MY REFUGE: THE LIDDER RIVER AT PAHALGAM

No, I don’t hear the long, melancholy roar

Of faith withdrawing

As Mathew Arnold heard long years back

At the Dover Beach

Here, on River Lidder’s sun streaked sublimity

There are no tales of gore

No raven of yore does Poe

Its woe

 With cries of nevermore

There is no mystery to explore

Only to interpret its innermost secrets and dreams

In reams and reams

Of foam, froth and freckles, while indulgently the sun beams

Smoothes out its wrinkles with gold tinted fingers

Ah, the smile on the Lidder lingers

And lingers

With my heart blithe as the morn

I look up at the sky

 Where the cloudy mermaid

Executes a dance step and is gone

To become a seahorse then a unicorn

Then suddenly into nothingness dissolved

Leaving many a puzzle unsolved

Bereft and desolate looks the sky

In just the blink of an eye

But then with an ardour unabashed the waves flirt with my feet

Dancing merrily to their own beat

A fish flounders around in the water, caught in the whip and lash of a wave

I wring my hands, alas, a small fry I cannot save 

Hysterical screams of many small fries batter against my ears

 And feed my fears

The snow clad mountains, flaunting an air of a solid placidity

Look down upon me as I mourn the satanic ingenuity

 Which deals yet another blow

But the sublime river               

Soothes away my pain severe

Pouring forth the music of the accordion, the piano, the guitar and also the flute

Drowning the wails of a beleaguered humanity and the lone owl hoot

The cottage in the distance shimmers and shines in the noon day sun

Silent tears roll down my cheeks ruing the violence of the gun

And take refuge in the river

 Miraculously, the roar of the guns falls silent.

 And also the distant infantile screams

The juvenile dreams which ah, so cruelly were nipped in the bud

I hear only the bird singing and beseeching the trigger happy to holster their guns

No more for me the tales of gore.

Yes, nevermore

A tiny speck of colour atop a Pine tree all aflame

Chirps, while the flirtatious breeze plays a cheeky game

 Who is that bearded man under the Pine tree

 Brush in hand

In this beleaguered land

 Painting a Starry night?

Darkness falls with brightness bright

Ah, the night is alight.

 Sprinkling the sky with grains of golden lentils

The newborn moon bloated with promise

 Blows me a loving kiss

Merrily it floats on the wings of a blustery breeze

And from my   forehead removes many a crease

Here, far from the madding crowd and the cacophony of recriminations loud

There is no blame game or an effort to defame

No, this is not an escape route or a subterfuge

 Only a refuge. My refuge.

I scoop up the moonbeams from the moon blanched bank,

Filch some star shavings from the star streaked sky

 Garnish them with the sunrays of the morn

And wait for the birth of a peaceful dawn.

In soothing tones, my faith whispers, this is no myth   like the unicorn.

Soon will disappear the ill will, rancour and hate.

So, I wait.