You came as moonlight moving on the deep,
A prayer that never pauses to sleep.
Your sensitivity was not a veil,
But spiritual strength that would never fail.

I claimed the bed and sank beneath the tide,
With my jagged edges and my pride.
My weight was an anchor, pulling at your flow,
Refusing every path you tried to show.

It took a sacred labor to ignite
The will to lift me toward the morning light.
You didn’t break me with a sudden force,
But stayed the patient, unrelenting course.

Through four long years of winter and of sun,
The work of gentle awakening has been done.
You wore away the sharp, defensive line,
Until your compassion soaked each pore of mine.

I found a flow I never knew before,
To touch the mossy bank and willow shore.
No longer stationary, cold, and dry,
I mirror now the colors of your sky.

A slow dissolution, a merging of the soul,
Where stone and water find a common goal.
I keep my form but move within your grace,
A fluid passenger in your embrace.

Thank you for every mile you’ve brought me through,
For rounding me with love so deep and true.
Four years are but the start, my love, my guide—
With miles of beautiful river left to ride.

As I let out a deep breath, I became aware that I was actually sitting on the balcony of my flat. Cross-legged, in Brahma Mudra, a gentle breeze blowing through my small potted plants, I was in the trance of Shambhavi. And just like that, with the next breath, I was back in the forest. I was lucid. I knew I was on a pursuit, though I did not yet know what I was seeking. With every breath, I existed in both places—stationary on the balcony, and advancing through the trees.

The clouds broke, and streaks of morning sunlight beamed through the mist. The density of the slender trees gave way to a smooth pasture enveloping a small lake. The sight of the still, blue water sent a tickle through my belly, an intuition that what I sought was waiting there. I felt my breath quicken as I paced onward in anticipation.

I stood at the edge of the lake under clear skies, my chest full of the earthy, fresh breeze. My eyes followed the sparkling shimmers to a small mound of land in the middle of the water. Upon it stood a modest tree—older and more content than the rest. It held its ground firmly, unheeded by the water surrounding its roots. It knew implicitly, as if by ancient experience, that if its roots were strong, the same water that could devour it would instead become its nourishment. It was this tree, in its very being, that held the answer.

I realized then that the trees in the forest represented my identities. Each was a perspective—some comfortable, some deep-rooted, some withering. They took solace in each other’s proximity, trading a clear view of the open sky for the safety of the collective. These vast stretches were the ideas I had assumed, the roles I played, and the dependencies I had developed.

But the single tree in the middle of the lake was unencumbered. Its fearless resilience in the face of possible annihilation was its greatest strength. It did not need others to establish its sense of security or esteem. This tree represented my true self—one which is without fear, without bondage, and, most importantly, complete in itself.

I found myself back on the balcony. It occurred to me at once that I had not taken a breath in some time. My eyes cracked open with a jitter, and I inhaled long and deep. A gentle smile sprouted at the corner of my lips. A message had been delivered in my meditation. Now, it was time to find what that message would look like in practice.

Upon these waves I tread 
In the calm and into the storm, 
Never anchored, never still,
Incessant change is my norm.

A dawn or dusk, in my ship,
No two ever look the same.
To new lands and new seasons,
A spirit wild cannot be tame.

Many tides guide my course,
Tied I am to them none.
In his hands, I lay my rudder,
Given I am, to the one.

I anchored when you craved stillness,
I moved yet, but in the bounds.
But voyage within yet remains,
Of novel sights and novel sounds.

Mistake not my course as will,
Observe the currents that are in flow.
Ask me not my love to set sail,
Be the wind that takes me to you.

I can string flowers into a garland.

I can describe the shapes and shades.

But how do I capture your fragrance?

Words are never enough.

I am not enough.

For you are the essence.

You may only be experienced

You are the warmth under the quilt that I struggle to part from.

You are the light of the lamp in the temple, you are the fragrance of burning incense.

You are the joy that beats in my chest, you are the vigor that runs in my veins.

You are the smell of fresh coffee in the misty morning.

You are the water break in the middle of a boring meeting.

You are the taste that lingers on the tongue for more after a midday meal.

You are the inspiration to strive and struggle, you are the seeking, you are the zeal.

You are the perspiring glass of cool water at the end of a day’s toil.

You are the molten dusk pouring through the trees, into the garden and the on the open soil.

You are the candle flame in soothing jazz that sways with me along the high notes and the low.

You are the immersion into sense and sensation, the ecstasy of being I’d ever know.

You are the last thought to hold my hand into the world of dreams.

You were yesterday, you are today, you will be tomorrow…

You are the countless New Years, and all the moments in between.

জ্বালালে প্রদীপ মোর অন্তরে তুমি
ধরিলে আয়না ভাবনার অবশেষে।
প্রশ্ন, অভিযোগ, দুঃখ, বেদনা
হারিয়ে গেল সবই নিমেষে ।

তোমার স্পর্শে অন্ত সাধনা
দিলে মুক্তি, দিলে চির সুখ ।
তোমার আলোতে হলো প্রকাশিত
আমার এই দিব্যরূপ ।

We stood breathless and speechless
Eyes were wide, minds were still.
Molten gold poured from the heavens
Dancing on ripples, kissing the hill.

Winter was bidding her silent farewell
Dry leaves were few and sparse.
O’dear spring! Are you here?
Are you this cheer, this warmth within us.

We snacked, and tried all four variants the store had. Each was made of a different combination of ingredients. Votes were cast, and a boxful of the winning candidate was packed for our gracious hosts. Unwound, and full to the brim, we leisurely walked out of the open seating area. An elderly lady with gentle eyes stood before us with her hand was stretched out for alms.

Ma shook her purse and followed the jingle to pluck out some loose change, as she always did as far as I can remember. The old lady cringed slightly at my mother’s gesture. While it was a sincere expression of my mother’s compassion, inflation of the last few decades was lost on her. My uncle, who was quietly observing scene, trumped me and handed a 10 rupee note the old lady. She left us in silence with a short prayer under her breath.

The whole affair took only a few seconds and we were on our way back to the car in cheerful strides. I handed over my cup of hot milk tea in the traditional clay up to Mami, bought a stick of Gold Flake Lights and lit it in thick puff of smoke. I had not smoked a cigarette for over two months. The trip was a license to indulge, and I was not about to hold myself back. Slightly lightheaded from the nicotine rush, I was ready to drive the next 100 kilometers.

I turned around to toss the cigarette butt to the edge of the street. And that is when my eyes met with the old lady who was returning from her round. In the few minutes that had passed between our last interaction, the 18 rupee cigarette was but ash, and the 10 rupee tea was churning strangely in my over-full belly. I silently observed the irony of it all. I had squandered away 28 rupees on insignificant and unhealthy indulgences, while the same could have meant a side dish of a meal. And yet I had had not deemed it necessary to add another 10 to my uncle’s offering. In the moments that followed, I found myself trying to stay afloat in the sea of shame, guilt and pain.

For the next hour of my drive, I kept wondering… if life is all about little choices we make, then it is time that I start making more conscious ones.

Who had offered yourselves
As altars
To break myself upon.

It is in your grace
That I have received the gift
Of liberation,
And the strength
To piece myself back together
In more beautiful ways.

I take a bow.