2021

                   

A Moonlit Dream

The night was still in its infancy.

Though the rains have ebbed,

there's this dampness still in the air,

except for the moon, and her light,

finding its way down to weary souls,

rejuvenating, filling it with hope.

The poet kept drifting through his room,

shuttling from one end to the other. 

There's something odd about tonight,

he thought as he felt the air

getting warmer around him. 

This is the aura of familiarity,

he said to himself. 

And then, he saw a boy there, 

sitting by the window,

looking out into the moonlit night. 

As the poet got closer, 

he felt drawn by a magnetic pull. 

He felt a tide rising inside his heart. 

But he was unsure what it was. 

And he asked the boy who he was,

and what tale does he have to tell?

And the boy spoke. 

And he spoke about his love,

and his quest to redeem it. 

He was the sun in a different life.

He was the source of all life and vitality.

His radiance warmed many hearts

and guarded them against the darkness.

He was worshipped,

as he was the epitome of all knowledge. 

And so, he stood at the centre of it all. 

Once in a while, 

he would take the form of a boy

and would come to earth.

Taking part in the beauty he helped create. 

And it was then he saw her,

and it was one November. 

He first saw her in that antique room. 

It's winding stairs and creaking wooden floors,

whispering all those micro-tales. 

She was simple, yet original. 

There were no pretensions in her eyes,

and there was this innocence,

which has become a rarity these days. 

The elder there introduced her to the boy,

and chance rolled its dice. 

The all-knowing too was unknowing of many things. 

And one among that was love. 

Fear gripped his heart. 

He was blinded by his radiance,

or was it his ignorance? 

He feared he would burn her then.

He, the mighty sun, 

was afraid of the unknown! 

And so, slowly eclipsed his heart's desire. 

And he left Earth for his celestial duties. 

Except, now, there's this blot in his heart.  

He has travelled across the chasm.

He continued fulfilling his chores.

Except, now, he was realising his folly. 

Was chance being kind? 

For it rolled its dice again! 

He's now back on Earth, unexpected,

where he saw her again. 

They talked, and he found his fears

melting off. 

There was an ease, and he felt whole. 

The blot in his heart disappears. 

She was serene, like a cool breeze,

and revealed herself to be the spirit of the moon.

She reflected the essence of the sun

through her light. 

She had no claims, and she owned nothing.

Yet, night and day belonged to her. 

She was the gentle reminder, 

that there is light even in darkness. 

She was the mirror, that revealed the sun,

and hers was the spark that ignited him. 

And as they spoke to each other,

there was this symphony among them both.

Balancing each other.

While she reflected his warmth, 

taking it as her own,

he was reminded by her of his purpose.

Sharing warmth and serenity,

Can this magic be contained by words? 

And the poet woke up,

his heart bursting with emotions.

What has happened? And where is the boy!

Suddenly he turned to the window,

where he saw the boy last night. 

But there were only the morning rays greeting him. 

It was not a dream, he was certain.

For now, he knew what it meant. 

And that he would wait,

for his moon to see him, and shine upon.

So that he could listen to her heart,

and what it has to say to him. 

-Harishna