Tag Archives: India
DAILY PHOTO: David Scott Trail, Meghalaya
I’m back after three weeks traveling about the Indian Northeast, i.e. the states of Meghalaya, Assam, Nagaland, and Manipur. And I’ve got a pile of pics.
The David Scott Trail is a hiking trail that was built as a carriage trail from Burma into India at the behest of the British colonial leader whose name it bears. Since it was made for traffic by animal-drawn carriages, it makes for easy hiking. It’s a scenic trail. It should be noted that (like most trails in India) it isn’t well-marked, however, the fact that it is wider than most trails and has old paving stones along much of the route makes it fairly easy to avoid getting lost.
We hiked only the section from Mawphlang to Lad-Maphlang. It’s an easy day hike.
DAILY PHOTO: Prayer Flags, Khardung-la
POEM: Sweep
Bristles flex against the flagstone.
Like Bruce Lee with his nunchaku,
she works two brooms at once.
Unlike Bruce,
she lacks fury and showmanship.
She’s oblivious an audience has formed.
Like Bruce, her body is coordinated,
capable of describing two arcs,
in two separate directions,
at once.
The soft scraping sounds
of two bundles of bristles
is the neighborhood’s wake-up call.
The hush whispers of leaves skittering
is the subdued scream
that cannot be ignored.
Like a demonic whisper,
all that’s quiet is not gentle.
[National Poetry Month, Poem #23]
DAILY PHOTO: Brahmashram of Nandi Hills, Inside & Out
DAILY PHOTO: Grey Langur in a Tree
DAILY PHOTO: Sweetheart, It Feels Like Something Is On Your Mind
DAILY PHOTO: Two Tuks and a Billboard: A Bangalore Street Scene
POEM: Until You See the Flower Floor
It’s a post-apocalyptic scene.
Until you see the flower floor.
Concrete walls, bare but for paan stains.
Looking like a fresh massacre.
A murderous rampage
written in shotgun spatters.
A pack sits, rhythmically rocking,
hands mindlessly at work.
But with their backs to you,
you can’t see they’re stringing garlands.
Looks like the junky fidgets
of a Zombie horde at rest.
The impulse to tip-toe past, rationally quieted.
Then you peer over the rail to the flower floor.
The flower floor is brightness.
The visual gravity of oranges and yellows
exerts such an aesthetic pull on the eyes
that one can’t see any sign
of dystopian dreariness.
[National Poetry Month: Poem #12]

















