by Murali Sivaramakrishnan
There is a line of light that traverses the hill
And bisects the valley below. All day
The sun looks down at this amazing sight
Where hill meets valley and breaks
The fall of light and shade.
Purple, grey, brown,
And blue the hill radiates the ray’s fall.
Until night wipes out the light and blossoms
With the nightjar’s quivering wing.
Many flowers bloom and fall, many-petalled
And bright and dull.
In the valley some are heaped
And piled on the breeze’s reckless swing
Some lie awake all day all night
For the rain-priest’s ritual shower
And an unknown traveler’s dusty tread.
Water, huge and wide on this one and only shore
Lies open-eyed under a vacant sky.
A large bird floats silently by
Slowly drawn into the slanting line of sight.
All hills are the same. All valleys too.
A boy once eager to learn and know fled home
And the oft-trodden pathway of his fathers
Enchanted by the design that drew him close
To a huge hill’s heart, listening, shivering
Figuring a new will and being from the stony self
He heard the huge heart, felt the rhythm
And seeped into its very being.
A god’s large self.
This large water can hide nothing
It always reflects itself in the sky
Sometimes not knowing
Where it ends and sky begins
Or where they both end.
Daylight breaks shivering
Over the crude shoulders
Of the cold hill.
Night is like a towel
Thrown over the flames of the sun.
What is there to choose between?
Last updated October 15, 2014