A green fire shall soon rage. Hopefully. Colourless, odourless water shall weave a magical tapestry of Colours, and that too on ‘barren’ land.
Struggling to wait till the monsoon arrives! Struggling to be patient for it to come and work it’s magic.
If we change the way we look at things, the things we look at change. What if we are searching among the branches for what appears only in the roots?
Old Man Ocean, how do you pound
Smooth glass, rough stones round?
Time and the tide and the wild waves rolling
Night and the wind and the long grey dawn.
Old Man Ocean, what do you tell,
What do you sing in the empty shell?
Fog and the storm and the long bell tolling,
Bones in the deep and the brave men gone.
– Russell Hoban
This time, that year:
Wave after wave, questions after questions, answers to questions, answers in questions, questions in answer, wave after wave.
This time, this year, this place:
There has been a lot of time and mindspace to observe this churning,
This dark gray-mattered sea which stretches far and deep inside me.
This time, that year,
Wave after wave rising, swelling, crashing. Question after question flowed out, flowed in, went on..and along with the questions, a few answers surfaced, rose like the waves.
Within many questions lay answers, or hints to them. And within many answers, especially the ones which I now feel were short-sighted, lay hidden many more questions.
The cliff stood firm, though, watching this play, back and forth, wave after wave, question after answer, answer after question.
This time, this year, this place.
This is the longest we’ve stayed at a beach, and with barely any ‘distractions’ , there has been a lot of time and mindspace to observe the churning of the sea, this dark grey matter which stretches so far and deep.