Posted in Poetry

Thus Spake Death

Our first date.

After years of waiting,

my love’s finally coming to me.

I’ve lit his path with candles.

Jack o’ Lantern welcomes him.

Deer skull incense guides

to the place where all departed meet;

where I’ve been awaiting him

since the day he came to be.

Posted in Poetry

Flower in the Snow

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Long ago,

I buried love in the snow

that covers my wintery heart.

 

I’ve held out on the sun.

Who needs warmth anyway?

 

I’ve banned the shovels,

waited for the snow

to harden and trap it beneath

forever.

 

The shivers of cold nothingness

rake my heart

every waking moment.

 

But I am better off without it.

 

For your love is

flower in the snow.

It fosters longing

and dies in the next storm,

extinguishing all hope, yet again.

 

In your love, I see

What can never be.

What we can never be…

Posted in Nature stories, Poetry

Honeymoon

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The long quiet walk through the sea of sand with you by my side…

The sight of warm air blowing through your long eyelashes…

The jingle in each step you take…

The walk to work now makes my heart skip many a beat, as I take each step with you, everyday, forever…


Photo by Fynn schmidt on Unsplash

Posted in Poetry

Laurel’s Way

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Being humans wasn’t working out for us.

One black, other white.

 

Hence, every night,

Hidden from the spiteful world,

We would sit side-by-side,

Fingers entwined,

Watching the stars together,

Waiting for one to fall.

Wishing the universe

Would stop trying

To pull us apart.

 

Until a star did fall. 

 

Now, forever,

Hidden from the spiteful world,

We sit side-by-side,

Fingers entwined,

Watching the stars together,

One black, other white…


Photo by Lucas Sandor on Unsplash

Posted in Poetry

The Exile

The forest was full of early morning noises as Rishi Valmiki walked to the river for a bath before the daily Yajna. His hair, tied in a bun above his head, was white with the experiences of a life full of sin and, later, hard penance. His beard was long enough to trip him, but his agility belied his advanced years. A sound of someone tripping alerts him of a presence—not an animal, for sure.

He squared his shoulders, expecting a Danava or a Rakshasa. He called out, “Who goes there? Show yourself.”

“I am Sita, Sir.” A petite woman appeared around the thick trunk of an ancient Banyan tree. In the pre-dawn light, he could see that her clothes were torn in places. She had angry red bruises on her bare arms and face, probably from stumbling around in the forest all night. She seemed several months pregnant.

Concern filled his voice now, “Dear lady, how come you are alone in this forest full of wild animals, and bare-handed? Are you lost?”

“Exiled would be a better word.”

“Exiled? And your crime?”

“I have not been informed of the crime, just the punishment,” she said dejectedly.

“You seem to have a very unjust king!”

“Ironically, he is the best king the world ever saw,” she chuckled without humor.

That’s when the pieces fell together. “Are you the famous Queen Sita, the wife of King Rama Chandra?”

When Sita answered, her voice was hoarse, “I was that a lifetime ago. Or was that only yesterday? Time loses its significance when you are abandoned by the man you love. Now, I am just Sita.”

He was confused. It was all so different from what he had heard about the king—he was the perfect king revered and loved by his subjects, who keeps their will before his own; the perfect brother who handed over his rightful kingdom to his step-brother without batting an eyelid; the perfect son who had gone to fourteen years of exile to keep his father’s word to his step-mother. And when King Ravana had abducted Sita from the forest, he had collected small wild tribes, crossed the sea and fought the most powerful king of all times to retrieve his wife—the perfect husband…

He had always been in awe of that man.

Sita continued, “Last evening, his younger brother left me in the forest on his orders. While leaving, he’d hinted that Rama was following the will of his subjects who are against keeping a woman who had ‘lived with another’. Even though, after winning me back, he had made me walk on flames as a proof of my purity, it wasn’t proof enough for his beloved subjects. And, of course, he wouldn’t give up his beloved kingdom for me as I had once done for him.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth.

He chose his words carefully now, “Do you wish to go to your father, King Janaka of Mithila?”

“My father? Who hasn’t checked on me since I returned from a fourteen-years exile? He probably believes I eloped willingly, like everyone else,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

He was completely at loss now. But he couldn’t leave the lonely woman on her own—pregnant and unable to defend herself, would be an easy target for hungry animals. Moreover, the forest was infested by Danavas and Rakshasas. God only knows what they would do to a woman who looked so beautiful, even in rags. 

He made a final effort. “Would you like to return to King Rama and plead your case? I assure you I can get you an audience with him. He will not deny the request of a Rishi.”

“Thank you! But I will not plead mercy in front of someone who punishes a victim of crime and her unborn child. Anyway, he would have granted me an audience if he had the courage to face me. He knows well that he’s wrong but did it anyway. He may forgive me, but I will not forgive him.

I was a princess, brought up in luxury, when I married him, but when he was exiled, I chose to accompany him to the forest. There were days, we did not have a roof over our heads. To make him happy, I picked fruits and vegetables in the forest, cooked meals, spun cloth, walked until my feet hurt and worked until I was sore all over, only to end up sleeping on the forest floor like a common woman. For fourteen years…

When Ravana abducted me, he had offered to marry me. I could have led a life of luxury in his castle, but I refused him and chose to live in a cottage like my Rama. And this is how he repays me?”

The fire in her eyes now turned to steel. “I’d rather stay in the forest like I’ve done it for fourteen years. My child needs no father.”

There was only one way to go from there, “Would you like to live in my humble ashram? I answer to no king.”

She gave a little smile, full of gratitude, “Only if you promise to raise my child as a fearless warrior and a better man.”

Author’s note: This story is about an unfortunate day in Ramayana, a revered epic in Sanskrit. It is said that King Rama Chandra grieved for his wife and never remarried. Many years later, his massive army was intercepted and easily defeated by two little boys in the forest. When Rama came to war, Sita finally stepped in and handed over the sons he never knew. However, she declined to return with him.


Photo by Ammpryt ART

Posted in Fiction, Poetry

The Tunnel

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Dusk.

Shadows are lengthening every minute and it is time to make a decision.

The entrance of the tunnel is hidden beneath the forest floor, visible only in the front. The darkness inside is complete, as if no light ever penetrates those open gates. Has the other end caved in, shutting off any rays of light? Is there another end at all?

Moss and fern cover each inch of the penetrable surface–the stone walls, the sides of the walkway, the spaces between rocks on the walkway…The air around the place reeks of dead things. The barks of the trees around the place has been stripped with claws–a clear warning for anyone who ventures too close.

But still the walkway holds grass that someone crushed underfoot a few minutes ahead of me. Could it be she? With her group of bird-brain bounty hunters? Could even they be foolish enough to enter this tunnel–a place clearly marked by death? How could they completely ignore the local stories? That this tunnel was the door to afterlife… That no one who entered the place had ever returned to the world of living…

Her favourite shoe marks adorns the wet mud. Why would she risk it all? She has enough inheritance to last her four lifetimes…but then this is what she is and I wouldn’t have her any other way.

The sun is behind the trees now. Either I enter or turn back right away. There is no point waiting outside till the morning, for no one knows what lurks in the tunnel. If facing a deadly foe, I would rather be awake. On my skin, I can feel its cold stare measuring me, giving me goosebumps.

Do I enter after ‘her’?

Can I ever leave her behind?

With answer, I braced myself and stepped inside.


Photo by Anna Gru on Unsplash

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, My life, Nature stories, Poetry, Twisted fairytales

1st Re-birthday Celebration

Stats: 1 year, 300+ Posts, 5600+ Views, 186 Followers

WOOHOOOOOO!!!

Fish in the Trees is my alter ego. It stands for my unique position as a true Gemini. (Ever saw that horoscope picture with two people looking in different directions? That’s me.) I have always been looking in two directions or more–trying to see both sides of the coin, skewing my perspective like a fish-eye lens. I have a traditional small-town upbringing, but am plagued with question-itis (the habit of asking pain-in-the-ass questions) and conform-o-phobia (the fear of conforming with status quo). My blog follows suit.

It makes both of us forever misfits, like a shellfish in the trees.

Fish in the trees only had five posts till mid-last year, all of which I deleted. On the night of 15th June last year, I decided to rebirth this site and moved in stuff from my earlier site Fly on the Wall (that no one read). Since then, I have written every week, twice a week, daily… Yup! I’m that crazy!

Now after one year, here are 10 posts that I am proud of…okay 18…It is rather difficult to pick your favourite child, and I have over 300.

Enjoy!