Roots of Time

Before first light
We move towards the mountain crests.
Far-off church bells—
hymn-shadow, broken gleam—
a life glimpsed sideways,
turning the pilgrim’s inward heart.

The chest fills with song:
love taking root in silence.
Green fingers trace
the tanpura’s breathing string.
Water speaks in falls—
sorrow and ache
braided with laughter,
braided with tears.

In the gaze, assurance speaks.

In creation, unwearied wisdom.
The words of poetry—
forged in love’s smithy,
a blazing craftsman’s touch.

At the curve of the path
time falters—
is it colour, or the scent of colour,
a dream, or its becoming,
silence, or the song within it?
Is this autumn,
or the promise of spring?

Along the same path,
time goes on, unappeased -
a tale told, retold, worn thin.
Dream, memory, sorrow—
in the softened hills, melted by feeling,
life’s roots, indomitable.

__________________ 
01/01/2025, Guwahati

Editor’s Note

The Root of time is a silent anticipation of a beginning. The journey to the mountain summit is a practice of physical and inward focus where faith, art and lived experience converge. The church bell does not prescribe religious practice; instead, it resonates as an echo—an effort to hold shadow and light in fragile balance.

Music forms the poem’s inner life. The sustained drone of the tanpura, the closeness of greenery, and the movement of waterfalls shape an unrestrained perception in which love, sorrow, and joy flow together.

Creation here is patient and ongoing. Poetry is not an ornament but the yield of labour, refined through practice and technique. Within the labyrinth, time appears suspended: boundaries dissolve, seasons lose certainty, and beginnings and endings merge. The Root of Time affirms this dynamic permanence—time advances, yet rests quietly upon an enduring root, where memory and dream become indistinguishable.

Select language