Posted in Poetry

Mist

You cannot walk away from the mist

It has eyes

And it has arms

Everywhere

Wrapping around

Each footstep

Turning the ground below

Into nothingness

It loves stillness

And silence

It dampens your wings

Drawing you

Into its mysterious depths

Freedom is not a word

It knows

My husband on the misty  Dochula Pass  in the  Himalayas within Bhutan on the road from Thimpu to Punakha where 108 memorial chortens or stupas known as “Druk Wangyal Chortens” have been built by Ashi Dorji Wangmo Wangchuk, the eldest Queen Mother.

Posted in Poetry

Locked Doors 

When you find 

A door locked

Don’t knock

Don’t go away either

Wait if you can

The door needs to breathe 

It will open one  day

And if you don’t have the time

Or patience

Leave

But not before  leaving

A part of yourself behind 

A part which the  door

Will embrace when it opens 

A part which will 

Breathe  freedom

With the open door

Posted in Poetry

That One Day 

Screenshot_20170628-130419-01One day when

I was alive

I felt you close

All over again

The smile

Filling your being with light

Because I was happy

The songs flooding

Your soul

Because my heart danced

In freedom

The peace within you

Because

I was a child

All over again

I child

You carried forever

In your soul

Long after its journey

In the womb

Got over

I felt it all

That one day

When I was alive

My mother

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

When You Hug My Prayers 

IMG_20170707_172418_994
After the pilgrimage ,Tigers Nest ,Bhutan .My picture clicked by my husband Vikas Panghal

​Each breath

Each step

The  rhythm of my being

Vibrates

When You hug

All my humble prayers

All my impossible dreams

And release these gently

Into the wind

Unto the clouds

Atop the mountains

Astride the waves

And I rise

On the wings of

Your glory

My Lord

Becoming a beautiful

Miracle

Of Your Love

Your Benevolence

Posted in Real World

Girls of a Lesser God ? 

Pair Dho ke Poojna , Pher kyuon Rolna ? ( Why exploit the girl child when we worship her as Devi , washing her feet ?) says the caption in one of the photographs in my room .As I prepare to go and feed the girls in A Lepers’  colony on this auspicious day of Ram Navami , the last day of the Hindu festival and fasting known as Navratras ; I cannot help but be shamed by the hypocritical mind sets and actions our society displays vis a vis the Girl Child .This very young girl performing an act too dangerous for her age , reflects the pathetic realty of poverty ,greed and exploitation of the poor and the weak 

We worship the girl child as the purest avtaar of Shakti , Goddess Durga but kill her in the womb or even after she arrives in the world .Many of my associates who smear their forehead with vermilion and visit the temples daily , have committed the crime of female foeticide in their desire for a male child . Female infanticide , dowry killing , rape , domestic violence and multi faceted crimes against women continue  unabated all over the world  in spite of laws and claims .

Posted in Poetry

Palm Reading 

He looks at my palm ,

The aged astrologer 

Leaning across the table 

Frowning away ruefully 

My breathless expectations .

Doodles on a yellow 

Piece of paper and

Leans back In composure.

My dying hopes 

Flutter and 

Dare to breathe again !

“Your Saturn is bad 

So is your Sun and Venus ”

A bounty of the ‘bad’ words 

Slither out of his mouth.

I wait 

For a change 

In the tone and mood 

Of his predictions .

He leaves my palm 

And spreads his ,

It is payement time !

Stupified ,I struggle 

To find my voice 

” Please tell me about 

The good too ,sir ”

After a hint of a sad smile 

His face wears the frown again 

” All the ‘ good ‘ in your destiny 

Has vapourised 

Long ago !” 

The frown mocks at me again  

I give up,

 Fill his palm 

And go back to the void

Hugging my empty one .