Chandrataal (Moon Lake) in the Spiti region of the Himalayas

Indian Standard Time

Who would have guessed
that April would bring more
than spring rains in the West?
April delivered you in the East,
a downpour upon the parched
landscapes of my solitary world.

May opened, unfurled, bloomed
into the roses of the Himalayas,
yet the sweet sightings of you
became scarce and fleeting
and the nourishing drops
of the preceding moon
subsided and moved
on to other domains.

When June appeared,
thankfully you did too,
reaching just after dawn
upon early summer winds,
this time for a longer sojourn
deep within my heart and arms.

Yet even the best months end
in the rushing river of time
and this being wonders
whether the monsoon
is still planning to arrive.
Do the heavy clouds desire
to burst overhead and shower
upon the ground that is thirsting
for the pure water of eternal love?
How long must the dehydrated
hills and sun-drenched trees
wait for rivulets and roots
to swell with liquid light?

Even if there is no July,
even if there is no August,
even if there is no September,
October, November, December,
even if there is only the memory
of the mountain springs of love,
a lonely and empty streambed,
this heart, this body, this soul
will never forget this feeling,
the longing of God for God,
or the tears of recognition
that poured from heaven
when we stood together
in the land of the Divine
on Indian Standard Time.

20 June 2024
New Delhi, India

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