Category: Tales of India


The Rain

113186375 Michael Chatt : dreamstime.com

 

In a portent of misted beauty

 

The rain-wandering hawk

 

Awakens

 

The sleeping

 

Mother of the mountains

 

To ring the standing

 

Bowls of silence

 

There since

 

Before the wings of time took flight,

 

And in ringing, to empower

 

The wild places;

 

The trees, her children,

 

Blossom gold;

 

Bumblebees run races,

 

The stars sail

 

Their tall wooden ships

 

On the bobbing waves of the black, deep sea.

 

Will the antlered elk remain,

 

Even then,

 

Along with the swift falcon,

 

And the barred geese

 

Who rode so bravely

 

Near the fierce night

 

Of the wrath of the wind

 

And biting hail

 

Where the embattled sky

 

Flashed

 

White, unpinned,

 

And armies of air

 

Clashed

 

From outcrop to rocky hill

 

Echoing

 

Echoing

 

Where the old owl blinks?

 

In the aftermath, gray-gowned, shy

 

Rain beings fly by

 

On blue

 

Petals;

 

The band of geese settles

 

On the lapping lake, recalling

 

All the stone-stepped eons told

 

In the unfolding stories – or a leaf-borne tale

 

By the rocks that talk,

 

Voices of the dark red canyons,

 

Of the grass and plants, wind-whispering

 

Of the juniper-guardians

 

Of the all-knowing bear,

 

Of the small-footed mouse, smiling and meek,

 

And the so determined ants.

 

There the rattlesnake slinks.

 

Now only the wise ones who

 

Know the starry ways, by most forgotten,

 

Who tend the earth, will gather

 

Again,

 

Their songs to sing

 

Like the soaring sea,

 

In the bright land of the moon –

 

Gentle as the rain that drips

 

Among the sleeping flowers

 

Of the stars. Now all is connected in these most final holy

 

Hours

 

As it was before the beginning,

 

One in many,

 

Many in one,

 

And if we train

 

Our attention for a moment,

 

Soon,

 

As the gale is done,

 

We will

 

Find the one we seek

 

Standing by the silver tree,

 

Near the old

 

Railed fence

 

Speckled in sunlight.

 

Hear beyond the rivers’ torrent

 

The chant of Om,

 

The lost bells of home.

 

Thank you, blessed rain.

 

Thank you, Parvathi,

 

Ever there, peace

 

Falling

 

On the star-clad mountain peak.

 

 © Sharon St Joan, 2018

Photo: 113186375 © Michael Chatt / dreamstime.com

dreamstime_xs_122429856

 

Do you know the way

That leads to the stream

In the early morning,

Where spotted fawns

Run,

Letting shining droplets fall

From their silver hooves

Like the last shreds of moonlight,

While the owl in the wild oak

Tree shuts her feathered eyes to sleep

At dawn, opening the door of the dream

To a universe of wonder,

In the star-bespeckled sky?

Or else, maybe you might know the way

To where the bright

Grass bends in the cold north wind

And the bison

Rumble by

On nimble feet

Across the wide, flat

Plain, and there

The wolves

Forever run

To greet

The spiraling snow on a white and wintry day?

Or perhaps you might even know

The way to the deep

Sheltering forest where the bear

Waits out with her cubs the hours

Of the squall,

Of crackling thunder

Near the hillside of peace where wildflowers

Cast in a trance

The bumblebee,

And the clay

By the riverbank holds up the saplings,

While dragonflies flit

And execute their wise dance

Of joy?

You see we were looking for the way out –

Out from the cinders swirling,

Out from the center, come all unpinned,

From the ashes of history gone awry

That prophetic ravens rue,

From the sting

Of bitter smoke,

Out into the clear sun-

Begotten waterfall that

Shimmers all the way

Down on to the rocks

Of granite

On to the foundation blocks

Where all the worlds begin anew?

Where is the way,

Narayana,

You who ever walked as a young boy

On the wandering waves of the eternal sea,

In the star-born mists of all the dawns

That ever were or are to be?

Where is the way,

Narayana,

Where is the way

To find the light of your lands

That sing the song of the soul in the sounding sea?

 

 

©Sharon St Joan, 2018

Photo: ID 122429856© Syberyjczyk/ Dreamstime.com

 

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edited,ID 71782566 © Juliscalzi | dreamstime_xs_71782566

 

Garuda,

 

How

 

Do you fly

 

On swift, gold wings,

 

Not having any answers?

 

You live in peace, always, among

 

The saffron petals, beyond the crowded questions

 

Sailing through all the mist-

 

Driven worlds sung

 

By the ancient forest,

 

Abode

 

Of stars and falcons,

 

Near the clear, deep-canyoned waters

 

Where step the blue-toed cranes,

 

Where ran

 

The wind in wild-haired leaves of the cottonwood tree.

 

You are the heart given by eternity.

 

Within, you bear the spirit of God.

 

You are the dawn, the sky

 

That rained,

 

The dream-walking dragonflies that nod,

 

And the speaking of the mountains that rose up and waned

 

Before ever time began,

 

You who carry

 

The sacred essence of all things

 

In the clouds that tarry,

 

In the flashing lights of the moon and the bright summer rains,

 

Garuda, you who are wandering ever, even now,

 

On your wings of wind-swept beauty.

 

 

 

© Sharon St Joan, 2018

 

Photo: Juliscalzi | dreamstime.com

 

 

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