26-11

Do you speak the language of the rain?
If you do, please tell me what it’s saying.
Doesn’t it seem a little sad and melancholy today?
Does it also remember what happened on this day?

Are these raindrops but tears shed for those who were killed,
for the brave and innocent, our guardians and friends?
Do they wish to drown the heartless, who with hatred filled
the hearts of the gullible to achieve their ends?

Do these dark clouds seek to remind us of the terrible past?
Are they just passing through, or are they here to last?
Is the restless, rustling wind struggling to explain,
the solitude of sorrow and the pensiveness of pain?

Does the thunder talk of plunder?
Of cold blooded killings and surrender?
Of the destruction of timeless beauty and traditions,
Of meaningless hate and purposeless missions?

Does the Sun hide behind the clouds in shame
as we continue to blame the pawns in the game,
while the kings move around freely as before,
devising their devious machinations and more?

Will we remember this day only to forget?
Or will it remind us that there is hope, yet?
That bravery, courage and valor are not dead;
they are just soldiers waiting to be led.

– Sharan Rao

SMALL WONDERS

The mesmerizing, magical melody of music,
A song full of warmth, like a gently burning wick;
The sound of silence, full of wisdom unbroken,
A word of comfort and hope, well spoken.

Giant, dark clouds bringing the welcome rain,
A roar of thunder that dwarfs Earthly pain,
The whispering of tides on an ocean vast,
The whistling of the wind, full of memories past.

The comforting chirp of a bird on a lonely stretch of road,
A helping hand out of nowhere, to carry half your load;
A night lit up by the light of many a radiant star,
The mirror of self-awareness, revealing how lovely you really are.

-Written in Feb 2012

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.

MY LOVE

As I sit by the shore,
On this serene, starry night,
Seeing you by my side,
The waves dance in delight.

There is so much said in silence
As you gently hold my hand,
Even the wind, impressed,
Starts sketching in the sand.

You look at me, with eyes
Whose beauty no words can tell,
For they are filled with mischief,
And enchanting innocence as well.

As you lay your head upon my shoulder,
You seem to magically ease my pain,
For your smile has the warmth of a flame,
And the freshness of morning rain.

Is that a bird singing far away?
Or maybe, nearby? I cannot say.
For at this moment, I am lost in you;
Just you, my love.

-Written in 2009

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.