In Limbo 2

1. everything sings and swirls beckons and pushes back every moment is lived in love. the blue of the sky encloses me the hush of our unspoken-ness  weaves itself in the whispers of  the evening shadows; the tremor of passing time rushing through the veins is cause enough to smile. if i could fly now, i will  alight in your garden and smell  the roses drenched in sea-breeze  and heavy with spray. 2. i smell of smoke from the fire we made this evening, and of charred  potatoes, and of words  which died in my heart...  suffocated, unable to climb out. hold me gently o night,  i who wanders the meandrous  pathways of this strange  journey silent and alone 3. the leaf borne by the breeze sways, falters, is deposed on its coordinates with such grace. a movement vibrant with the being of non-being: the life of  death; it hangs no more; the  clawing branches that held it have loosened their grip at last: it is free to go, to graft wings and fly into the light,  or  bury itself in the sombre b

"Papoon", he answered.  "Hmm...now that's a name I have not heard before". "Really?" He sounded surprised and happy, rejoicing in the fact that even his name, a Mr. Nobody, hailing from a Nowhere Land could be worth considering for its element of novelty. He too like many other migrant workers I was to meet during my short sojourn in Bhubaneswar, Orissa had come to the capital city looking for a job. "I go back to my village for the harvest season," he confided. The fleeting smile conjured up by its very memory lit up his face and added a new sheen to his voice. His village, as I was to learn during our conversation, was nestled amongst the hills in the district of Nayagadh. "It never gets hot there. And if it does, we just go swimming in the  pakhori . The pakhori water looks dark and dangerous, but, you cup your hands and dip them in, what you will find in there is the cleanest and purest of all water." Papoon said this as though

  painted on handmade paper with black tea  a cup of tea spells both togetherness and solitude dialogue and silence a conversation with oneself  and a conversation with tea: often the two merge. in tea circles they call it brewing