Freedom beats
By Neera Kashyap
In the hills clouds come down to enclose
blue ranges in billowing scuds of sleep to
return to skies in cirrus sweeps that mimic
sunrises in streaks of phantom pink or
sunsets in hairs of purple-orange.
There is some law here that gives more freedom to express.
Defying seeds, seedlings, mountain dung…
flowers grow on their own… disregarding rules,
in flagrant profusion, in ragged clumps… on irregular slopes.
A bumble bee hums on a rose… then in my hair as I doze to its tune
…returns to where the nodding nectar reddens…
There is some law here that gives more freedom to express.
Evenings settle to the sound of crickets and cicadas…
to the plaintive cry of a barking deer as darkness deepens..
fireflies wink at glass that films the sudden blink of valley lights.
The deer’s wail returns to merge with racing heartbeats.
Fear is a common cry… till there are only heartbeats left.
There is some law here that gives more freedom to express.
*
When the rain comes… it pounds on roofs throughout the night;
rafters holding pale pink planks barely hold its whiplash;
through window glass the sky’s forked fire lights the dark.
Pine trees fall on roofs in storms …harm but gently, villagers’ say.
Storm races in heartbeats… till there are only heartbeats left.
There is some law here that gives more freedom to express.
A return to the city is certainty.
So also is the freedom…
when there are only heartbeats left.
*
Neera Kashyap
From the poetry anthology, Freedom Raga, August 2020.
Photo by Emma Brophy