Evening Hope..

little lights of hope..

There is a fragrance of the earth that engulfs me. All around me I see an orange light diffusing slowly into darkness. The lamp is being lit in the temple. Flickering hope, to soothe wearied souls. The river gushes on unmindful of tiredness. Sometimes I light a lamp and send it with her. When she stops, far away from home, my light would still burn. I see figures moving down the steps of the old temple, silhouettes of a life gone by.

A thorn gets stuck in my foot. I want you to pull it out and soothe my foot with the balm of your kiss. My mirrored skirt looks drab in the twilight. It swirls around my ankles, threatening to trip me. I run alongside the river, looking for you. Where is the scorching sun that made us sweat, the heat of the earth that made us look for relief? The mud at my feet feels cold, I shiver.

I was held in your embrace in the afternoon, and now I am all alone. Your tunes are still ringing in my ears, as if to mock at my dreams. They rise like the waves of the ocean, in a resonating crescendo, to come to rest at my feet. You are not here, playing joyous tunes. Why is it that I still hear them? I crave the warmth of your lips. I rush from tree to tree, hoping to find you hidden somewhere. All I can see are the owls staring back at me.

The stillness in the air is a sharp contrast to the music in my heart. The brown earth, the green trees, the white jasmine, the scented sandalwood- all are shrouded in the blanket of dark. How can I find you in this intricate mesh of darkness and hope?

I close my eyes to see you smiling back at me. Within my mind, there is no darkness, no temple, no silhouettes. All figments of imagination vanish when I close my eyes. The crackle of the twigs and the temple bells are noises I cannot bear. I gather a little water from the river and splash it on my face. My reveries are burdens when I cannot share them with you. I gather the flowers the trees have shed and pack them in my odhni. Red, blue, white, orange: colours of love, colours of spring. I want to make a garland for you. I do not know how I shall pass time without you. I tell the garland things that I want to tell you.

I draw patterns on the bare soil with my fingers. Drowsy with the weight of your love, I welcome the bride of night, with her white crown and bedecked robe. She teases me with a gentle shower. I look on mutely, at her callous beauty.

If you find my lamp in the next village, will you not come back to me? Will you not be reminded of the high sun and the beads of sweat on my face? Will your feet not trace their steps back, into my arms?

I shall wait, even I have to wait for eternity.

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6 thoughts on “Evening Hope..

  1. how restrained and profuse !
    Enjoyed reading it all over again
    Very deftly and effortlessly captures the longing

    “when will you come ?
    Will you come today ?
    When will you come ..
    On to the flower beds where we used to play “

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