The Fallen Flower

Often when I tread 

Upon that narrow path 

Of soft, red earth

With trees lush and verdant 

And pretty blooms along the way,

I find the fallen flower 

Fast wilting ,yet smiling 

Forever there to greet me.

Dawn turns to dusk 

Cold, dark nights 

Silent and lonely, 

Leave behind the mist..

Now, under the amber glow 

My feet tread softly again 

On the moist, red earth. 

Trampled and twisted 

Yet smiling, I find 

The fragrant, fallen flower.

Today,I find an army of ants 

On my path's trajectory 

Marching purposefully 

Over the trampled, twisted 

Fragrant, fallen flower

Torn apart now,yet smiling 

Still there to greet me..

My beautiful companion

Of warm, dewy mornings.

The once fragrant flower 

Trampled, torn and crushed 

Has been swept aside

To clear the rot on 

The soft, red earth I tread upon

It's youth swallowed by time. 

But it's fragrance still lingers..

When I walk that 

Narrow , lonely path .

M. Neog

( Dew drops)

Watchman Nicodin

Tea estates are a talent pool for sports , I say it with assertion due to my enriching experience of a life in tea. The young tribal youth are excellent footballers, born runners and supreme archers . 

Inter estate football tournaments were an annual fixture. Friendly matches between the management and workers always helped in fostering better work environment. The girls had their own soccer teams and played as well as the boys. A girl from our bungalow complement was a talented centre forward herself. If only authorities knew where to look for talent. 

Our postings in the estates brought home to us the reality of sheer tribal strength, so also their simplicity. Their courage and loyalty remain distinctive of their character. A veteran tea planter was heard saying , " If they like you, they can cut their heads off for you and if they don't, you can be on the receiving end!" 

Yet, they have a unique sense of humour and the estates abound with instances of such hilarity. 

During one of our postings in a picturesque estate in the Dooars, the deputation of a new watchman in the Manager's bungalow, created a bit of a buzz among our bungalow staff. For starters, we found his name , Nicodin, interesting. So, watchman Nicodin was a tall man in his forties probably. His legs began where his chest ended and his vision was more aerial than anyone else's in the estate. A brick red, fitted pullover, deep brown trousers and worn out black, slightly undersized sandals; this was the ensemble I remember him in. 

Anyway, the reason why Nicodin aroused interest and curiosity among his peers could be attributed to the fact that he was the only man in the estate who could shoot three arrows at time! His skill in archery was put to test and soon, we found the act a source of great entertainment too. Often, acts of imitation ended in embarrassment with one arrow shooting out while the other two failing to escape the bow strings! Thus, Nicodin earned a place of pride for himself. 

I remember how we learnt archery or at least tried to, when the bungalow staff made bows and harmless arrows for us. My sister and I would spend some afternoons practicing archery in our lawns . 

In all these years, I am yet to come across an archer as unique as Watchman Nicodin, the man who shot three arrows at a time, and guarded us while we slept peacefully on our king sized beds .

The Woman

Out there somewhere 

Is a Woman of the world 

Who can have the 

The Devil run for cover

Oh Man! She's a Woman 

If you try to fathom 

The depth of her heart 

You'll only see a blur 

When she loves you 

Just know it's true 

Believe and love her back 

That should suffice 

For a Woman of the world 

Just when you thought 

Your life's calm as the seas

She storms in and 

Holds your heart hostage

She's a bomb shot cocktail 

A Woman in a Man's world.

Passionate and fierce 

She gives it all she has

But can take it all back 

Still think you're in control ?

But you've been jägerbombed!

By a Woman of the world.

Intoxicating and potent

Bitter and sweet 

She's here to survive 

In a world, so cosmetic 

Cause she's a bomb shot cocktail 

Who's jägerbombed your 

Glass of mundanity!

A Woman beyond compare.

M.Neog

( Dew drops)

Merry Mix Ups

I must've been around 10 or 11 years of age then . It was when I was making a delicate transition to adolescence . Fancy clothes and cosmetics began to influence my taste. I preserved my mother's empty perfume bottles in my cupboard and often stared at the pretty bottles, holding them against the light. I had trapped my rainbows in them ..

I waited for a chance to apply my mother's lipsticks; I found the shades so flattering. All this on the sly because I was told that one applied makeup only after stepping into college. I have a confession to make about the kohl pencils though ; the first time I applied it, I had frightened myself ! No matter how carefully I tried to line my eyes, I always looked hideous! 

It was actually in college that started applying kohl and lipstick with my mother's official sanction. My first shade of lipstick was a 'hypnotic rouge' from Lakmé . 

This incident occurred sometime in my pre teens. The washroom was a place where I could spend hours, reading the literature in all the toiletries . With three women in the house, the shelves barely had space for my father's shaving kit. 

Also, my father had a propensity to apply the wrong products on himself. And so it happened one day that when he went in to shower, he took a little longer than usual. Since he responded on being called , there was no panic. 

Almost after an hour , he came out rubbing his scalp in disappointment. He asked us why the shampoo hadn't lathered up at all despite massaging it on his scalp for a good ten minutes . My mother sensed potential tragedy, she went in to check what he had applied. To her utter horror, she discovered that he had picked up the bottle of a hair removing lotion labeled ' Soft and Silky' instead of 'Sunsilk' shampoo; both pink in color and placed on the same shelf !! There was no time to waste after that . There were repeated head washes to remove any residue of the solution from his scalp. 

We looked at him in disbelief. That night, we slept with an unpleasant anticipation . We couldn't visualise him all bald the next morning.. 

On waking up the next day, he only had to look at our expressions to get his answer . He had a close shave , quite literally ! Our cheerful faces provided him relief before he looked into the mirror. 

 

The Goat That Ate My Loaf

Back in my primary school years , passing a test or an examination was always rewarded with sweets or chocolates. Unlike the present times when we feel compelled to buy more 'substantial ' gifts for our kids, we seemed content with a packet from the local confectioner . Growing up in a Bengali household, sweets were central to our celebrations, irrespective of the scale of our achievements. Thus, receiving a national award called for an earthen pot of ' Roshogollas' as much as passing a grade at primary school. 

Times changed and the 'Roshogolla' was ignominiously replaced by pastries and puffs that found favour with our generation. 

On one of the many such moments when we strode out of the school holding on to my progress report jubilantly, my mother rode me to the only bakery in town, for a treat of cream rolls and pineapple pastries . I rarely catch a sight of cream rolls in the plush bakeries these days. 

She parked the scooter close enough to be within her view and we went into the bakery. Along with the pastries and rolls, she picked up some dinner rolls and a loaf of bread for the house. She carried the packets out and put them in carefully into the front carrier. The loaf of bread just about made it into its spot. Then, she felt the urge to buy some chocolates as well and went back into the bakery, asking me to stand guard over the purchases. 

From the corner of my eye, I sensed a shadow lurking around the scooter. That shadow turned out to be a large black goat that was too close for comfort. I don't know whether the goat was too large or if I was too small to shoo it away, but it stared at me almost threateningly and came straight for the loaf of bread which was wrapped in paper. Before I could gather courage to react, our visitor had treated itself to half the loaf ! Meanwhile, my mother stepped out of the bakery and paused in shock and amazement , both at my goof up as well the audacity of the goat ! It saw her and cantered away , bleating with a sense of victory. 

That year , I had done surprisingly well in Mathematics and I shall always remember it , for, the goat ate my loaf !!

Star of the Night

Out in the meadow she sat
Her gaze fixed upon
The Star of the Night.
Drenched in the moonlight
She sang, ' And do you hear
My song, Star of the Night?'

A drop of water touched her face
Gently wiping it with her lace
She said, " And do you remember me, Star of the Night? And do you see, as I see , and do you feel
As I feel, Star of the Night?'

'Come to my lodgings,
Star of the Night,' she said
'For the berries won't be sour anymore
And winter won't be cold anymore..
The heart is full, the head
A little hazy.'

'You could show me the light,
And I could give you love again,
Star of the Night.' And thus
She sang, bathed in the moon beam

Upon the meadow.

M.Neog
(Dew drops)

Dzongri Trails

The Dzongri Goechla trek in Sikkim is revered by adventure buffs and it is regarded as one of the six toughest treks in the Indian Himalayas. The trek begins from the small and beautiful village of Yuksom in West Sikkim and takes one right up to the feet of Mt Kanchenjunga .

The rewards of the trek  overshadowed self doubt; I knew this  was going to be a tougher one than the previous . I had trained for it but did not get sufficient time for recovery, the ice packs took care of the sore muscles.

So, my husband and I set off on the Dzongri trail , for a few days close to heaven. We decided to complete the 5-6 days trek in 4 days. Judging by the Singalila trek which we finished in 3 days , cutting short 2 night halts; we thought it was achievable in Dzongri too.

We reached Yuksom late in the night of 31st May 2016 and checked into a hotel. After a shower and dinner, we crashed out for the night. The next morning, we woke up to a brilliant view of Mt Kabru from our balcony; the whitest of white amidst deep green mountains.

Soon we met our crew; two guides, two porters, three yaks . We also met two trek mates , Malte Lautzas from Germany and Kelly Alves from Brazil. We were driven a km from Yuksom, the starting point of the trek.

The yaks and porters moved ahead with the kitchen and bedding equipment while we trailed behind slowly. Nothing would be available beyond Yuksom and so everything had to be carried up . From what it seemed right from the start, this was going to be a memorable experience and certainly not an easy trek.

About 6 kms from Yuksom , is a place called Sachen . We stopped to refuel here, we were carrying packed lunch. A little chat with our trek mates revealed that the lady had undergone a knee surgery and had undertaken the Annapurna circuit in Nepal after that. Also, a week prior to the current trek in Dzongri , she had completed the Singalila trek. What an indomitable spirit! I thought.

From Sachen, the trail was a real test of endurance, very steep and rough. One had to be wary of loose stones over which the feet skidded, falling boulders from above and the prevalence of bears and leopards, though we were told that the predators rarely made an appearance! Of course one had to be careful of the blood sucking leeches and tiny stinging insects got to you the moment you stopped walking.

As we continued to ascend from Sachen, it became progressively steeper and the climb seemed endless. At every bend, there was a steeper climb awaiting us. We had to cover 15 km on the first day itself. And here, I would like to tell you that a km in the hills is like 3 km in the plains in terms of endurance.

While going through Kanchenjunga National park , my attention was drawn to a stream gushing over the rocks below. This is when I missed a step and my right knee hit a boulder, it wasn't too bad I thought, and I gathered myself for a sharp  ascent through picture perfect hills with emerald green waterfalls and rich alpine vegetation, toad stools on moss covered rocks and tree trunks, ferns and wild berries . The pine trees kept thinning out and made way for the myriad hues of rhododendrons and primula . The sound of a flowing stream or the chirping of different species of birds, soothed the weary travelers.
Often, we made way for the oncoming traffic of ponies, flocks of sheep and yaks moving up the narrow trail. Many say that the fear of the unknown can be unnerving but some feel the protection of the powers, those who crawl into nature's lap and don't try to conquer it. We continued our climb slowly with snicker and water breaks for a further 6-7 kms to Bakhim which offered an exquisite view of the valley below. A much deserved tea break with my comfort food of Wai Wai noodles worked well to recharge the batteries since the next 2 kms to Tsokha were going to be tougher. I found a canine friend here, she decided to accompany me along the way right up to Tsokha, halting or moving with me. Animals are capable of showing great compassion, she could sense my fatigue. Villagers or porters on the way, exchanged cheerful greetings and encouraged us to keep going slowly and steadily, " Bistari bistari jaunu la." The hills people have unparalleled endurance and I've seen that for years now. Whether they're young boys skipping more than 20 kms downhill in less than 2 hours or old men and women climbing up with heavy loads on their backs, they're an inspiring people.

By this time, I felt that I had released my body with all it's aches and pains somewhere down the trail and was only being guided by my mind and a deep consciousness that drew me towards my inner self, made me see who I really am.  It was a beautiful feeling.

We made it to Tsokha ( 10000 feet) around 4:30 pm, with our friends, Malte and Kelly waiting to greet us at the Trekker's hut.They looked excited and as we came up to the hut, we just saw the most amazing view of Mt Pandim and Mt Tensinkhang standing tall, right in front of us ! It seemed so magical to watch the passing clouds unveil the snow clad peaks for us. I slumped down to the wooden stairs of the hut , stunned by the jaw dropping beauty of the Himalayas. All the fatigue dissipated with the reward on the first day. Crystal white mountains overlooking the green meadows of Tsokha with the twin stupas sitting in the heart of the green.

We sat around a kitchen fire in the neighbouring hut while the crew cooked a hot meal for us in a makeshift kitchen. A basic vegetarian meal , mostly boiled or steamed, some hot soup and an animated conversation with our trek mates over a simple candle lit
dinner served on a wooden table with checked table cloth; attention to detail , I thought. Since the region does not have electricity, the headlamps helped for the nocturnal movements. The rooms were plain wooden cabins with bare beds where the guides put out thin mattresses and the sleeping bags. The bare walls with a few hooks served well to air out the clothing.

The next morning, we had some tea and breakfast comprising boiled eggs, bananas, the dependable bread and jam, cereal and boiled potatoes. A portion of the same menu sufficed as  packed lunch. I stood outside the hut soaking in the surroundings with ponies and yaks grazing in the meadowlands and a comforting sound emanating from the bells tied around the yaks , filling the valley with it's own music.

We started for Dzongri  from Tsokha, a steep 5 km to Phedang would be our lunch halt. At a small wooden structure in Phedang , we met other trekkers making their way down to Tsokha. They asked us to brace ourselves for the climb thereafter, just when I thought it couldn't get any steeper. The views were breathtaking. Some parts of the trail were out of a children's classic. This is what I came for and no pain could take away the sights that greeted us. The stretch from Phedang to Deorali can take the steam out of the fittest. They say that the mountains have a way of dealing with overconfidence. Human pride begins to move it's lips in prayer.

From thick alpine vegetation, we had now come to rocky terrain with small flowering shrubs, mosses and lichens in pretty hues of pink, violet and white. The air smelt different, it was getting thinner. At Deorali , we rested for a couple of minutes near a stupa with prayer flags lining the clearing. I stared into the tunnel of mist that would lead to Dzongri. From here on the climb was a gradual ascent with some undulating parts.

A further 3 km took us to Dzongri base camp. We found Malte and Kelly seated on a thin wooden bench outside the cottage. Interesting graffiti on the walls created some light moments for us. The chowkidar and his family are the only human inhabitants at Dzongri. We sat around his kitchen fire chatting up . I noticed a large Trogopan perched on the top of the hill, I recognized it from it's distinct call . Everyone rushed out to get a glimpse of the rare , endangered Himalayan bird.  The next day's trail was the hardest and we retired after a sumptuous meal. We had to start our ascent at 3:30 am to view the sunrise over the Himalayas. Sleep eluded me again.

It was a 200 mtr ascent covered in 1 km of really hard trail with almost 20% incline. I had to take two trekking poles to tackle the gradient. As I braved it to the top, I found myself caught between the moon on one side and the rising sun on the other side. Finally, I made it to the top, privy to the splendor and majesty of the Himalayas. I had earned my way to it . The rising sun shone upon the peaks, gifting mankind the rarest view . Only those who seek, shall find it. The changing hues of the snow clad peaks from an icy blue to golden and pinkish white can render the greatest bard speechless..
I stood in reverence and humility before the might of nature. It was the closest view I had of Mt Kabru, North & South, Black Kabru, Mt Kanchenjunga, Rathong peak, Mt Pandim , Mt Tensinkhang and Narsing . The mind was silent, offering gratitude for the good fortune; the peaks were hidden until a few days before we arrived. It had rained prior to our trek. However, the weather held up since the day we started our trek. Sitting at 13800 feet in the high mountains, I had come a long way for this moment. All I wanted was a walk in the clouds but I received a blessing..

The stupas and prayer flags lining the ridge add to the serenity of the Himalayas. For the first time , I could hear the stillness. It is so sacred that one does not even want to desecrate  the purity of that heaven with one's voice..
Below, in the valley, the nomads settle during the summer. The pass was also used by the three lamas who came in to annoint the first Chogyal of Sikkim in the 17th century. The route was used by Tibetan migrants. There I was, an urban nomad , in search of the Shangri la.  A veteran mountaineer once said that the answer to why we trek can be found somewhere between the bottom and the summit of the trek. Every such journey makes new revelations to the traveler. 

After luring man to it's beauty, the elements start playing games. Camera and phone batteries, power banks, die out in the cold and only a lucky few could capture the moments. Though reluctant, it was time to descend from the top. The winds were getting stronger and the air was rarified. We came down for breakfast and shortly after that, began our journey back to Tsokha. The knee injury from the first day was going to trouble me in the descent and I had to pull through it without bending the right knee. I had to bank on pain killers and a lot of courage. We made it to Tsokha in good time and got some rest before dinner. 

The next day's trail would be punishing, 15 km of mostly sharp descent. I had to be careful in not causing further injury to an already inflamed knee. Every wrong step felt like a dagger driven into it.
I transferred the entire load of my body onto the left leg and thanks to the little training I had undergone, it bore the brunt of the descent pretty well.

In the hills, distance is not measured in kms but the number of hills leading to a destination. So, we must have lost count of how many we crossed. We reached Sachen around 2pm and after a quick lunch, resumed the remaining few kms to Yuksom. We had more than 6 kms to finish before sunset. Our guide, Nambun, an 18 yr old lad, was extremely efficient and good natured. Finally, with a deep sense of caring, he said, " Ma'am, this is the last of the steepest gradients. The rest of the way is plainer. " He had seen me fight the pain. We reached Yuksom at 4 pm and walked another km or so to get to the hotel. An hour after that, the rains came down heavily , like a farewell shower. 42 km in 4 days, 1780 mts to 4200 mts and back, the trek had been completed despite the odds- a hurt knee ,sleep deprivation and dehydration. Yet, victory tasted sweet. The body felt stronger than ever, probably because I had  conquered  pain and come back to the world , with a piece of Heaven within me..my own Shangri la .

A Story of Survival

I grew up in the plantations and my early childhood was spent in the estates in Assam. It was the late 70s, the beginning of turmoil.
The streets were patrolled by the army, one saw more soldiers than locals. Curfews, protests and shoot at sight orders gushed into the peaceful stream of daily life .

I was two and a half years when my father was posted in an estate near Tezpur, Assam. Once, I was gripped by a terrible fever, no amount of medication could control the raging fire within my infant frame. My father rushed to the bungalow to find my mother in tears and a confused physician who couldn't diagnose my condition. Then the convulsions began and the body was getting contorted.

They couldn't waste time, the estate was not equipped to handle such a case. They had friends in the Air force fighter base in Tezpur and their only hope was the Army  hospital, an hour's drive from the estate. They had to take me there and in as less time as possible since every second of my life then was God's will. I battled my journey to the hospital as my dad drove us in his fiat ..hoping fervently that I last through that drive and also hoping that he didn't encounter any road blockades or verifications by the patrolling troops that would delay us even more.

As the car reached the Air force base, the sentry at the gates had one look inside the car and signalled for the gates to open without registering the vehicle. I was taken to the M.I room and was administered injections to control the convulsions. My parents' friends in the Air force informed the A.O.C who was at a party to obtain permission for access to the Army hospital. A few phone calls were made and in no time I was being treated by the doctors of the Army Medical corps in Tezpur. I was diagnosed with encephalitis. The fever was brought down with ice cold compression in the joints. However, the biggest challenge lay ahead of them. The fluid flooding my infant brain had to be drained out.
It took seventeen, yes seventeen lumbar punctures. My mother recounted that those were the most punishing hours of her life as she stood at the corridor listening to the heart wrenching screams of her infant daughter. While I remained in the hospital for ten days, my mother stayed in the cantt.itself. My father drove down the distance everyday to the hospital from the estate until his superior gave him permission of leave.
Driving through roads with burning tyres or a soldier pressing the nozzle of his rifle onto my father's face while making enquiries, were common place and my father braved such conditions to meet us for days. He had loosened the hinges of the door on his side and tied the handle with a rope so that he could break out of the car in case of a fire .

My recovery took a long time and I had to battle the side effects of the treatments that followed. At one stage I had become hyper kinetic and once that was controlled , I became slow in my reflexes. My immune system suffered a great deal and I had a poor appetite. Compared to my peers, I was a  weaker child. It took many years for me to regain my health and I struggled through most of my years right up to middle school.
It didn't stop me from enjoying my childhood though; I had a wonderful family and great friends to support me. Although each day was a struggle to overcome limitations and move with the flow of life , I kept going, slowly, at my own pace. Somewhere along the way, I discovered my resilience. Then , the poison changed to medicine.
I realized that I was sent back to fight it out because death took pity on me and life gave me another chance. Each of us have a purpose in life and I'm not leaving until mine is fulfilled..

I believe I have come a long way since then and my past had made me stronger. I have trained hard, very hard..and put in all my sweat, tears and blood into becoming the fitness enthusiast I am today. I love high altitude trekking and have just completed one of the most difficult Himalayan treks in Sikkim in less than the usual duration. I have been drawn to adventure sports, para sailing, zip lining and deep sea walking being a few I've undertaken.

To get stronger with time is a promise I made to myself. Each day gives me that opportunity. I've returned from the jaws of death to celebrate victory and for me, the road doesn't end here.

When She's Gone

To her dearest,
A  story she tells..
Today they see the dawn
Tomorrow she may be gone.

Remember then, it was,
A dream that had to pause..
Funny, they thought it'd last
While time was running out fast.

A little different from the rest,
You knew what she liked the best.
Gold and diamonds were too loud,
All she wanted was a walk in the clouds..

Moments that were crazy..
Memories that get hazy.
Adventures to cherish,
A love that can't perish.

Her love is with you always
For the rest of the days.
As she's by your side..
Still admiring you with pride.

Moments of pain,
Get washed with the rain,
She knew she had to leave
Yet who could believe?

Wonder if you could hear
The screams beating the walls
Within her tiny chest..
When you had her so near.

She knew it all along,
And the world thought she was strong..
Through laughter, ecstasy and adventure..
She could see the future.

A crazy girl with dreams,
Flowing in the streams,
Floating with the clouds,
When they remove the shroud.

Find her beside you,
In things that gave her joy.
She lived a great life,
She was a good wife.

She was and will be,
Forever the queen..
Of her own space,
It was in her face.

Respect her love,
As she watches over from above
Her love will protect you..
Across the dimensions of the blue.

M. Neog 

( Dew drops ) 

A 'Septi' Pin Saga

The ubiquitous 'septi' pin, (written the way it is prounounced) in most Bengali households, found an indispensable position in the lives of middle class families and my grandparents' home, wasn't an exception. 

These simple septi pins made inroads into our everyday lives. You could find a bunch of shining septi pins  sitting  conspicuously within a small bowl or tray on the dressing table or lazing around carelessly, on study tables and glass or wooden shelves in the restroom. 

They found a place of pride along with the creams , hair clips, bangles and intricate vermilion holders; ones that seemed popular were holders with the carvings of ' Lokkhi thakur' ( Goddess Lakshmi), the fish or the elephant's head, each considered to be auspicious in our culture.

Then of course, you could find some septi pins enclosed in a tiny container and kept in the ' Thakur ghar' . These were kept aside for our ' Laddu Gopal's (infant Krishna) wardrobe.
What amused me was the versatility of the septi pins that ranged from miniature to finger length sizes. You could depend on these shining minions of steel for multiple activities , from fixing diapers to wardrobe malfunctions!

You could have a neighbor dropping in for tea and while he engaged in an animated discussion on Marxism or his appreciation for Bossa Nova , the eyes would invariably be drawn to his sling bag held together by a pair of septi pins. 

The average Bengali woman's obsession for starched cotton sarees that were pleated to perfection, lent the septi pin even more reason for reliable companionship. They dangled from gold bangles for ready use. ' Ay ! Amar septi pin gulo ke niyechhe ? ' (Hey! Who took my safety pins?)was a question heard too often. 

Some septi pins however, outlived their use , lying rusty and bent in less visible corners , but never discarded and while they were strewn with intentional carelessness, they waited; just in case they could be used for a rainy day!

Then, it was used by young creative minds in the household, looped together as  neck chains or  danglers for the ears. Simple and effective! There was no shame in using septi pins , they were essential to routine everyday life.

Such was the thought association with septi pins, that a house bereft of these seemed alien. Whoever invented the safety pin , couldn't have possibly imagined that it would weave itself into our cultural fabric. 

Septi pins are still found in our homes , perhaps not used as frequently as before but I can say with conviction that they're far from being redundant yet. They've seen generations go by and they've served  their purpose most effectively. They can still be found on dressing tables, alongside imported perfumes and sunglasses now..

The Devil

The devil awaits you
In the rising tides of vanity.
Sleep with open eyes
In your satin and silken couch.

The devil bathes you
In the slippery suds of insanity.
Do not tread
On reeds of humanity.

The devil nourishes you
In cold corridors of corruption.
Build not your castle
On curses and corpses.

The devil invites you
Into his sack of sloth.
Remind yourself
Of promises you made.

The devil urges you
To show affection to avarice.
But do not steal
A poor man's meal.

The devil guides you
To be a sauntering saprophyte.
Give credit to yourself
For not being a parasite.

The devil tempts you
With the incinerating inks of power.
Be kind to seek
Justice for the weak.

The devil tricks you
In hallowed halls of pride.
Look at the mirror
Of truth and reason.

The devil seduces you
With bright, beguiling lights.
Don't be fooled
With myopic treats.

The devil tosses you
On the wild waves of wrath.
Guide gently then
With wisdom and peace.

The devil draws you
Towards bloody brutality.
Take a long sip
From the cup of compassion.

The devil drags you
To treason and tyranny.
Do not quench your thirst
With mankind's blood.

Then the devil disappears
As judgement day arrives.
A plate full of karma and solitude
Is all that you have.

M.Neog
( Dew drops)

Child of the Mountains

Throbbing heart and trembling legs,
Soul stretching out again,
A rendezvous it begs,
So I rise, I ascend again.

For I know you rest at Eagle Peak,
And it is I who must come to seek,
Something tells me I know the way,
A blessed union in snow and rain.
So I rise, I ascend again.

Pounding heart and aching feet,
Face exposed to sleet,
Man and frost meet.
Then you send the mist my way,
So I rise, I ascend again.

Winds cutting through, air now thinner,
Heart pounding, legs trembling,
But you taught me to be a winner.
So I rise, I ascend again.

Fuzzy mind playing hopscotch,
With bursts of euphoria and melancholy,
Fighting back, breathing hard..
So I rise, I ascend again.

Lumbering through the countless bends,
Paths slushy and rugged,
Your presence in the magnolia blossoms,
Makes this trail blessed.
So I rise, I ascend again.

Lips blue, fingers stiff,
Throbbing heart and trembling legs,
I stop to ask, what if..
Yet the soul outstretched, begs
So I rise, I ascend again.

In loops and excruciating gradients, I find
Unabashed streams bathing ferns
Racing down a moss covered hill side.
So I rise, I ascend again.

A tragopan's song greets,
The frost trodden mountain feet
And my arrival to the summit.
Pain ceased, soul quenched,
With healing mountain mist.

So I kiss your feet,
And bring you love
From where you once belonged.
Days and nights I have longed,
For a union in the clouds above.

It may be long till I come again,
Heart pounding, legs trembling,
To meet you at Eagle Peak.
O mother of mothers ! I am but
A child of the mountains ..
So I shall rise, I shall ascend again.

M.Neog
( Dew drops)

I Am..

A tiny speck,
In your vastness..
A small spark,
In your myriad folds..
A conscious dream,
In your spectrum..
A shining droplet,
In your oceans..
A sharp gravel,
In your mighty mountains..
A drop of dew,
In your morning freshness..
A living atom,
In your unbiased embrace..
Finding refuge,
In your timelessness.

M.Neog
(Dew drops)

My City Bleeds

A hope filled sunrise
Bleeding city in a while
Steely nerves succumb to steel
All mangled, man and steel
Today my city bleeds.
Words of comfort, wads of cash
Heart rending cries
Neither can restore lost lives..
Darkness, pain and apathy
Gifts of corrupt policy
Today my city bleeds..
Lying helpless and pulverized
In an end, most undignified..
Hope, the only weapon
For the still breathing souls..
While the world sleeps,
Tonight, my city bleeds..

M.Neog
(Dew drops)

A Different Story

Did it cross your mind
Cross your mind ever
How that smirk felt
To someone very special
Someone different from you?
Did you ever care
To feel someone's joy
Or stop for a second
To feel that pain
Before you judged or condemned?
Did you ever listen to a whisper
Escaping twitching lips?
Someone different from you
In 'your' world
Has a story different from yours..
Of challenges and victories
In varying degrees..
Join the miniscule dots around you
To frame a soul
Until you feel the force..
The force of love
And then you will find
There was just one story
Read differently..

M. Neog
( Dew drops)