Terrains of Truth

i remember being with a
trekkers tribe once at the
Shivalik in Himachal.
amongst a drunken,
singing ring of
backpackers around a
sputtering golden fire,
and four greasy whole chickens
sweating on the flames.
the stars hung low in
the night’s looming net:
like balled tea leaves in a
strainer, as we drank the dark
that filled the cup of our eyes,
over moist whispering and words
that became intangible
smoke leaving our mouth.

‘it's gonna get colder through
the night’, the instructor remarked
gulping from his hip flask.
that all tracks would be
snow laden tomorrow, and we
would have to shovel our ways
into the trek. but I wonder anyone
paid a heed. we were stranded at
a remote hilltop cut off from all
possible mode of communication -
from sustainability and comfort,
from sunshine and abundant oxygen.
and the only way out being the way ahead:
of wading through steep snowy terrains,
and unyielding pine forests
waving in the blizzard with ice in their veins.

i sensed a deja vu,
for it felt a lot like love.
of how it happens to us.
and when. amid the wilderness
of our hearts when we are
most unguarded, open,
vulnerable. when our feelings
are buds unopened, seeking
sunshine, and the sky denies
and darkens, raining in hails
to deny all blossoms of desire.
i have known people perish in
test, giving up, renouncing thereafter
the idea of courtship. but i have also
known souls who braves the
torment with arms crossed on their
wounded chest, half-smiling and
hopeful about gentle winds and clear
sunshine that lurks behind all devastations.

that night on the mountain i was
glad to be be amongst the tougher
bunch. the ones who looked ahead,
into the climb, on an airless,
snow-shielded morning on the Himalayas.
the ones who didn't consider calamities,
let alone fear, put up against
their ardent love for mountains.
and as it started to snow with flakes
floating into our faces, i saw men lift
their smiling gazes at each other,
opening their arms in welcoming
to their partners who nestled in their chest
with trembling jaws and purest joy.
i watched them retire to tents,
booze in hand and clammy chunks
of chicken on paper plates.

and surrounded by the medley of
feasting shadows on fluttering
tent walls, i felt no cold, no hunger.
but the profound reverberation of
hearts put together in hardship
caressing my conscience -
that love and only love is the
answer to this ailing world
fragmented by differences -
like forgotten songs awoken
in one’s heart and set on tune,
to a lost lover’s forgiving kiss.

- sobhan