THE FECUND FIELDS OF FARLOW

There is a land, don’t ask me where,
Filled with nothing; yet, everything’s there.

There is no sun or shining star,
Yet light and warmth are spread afar.

There are no oceans, no rivers or seas,
Yet waves do dance, with mirth, as they please.

There are no birds, but there is lilting song,
Sweet, fulfilling, yet for more you long.

There are no trees that may flowers bring,
Still it feels like the midst of a blossoming spring.

There is no work, yet no dearth of things to do,
Everything’s always the same, still every moment is new.

And if you go there you will hear the subtle, supple sound,
Of perpetual gaiety and merriment, and laughter all around.

Alas! They say I must give it a name,
‘For how else will it retain its fame?’
And so, with an upward glance and a little bow,
I tell them, ‘these are the Fecund Fields of Farlow’.

– Written in 2005

THE ONSET OF THE MONSOON

With the nervous excitement
of a bride on her wedding day,
the parched Earth prepares herself
for the shower of blessings coming her way.

Woven with the fierce fabric of the monsoon,
her dress she will begin to drape,
as these arid lands will be enlivened soon,
for from the coming storm there is no escape.

With a thunderous beat, it comes, lightning quick,
the sweet ocean winds are its wings,
it brings cheer to the summer-sick,
while the joyful farmer sings.

Drenched, in delight the willows weep,
and children cry with laughter and mirth,
as shepherds try to gather their sheep,
even birdsong, once dry, is now alive like the Earth.

THE ONLY CONSTANT

The ocean tides now so high,
Once, lost and low they did lie.
The winds blowing so fiercely today,
Were meek and timid just yesterday.

The Sun, so imperious in the skies,
Undisputed ruler, till he dies,
But even he, at the end of every day he lives,
His throne, for a while, to the night he gives.

The trees, once so dull and bare,
When their winter whites they did wear,
Now under spring’s splendid spell,
Are prettier than words can tell.

The bazaars, now teeming with people,
Are full of chatter, laughter and light;
But soon, they will be quiet and empty,
As they slowly embrace the night.

Many things, great today, will be forgotten tomorrow,
And seasons of laughter will follow those of sorrow;
The great cities of the past are now in decline,
While those in shambles, shall one day be fine.

In this world so very strange,
The only constant is change.