Travel Notes
(A collection of poems written during my various travels)


Saturday, June 17, 2006
At the Pass

Time passed by
and I knew not where it flew
for its wings drew no forks across its path
but I followed the eagle’s flight
from Marhi to Keylong
shading the sky
a shifting diorama of landscape
snapped memories of the city structure
matching the eagerness of our transport
that gobbled and digested
my weak angled compositions
around each bend and turn
as I twisted between two large people
sticking out my camera
while a rush of wind
wet moisture
cold awareness
gripped me and invaded my bones
and I welcomed its icy touch
finally standing there at Rohtang
waiting
watching
all things coming to a pass.

Shalini Pattabiraman


03/27/04
The Visit

For an epic of seasons,
I had wondered what might change
the arbitrary passing of day
measured by shadows
sweeping the half-light,
until the visit to Mukhteshwar,
where covered under a ceiling of stars
I slowly woke to a pale dawn sky
rising just below the luminant crown of Trishul.

Mesmerised, I stood
deaf to the tumult of civilization,
Gazing at the endless, expanse
panning all around.
There is the flutter in the wind
from the buzz in dancing grass,
to the highest tips, against treetops of deodars,
brushing a sound, building a wave
that hits the mountains and plummets
into the lap of a valley
Up and up it springs again, so low, so close.

Silence is divided into bursts of wind, singing
between the hum of bees
and the chirping of birds,
between our conversations starved for words.
What I have touched in this yawning landscape
is nothing, but the silence within.
No longer, watched by eager hands of the clock
pushing the slow, jammed pistons of life,
for the first time, I feel alive!!!

Shalini Pattabiraman


Waiting
- Shalini Pattabiraman

I am not in the mood to try more.
Equate my half desired wings with power to lift
above the domes of the pre-fabricated flight plan, I shoved aside.
I sit in the lounge of arrivals and departures
where life's stillness gathers dust
that I rub off with the edge of my toe.

This poem was published at www.ndtv.com under poetry corner.

Travel

I walk on the earth,
to draw footsteps as if they might lead to you.
My footsteps are washed away in rain
and yours captured by the sea.
That is the distance that separates us

Shalini Pattabiraman

Seasons
(A collection of poems that discuss a variety of thoughts evoked by each season)


28th Dec, ‘99
Spring Fever

pollen grains
and sneezes
yellow stains
on fresh off white petals
a bee hoevering around the hem
skirting issues until sundown.

Shalini Pattabiraman

16th June, ‘03
Summer Fever

The lines in my palms grow
out of my fist
beyond my fingers.
Caught in sweat,
slip, drip
juicy sweetness,
squeezed pulp,
sucked straight into the mouth
unnoticed, unbeckoned, unbidden
grooves, woven into textured taste
mix salty precipitate
with sweet smell of dusserries
filling the intense summer heat.

Shalini Pattabiraman

Sept ‘03
After Rain

Captured between two beams of light
caught & held,
for a fraction of a breath
over smooth oiled surface-it slips and slides
quick to renounce all form and shape
reflecting only a shimmer
speckeled over glittering drops
ready to fall off the leaf.

Shalini Pattabiraman

20th Sept, ‘03
Autumn Moods

When the grass has burnt itself
in the image of the setting sun,
rising moon, stills itself at birth.
Redolent vermillion sets upon the grass.
Only the chill of the winter moon
grazes the shriveled edges.
Soft breeze, cold dew, morning chill,
settles in the roots.

Shalini Pattabiraman

2nd, Feb ‘04
Spring

Marooned on a patch of sunny field, highlighted,
dust grows out of a corner,
fills the blooming cloud of waxen thoughts,
slipping past the sleepy winter day.
Wind whispers warm breath over sunshine blue
and green grows larger than life in my simple dream,
past the shadows, past the cold, past the darkness
Spring echoes, new colours.

Shalini Pattabiraman

07/10/04
Five minutes of breathing

The mood is set to target crisscrosses
across the path
that dissect the road into half.
Trapped underneath,
steam bursts out along with flying dust
as construction halts; Rain falls.
In the humid Indian summer,
a blatant excuse-five minutes of breathing.
Compressed in the heat,
monsoon beats a false rhythm
of respite and retreat.

Shalini Pattabiraman

Paintings
(This is a collections of four poems)

10.05.06
Warp

Painted in the song of the web, Light
makes its way through the dusty layers of warp
and flies with each gentle stroke of the hand
back and forth weaving a pattern in gold.


Shadows and dust, entwine
around deep colours in faded rust
while crimson edges creep to cover the forest green.

Painted in the song of the web, stories
swim past old eyes, tracing the thread
with caring fingers gnarled
and too tired to rest.

Caught between light and dark, they wait
each one, poised for flight
Solitary rush cast aside, only the flight of the mind
meets the soul’s limp gaze
and casts its tools aside for bed.

Shalini Pattabiraman


29.04.06
Modern relationships

A blob of red tires and dries up
waiting on the palette, ignored.

On the tarmac, hunched knees,
hands spread out, he feeds pigeons
by the roadside traffic.

Green grows on the surface of textured blue
filling the grays, taking over,wiping the base.

She sits in the corner watching bodies enter,exit,
through the swinging doors of a cafe.

Tightened beads gather on the glass
bumping bubbles on the other side
leading to their mutual demise.

Pigeons soar, bodies swing, he thinks, she moans,
time stops, frozen in the moment, painted.

Shalini Pattabiraman

17/12/03
When you painted me

As strangers we met.
and your eyes painted me,
chose colours to describe
seamless thoughts in your mind.
I can't see the colours,
only feel cold paint against the soft brush stroke,
singular, and bold.
Cold feels strange,
The soft strokes impersonal.
Your eyes seemed not to choose
to capture my soul.
Nor did they train
sharp angles and planes
like points of doubtful construct.
So when you painted me
my feathers fell off uncollected, untouched.

Shalini Pattabiraman


9th Sept ‘03
Dusk in Digboi

Burnt orange bends over pure green,
flames stolen from around that bend
softly whisper of the burning leaf.
Smoke rises, lifts its hands
and curls around the chimney.
Webs of fine silk weave a mist
matching winter’s slow walk
across deep gorges and valleys.
Low, so low, it sinks,
deep orange buttered with fringes of blue
dark, dark, blue, takes over the orange hue.

Shalini Pattabiraman
This poem was published at www.ndtv.com under poetry corner.