The Lady in the forest

The Lady in the forest

Readers, it’s nice and sunny here in India and the winters have begun to set in. So I thought to make a visit to nearby reserved forests (Pench Valley, Indira Priyadarshni Gandhi National Park) to meet a speciality.
It’s a tree, भूत्या or the Ghost Tree, Sterculia Urens, it glows in the dark and sheds her bark thrice through the year. Each time showing a distinct colour. ( Pink, White and Brown )

Bhutya Tree
I use to think what for ? You see! The question rang a bell.
” How Great Thou Art ? ”
So I have tried hopelessly to give the idea some language make-up.

A ballet dancer amidst black swans,
Such is her existence, such is her form. Twisted and crouched by her vows,
She made in her adolescence.
She shines at night with her maids, bunch of lamps scattered in the dense.
Cheerful winters in the tropics begin to set,
She remembers now her guests avidly
Changing her gowns for the migration is about to commence
They say she has chosen three as in variety.
She will be busy marking destinations for eyes in the skies.
To let them know about lodgings in the open.
She has waited all the year, now cometh her loving spies.

Let them fly into our Ramsar sites
Let them call on there sub-continent vacation plans
I will want them to stay, I will want them to feast

And once the winters are over, they will retrace
For the summers here have burnt me
So they see and have left !
But she doesn’t want to let go off those westerners.
Because she knows of the hideous gases that have begun to plague..
No different are homes across the globe
All burning, All in the natural decay.
She hopes they would be back
For room’s plenty in her sanctuary
So she wishes, so she believes, our lady in the forest..


The couple (wild dogs) who eats together, walks together, ranges together, stays together !   and you know what these fellows wild 


I have been writing in hindi quiet a lot lately, it has this uplifting effect just like it is with our mother tongue. What makes this one necessary to be pressed is its simplicity and dreaminess, so much attached with it.



मस्त चले हँसो में दो पंख मेरे भी
बेताबी की झील को आकाश से चूमता
कल्पनाओं की स्वर्णिम धूल उड़ाता
उस पागल हँस की चाल को किसने समझा
नम हुई आँखों का सुख जाना किसने देखा
क़ैद होना ना हो जाने सा है
इस शोर में एक आवाज़ मेरी भी
गुम हो जाना चाहू तो पागल हु
बेपरवाह पगलमन मेरा यू आज सामने है

मन की निभृत्तम गहराईयो में देखो चला एक रास है
जागते जागते सवेरा होने सा आभास है
माया में लिप्त ये स्वयं से दर्शन है
बाक़ी सब प्यास है
बाक़ी सब प्यास है।

इतना कह दिया तो पागल है
कोई कह दे! ये पड़ने वाला पागल है
लेकिन इच्छुक सिर्फ़ नादान है
ये मन नादान है
नहीं समझता की वर्तमान की भव्यता ही समाधान है ।

बाज़ारू दुनिया में लो!
अब आवाज़ एक मेरी भी
प्रॉपगैंडा की एक दुकान लो मेरी भी

हंस चला देखो हंस उड़ा
हंस चला देखो हंस उड़ा


मेरा मन है तेरा मन

मैं उन गहराइयों में उतर आया हूँ, जहाँ पूँछ ना रवि कि है।
वसुंधरा का ताप सहज ही समेटे, मन एक सागर सा है ।
दर्पण है, स्वयं के संदर्भ में परम के दर्शन हैं।
क्या ये मेरा मन है, या ये तेरा मन है ।
कवि हतोत्साहित है विश्व की रुचि-शुचि से ।
क्या सुंदरता का श्वेत ही रंग है ?
क्या महानता का एक ही आकार है ?
मन के घर्शन-आकर्षण के बीच का ये मंथन ही तो जीवन है ।
इस में ना मैं देव हूँ ना दैत्य हूँ ।
कूर्म हूँ, चतुर्गति हूँ संतुलन मात्र के लिए, सृष्टि के विचार मात्र के लिए ।
ना ये मेरा मन है ना ये तेरा मन है ।
किंतु कवि तो सरल हृदय है, इस दुनिया को नहीं पूछता,
कवि के लिए सिर्फ़ मंच ही अनंत है, जानता है ।
माया से ही तो उत्पन्न ये प्रपंच है ।
ये मैं किन गहराइयों में उतर आया हूँ ?
क्या ये तेरा मन है, क्या ये मेरा मन है ।
ये मैं किन गहराइयों में उतर आया हूँ ?
ये मैं किन गहराइयों में उतर आया हूँ

River Drifting

A great one ! I will simply add
” Green was my dream and green the ink of life ”

Friendly Fairy Tales

Water Lily

River blooms green
Between water lily stars.
Swans nibble
Tender water moss
While minnows
Dart amid the bobbing
Carpet of green.
Water striders flee.
A hush falls as
The great blue heron
Lifts its wide wings.
He beats the air from his
Driftwood perch.
A redwinged blackbird
Flashes red and yellow stripes
Among the elderberries.
Mrs. Mallard pecks at
Arrow Arum.
A Canada goose stands
On one foot in the shallows.
The current carries us
Ever onward
Toward the sea,
The light in our eyes.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Water Lily and lily pads

Note: I’ve been boating with the kids for three days straight. They took to stand-up paddle boarding. They might never canoe again.

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Critique on Love

My words seem miserable and the language’s expressive capacity fails to acknowledge this great phenomena. Humans as we know are capable of achieving the impossible ( why call it the impossible then ? ) but the root of our existence is love. Its fundamentals can be derived from our harmony with nature, the great Darwinian thought of natural selection proves the beautiful quid pro quo that we established with mother earth in our early existence. Love is the ‘unconditionality’ of existence, the bitter-sweet melancholy of our life. To understand love as a universal phenomena we first need to set aside the ‘geocentric’ thought propagation and look ourselves as a part of the whole and not as exploiters ( though it is not so! green? ). Recognition is by itself a derivative of intelligence which pervades every life form. Brothers and sisters, it signifies that even ‘Living is love’. Every breath we take is an ode to our existence and correlation with this cosmos. Vedantic literature further pursues this thought and gives the philosophy of ‘brahm’ that we are all essentially part of one great energy, this world in all its forms is made of five elements and hence any indifference is illusory. Thinking an ant to be different or subordinate in its being is nothing but stupidity ( seen yourself stuck in a traffic jam from bird’s eye view, Weeping ants! ).

 ‘ Born out of love Bred in love ,

Yet I Search in madness outside

Forgetting the reason of my being

I am lost in inspirations

Looking everywhere but inside

Where is the contemplation?

Who am I? What am I made of?

Its elementally love.. ‘

Love is synchronisation therefore it is said that sex is a divine art and spirited activity  because it is an union of two energies. I have for long perceived women as the greatest form of ‘maya’; fabric of this illusory world. She is not just the power which creates but also which nurtures much like mother earth. Man with all its pomp is the enabler of diversity. What is love I ask? Love is to see, to hear and to feel. Simply, the redness on your cheek is love.

Abridged Life

Yes we are here. 
Why is it so hard to reconcile events which have lead us here ? 

Trees and streams,
That dream of a house nearby. 
Whistling woods and singing fauna,
That dream of a secret life, somehow. 
Silenced echoes from the city 
Intermingle to be a Reminiscence
As we prepare to at last answer
What life is ? 
All that it is ?  All that it could be. 

After all it is us in a world not made for us. 
Yes we are here and ‘now’ is the apocalypse for desires.
When this exponentially multiplying   spoked wheel stops.
It will show herself 
Behind the veil of maya, a field of unperceived consciousness. 
For mass was always energy 
Matter the lowest cosmic pedigree 
Speed of light, being and existence. 
Where have we come ? Together my brothers and sisters. 

Accidentally Stupid

So true. Once I had this gold fish. I kept her bowl nice and clean. Fed her at the right time, in the right amount. One night I was feeling troubled because of my academic issues and other problems. Suddenly I switched the lights to see how she was doing ?
She was there. Swirling in the waters. Just like always. I learnt not to be worried. I learnt to keep the bowl nice and clean. Not just hers but mine too. Our mind is something like a bowl. It’s nature is to contain. But the gold fish is not the bowl. We are Neither the body nor the bowl ( the world ). We are what fills it. Life.

Spoonful Of Chemistry

With nothing big to brighten our days, we never really notice the small things in life. Like fish! Or kitties! Or a smile! I feel like we’ve seriously become that numbed out and materialistic…


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Surface Aberrations #A

Ah Well! How do I put it. 

‘I am a king’ it sounds ridiculous. 

‘We are the Kings’  Magic isn’t it ? 

Probably the first time I am letting out so I thought to put it under a new header. It will be like one of those lodges along a trail so many check in and keep scratching there names here and there. 

Some questions have started to baffle me. Am I asserting too much from what I witness everyday in this world. There is nothing which is not a revenue model. Nothing which is free. Taxes and exams, both are for our own good. But then what’s the Point after all. I breath for myself. Nobody seems to help me do that ? Is there any prerequisite to life ? 

If there is a pursuit then what for ? What is the nature of mind ? Why is it ? Contrasting is an evil art. It blinds us. 

I don’t need to belong to this world. I am here living in it. Nature plays with herself as I become a monotonous being in her hands. It is us who make up all this around us. Isn’t it ?our eyes which project it to our mind. Our tongue grasping flavours. Otherwise what good is sweet if we are not there to call it sweet ? 

Infer the obscurity of life, does the forest make sounds even when you are not there ? 

It is our listening which makes something, our viewing gives it a reality more than its material nature. Our intelligence or Chit (consciousness) which enlightens through the roots ( senses ) that we have driven deep into fabric of this social matrix. 

Even these questions seem aberrations on the surface but they are well more. Languages and words can no more facilitate us at this time of enquiry. This is why we believe in miracles !  


Decay is the only natural law


Never in the sight
Ages passed
Millennial voyages afar
And what for, I ask
Nothingness all that it is.

The Boy Poet

The Poets' Garret The Poets’ Garret

Joining the dots to make the whole
Evasions of truth taking their toll
Reborn a man, a stronger soul
Evolution of self
Mind and body taking control
Yes, a man as himself

©JG Farmer 2015

Form: Burns Stanza –

Prompt: Write a poem where each line starts with a letter from your first name (an Acrostic) Registered & Protected  0JUI-XFCS-ARMP-TGE9

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Languages, Words and Silence. 

In this life melancholy we stand at crossroads at every instant. The key is not be indecisive and keep holding on. 

I begin with putting this first.  

Languages are like historical rivers compounding words unlike. Perennial streams of human consciousness. Sometimes ephemeral word crashings too. 

Function of speech is so intriguingly (hopelessly) tied with words that we set aside ‘the golden silence’ so easily. Reliability of any language or words has its kickbacks. The tongue slips ! Doesn’t it ! 

Silence in courts of justice has its own implications. 

Kate Winslet in ‘The Reader’ and the famous Indian assertion of silence, ‘Kya main is shanti ko aapki haan samjhu’. Meaning ‘Should I take that silence as a yes’. 

  1. Silence does not imply anything in gross form for our pitiful worldly culture to find manifestations therein. It is us who underestimate and misunderstand the underlying intensity and mystic nature of acceptance behind it. 

Fasting through observing silence use to be something ! Now it’s just in the books and the idea of it in our heads. Which we consciously or unconsciously propagate every time there is exploitation. This doesn’t mean that there is not a rebellion. 

Mahatma Gandhi said ‘He who bears any atrocity is a bigger criminal’. He also propagated non Voilence as an indestructible and transcendental weapon. The point I wish to put forward is that without understanding silence we cannot make use of language as a tool and it starts pouring down on us instead. 


Words don’t do justice to our emotions. The very idea of writing and exploring and playing with words implies a futile search for complete expression but Alas! We fail and I fail to make myself understand that we all fail.  

The unanimous progression of our thoughts may well be dragged down and scaled to be in sync with the concept of speech and thereby words but silence is the true language of the soul, it connects seamlessly with the Brahman. A rhythm nature herself cannot break.