The mountains are mysterious, also when an early August fog covers them where our puzzles are at rest, calling us to their cauldron. It is rainy season too and an urge to visit a tourist site is probable. Last Thursday, I went to Nangal Wetland Lake, near Nangal city Panjab. The migratory birds were out of season but the variedly hued waters completely enchanted me.
The Zinnia flower bed across the long pathway to the wetland had mature flowers of different varieties and hues. Besides visitors, a few cows across the fence too marked the landscape chewing on the wild grass.
A few moments along the shore and the songs of birds were audible in form of ragas, we can only hear as sound remains the medium. Later, I too reflected deeply and rejoiced the beauty I was part of.
Alone in the deep August
must have to find the spirit
secluding from the narrow pathways
to a tiny heart as a guest
just below where the sky tramp
turns saffron in the evening
a song perched too or a flight
on the winds not knowing why
a stout tree with branches
no longer than the span of an overlooking
its leaves a little fuchsia, a little tangerine
almost dropping for the chances
when must an eager climb
learn the soft spots and hard cores
like a leaf to waft away
and the passing wind chime
we move as the gentle waves
return to oneself
counting the figures on the lines
on our hands.