The Weather of Memory

above a nest a whisper of promise down below the gurgling of river somewhere, along infinite time a speck of knowledge where've all the wisdom gone?

One cold wintry morning, exactly at 8:50 AM, Chayphee drove his car inches behind a Toyota Land Cruiser. On such a cold morning, for neither was he a prophet nor an astrologer, it was hard for him to predict the moves and whims of the driver in front.  To add to that, at breathing intervals, he let out thick vapors from his mouth that he could literally count the water droplets at two thousand. Every droplet from these two thousand at every breath settled on the windshield that he had to defog it. Defogging poses a serious issue when the engine refuses to warm up during winter. But then, we will forget this for now. For the better part of his morning drive to the office, he completely lay at the mercy of his driving skills and humanlike non-prophetic travel of the machine ahead.  His blood pressure didn’t agree well with someone who drove in front, having neither the decency nor the respect to use the indicator lights. So, there he was, his right foot on t...

The glacial lakes far north in the country had all burst and the rivers across the Himalayas had turned pitch brown, and the atmosphere was adorned with the most powerful smells of soil and nature. Plant debris floated on the angry rivers as they knocked against each other producing the most hideous thuds.  Two large fishes had been washed ashore along the banks of Punatsang-chu right on to the grounds of Khuruthang after a flash flood.  The sky was cast with a depressing family of clouds. Lightning struck and thunders clapped, rolling loud into the gills of the fishes on the bank. Shortly, it was followed by rain. As the droplets severely fell on the leaves of the trees, they cut through them like knives and cooked the eyes of the two large fishes on Khuruthang ground.  One of the fishes had the strength and thus the wisdom to shout, “Cop15”, followed by the second fish’s, “Failure” and died painfully of acid rain. The year was 2080 the fishes had spoken for the f...

In   monsoon, the raindrops In rhythm And your feelings Flow Down the wayside puddle Straight into my thoughts At once wet And then, warm Feelings rhyme In raindrops You, me and This poetry in music Dissolve Down the wayside puddle…