Picnic on meadows

Pretzels, drinks, sweet tarts,

a spring picnic on meadows.

Litter left behind.

Linking with Ronovan Writes

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Happy Himachal Day

The post comes a day late.

I had written it yesterday. 

But was a little unwell. 

So the post was not shared. 

My apologies. 

April 15th... Himachal day..

Historically speaking, Himachal Day is observed every year on 15 April in Himachal Pradesh. The state of Himachal Pradesh came into existence on this day in 1948 when. Post Independence, 28 minor princely states were integrated into one province of Himachal Pradesh. Himachal Day 2023 is an official holiday in the state of Himachal Pradesh.

This day is celebrated to glorify the state's creation. This day is marked with a grand parade in Himachal Pradesh’s capital city, Shimla. Local events are arranged in nearby towns and villages to enshrine this day.

And for my beloved Himachal, 

I just let my imagination run wild... 

Oh! For I just want

to lose myself

in the scented folds of your skin,

to traverse through the mesh of

your auricles and ventricles,

slowly tracing your curves,

crests and troughs

and to play

with your lush, soft, silken hair.

Oh! For I just want

to live with you forever. 

Thank you Himachal 

for being my heaven.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Missing hills

I miss hills.

 

Hills,

With crisp drifts;

With spick spirits;

 

With livid, living

firs, birds, wilds, griffins,

hid in thick mist.

 

In tip, is rift

stirring with kith-n-kin.

 

This shifting scrim,

this rill singing still.

 

Nigh! Right thing is,

I miss hir diggings,

hir kind.

 

I miss hills!!!

Welfare unto all

Rab Rakha

Up the mountains

 Up the mountains, 

far, far away, 

'neath a sloping green roof, 

inside the mahogany walls, 

Amma lives.

With endless stories in her kilta, 

fresh green apples on the table,

and prisitine snow outside.

Wrinkles, of course, where smiles were, 

fine folds of skin, 

creases, 

telling that she has seen it all, 

the summers, the winters... 

infinite vagaries of weather.

And that she is not done yet.

Sun-kissed, 

stubborn and spirited too, 

spontaneously swirling

to the traditional beats,

there's a purity in her laughter.

That's her world precisely. 

Her hill, her orchards and her people.

And that's her life.

Simple. Joyous.

Welfare unto all

Rab rakha 

Through the narrow walkways #writephoto

That narrow earthy patch,
through the heart of hills,
the sidewalk, now rendered barren,
by infinite footsteps
that have passed over it, for eons,
gradually settling into
the shape of a footpath,
suited only for those confident strides,
humbly balanced
on that treacherous stretch,
inviting focus,
awareness and alertness.
A pilgrimage, a journey,
through the winding maze,
like meditatively walking
through the folds of life,
the subconscious contemplations that follow,
so very revealing, so therapeutic.
Through such footpaths,
to the valley yonder,
in the lap of luscious greens,
where the life flows,
at its own pristine rhythm.
Through such walkways,
towards home.

Linking with Sue Vincent's Daily Echo - Thursday Prompt

#walkthroughhills #walkthroughwoods #greenhills #footpath #narrowfootpaths #embraceyourjourney #journeytohome #micropoetry #freeverse #poetry #amwriting  #poetrycommunity #poetrygram #poetrylovers #welfareuntoall #rabrakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

Daughter of hills

You see,
I was born in hills,
those lofty middle Himalayas
that hold untold sunrises
and that ring with life.
They exist.
And they hold this secret
of existence
in their core.
Beyond all struggle.
Beyond all death.
Beyond all beginnings.
Observing everything,
in its nakedness.
Staying silent.
Persistent.
Absorbent.
Continuous.
Mighty patient.
Impressively calm.
Even in raging chaos.
Savage at times.
Unrestrained and ferocious.
And since I was born in hills,
mayhaps I inherit
the wisdom of mountains,
their priceless blessings,
in my blood and soil.
Yes! I hold the mountains
within me
and the mountains
cradle my spirit.

Home-coming

The lush greens,
the darks, the lights, the mediums, the browns,
blending in perfect proportions,
washed,
rather bathed and cleansed with rain,
dancing and swaying merrily
in refreshing cool breeze,
hailing, heralding,
extending that embalming hug.
The glacial bite seeping through pores,
reviving the parched soul.
Thirst quenching.
Oh! It had been a while.
But, what a welcome?
The hills are happy.
The daughter is home.

Linking with Sammi Cox Weekend Writing Prompt #110 Glacial