Small Havens

These maps mean nothing to me - 
Unfamiliar contours, 
Shapes without significance,
Speech in an alien tongue - 
Save one word:
Home.

(Ah, but you must make the words your own!

Give tongue to your eyes,

And eyes to my mind.

To speak is to see.)

What do they say?
Red skies
Like a band of warmth, stretching
From the horizon
To my heart
Fading to purple and gray
Before they reach me
Before blue hills
In the distance:
Home.

Low enough, now, to see the waves,
Crests crowned in white foam, 
Stretching to shore, returning,
Layers of sparkling light over deep blue troughs, 
Oceans below,
And oceans above
Frothed and wreathed in mists,
Parting, unexpected, to reveal,
Lights shining in the distance.
Rivers of light outline
Legends and deities, towers and ways,
Sketched against this canvas.
Liquid, velvet, living black,
Through which, one silver dart,
Thrown unerring, speeding,
Home.

Living constellations
Shifting, ranging from earth to sky,
Another rises to meet us as we return,
A journey begun, or renewed -
As mine draws to a pause -
It may end on other, alien shores,
Greeting them, as I may:
Home.

(No, no such thing!

No endings, no roots.

To live is to leave,

To leave is to return.)

The journey is a hunt afoot,
Further up and further in,
In spirals, ever closer,
Each destination feeds another,
I may grow more steady,
I shall never grow still,


The dervish whirls, still faster,
Two steps of firm ground
Beneath his feet suffice.

Photo Credits: Sid Aryan (April 2014)
(Sid, aapke camera ka jawab nahi!)