A Garden of Departures

My morning walk every day is a sensory experience - nay, explosion! - of aromas and colours. And I never tire of the trees and the flowers and the birds. There are new symphonies and new palettes and new juxtapositions - and everything is new! - particularly when I force myself to come out daily with fresh eyes.

And I capture images of the flowers and the leaves andI write poems as I walk around.

Today I share some photographs I took, a poem I wrote, and some musings - all done early in the morning!

I hope you enjoy seeing and reading this newsletter!

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As I Walk By

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A Garden of Departures

These are the treasures, I thought,

the ochre, the green, the red,

which will pass from bloom to decay,

in life’s rhythm of change.

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These  are mere flowers along the way,

flinging beauty into my day,

if I notice them as I pass by,

they will linger as the day frays.

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So much of life is a waxing of senses,

of finding meaning in what is transient,

of finding magic and letting go,

to steal beauty even as it evaporates.

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I break a branch of unnamed blossoms,

some wild grass and wayward brambles,

I look at them, they look back,

a confederation of the evanescent.

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The thorns sting, my palms bleed,

the blood stains the acquiescent leaves,

the morning breeze passes by, whispers -

don’t hold on to anything so tight.

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And I walk this path, with what drifts,

the crumbing leaves underfoot,

we decay, we surrender, we fall, we sigh,

there’s a time for everything to be - and depart.

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I walk every morning on this walking path in the gated community I stay in. It’s an arboretum of colours and aromas. But much more than that, it is a passage of evanescence and disappearances. That gorgeous gladiola? Won’t be there the day after. The blazing gulmohur - here only for the summer. The yellow chandelier blossom - too fragile to even last a storm. The fragrant jasmine - empty after giving the entirety of its cachet of scent. The yellow-breasted frangipani? Hardy to look, easy to fall.

Everyday I see the shapes - bells and funnels,  flutes and trumpets, cups and hearts, bowls and spheres - and I see their glory and their fall. I see how they find meaning in their being, an elegance in their stature - and a quietude in their demise. Their existence itself is drama - they don’t need to do anything to draw attention to themselves. They are touched by the eye which seeks pleasure - hidden or visible, they throw the same aroma, and preen quietly within their deep-seated beauty.

For me, every walk has meaning - a revelation, a realization, a reaffirmation. I learn - to pass by rather than hold on, love passionately but know the truth of passages, live every stage and love the demise, there’s beauty in the withering just as there’s tragedy in the beauty.

I come back from every walk alive to life because I have experienced the truth of departures.

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Hear my tribute to one of Kaifi’s greatest nazms!

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