Perhaps

Fern growing on lava rock.  Hawaii Volcanoes National Park.

Fern growing on lava rock. Hawaii Volcanoes National Park.

What wasn’t mine can be mine perhaps
Time can turn grapes into wine perhaps.

Where do they dole out epiphanies?
Tell me, I’d stand in line perhaps.

Having drifted at the turn of events,
Couldn’t we rewind and realign perhaps?

Truthiness flies at the speed of twitter
While truth reclines and lays supine, perhaps.

Give it one more chance, one more try
Mistakes happen, that, you must divine perhaps!

Still afraid though the act is sanctioned?
Rendezvous in a manner that’s clandestine perhaps.

Don’t fret so much, don’t judge harshly,
If it seems real, than let ’Mirage’ opine perhaps.


Notes:
Continuing with the ghazal form in English. A friend, a poet, had suggested that in English, having the refrain (radiff) as the first word of the line and the rhyme (qafiiyah) ending the line, seems to work better. Initially, I tried couple of couplets this way.  Here is how the whole ghazal reads.  But, I ended up liking the rhythm and the sound of the traditional format better.

Perhaps what wasn’t mine can be mine
Perhaps time can turn grapes into wine

Where do they dole out epiphanies?
Perhaps, if you’d tell me, I’d stand in line.

Having drifted at the turn of events,
Perhaps we can rewind and realign.

Truthiness flies at the speed of twitter, while
Perhaps, truth reclines and lays supine.

Give it one more chance, one more try
Perhaps, mistakes happen, that you divine.

Still afraid though the act is sanctioned?
Perhaps, rendezvous in a manner that’s clandestine.

Don’t fret so much, don’t judge harshly,
Perhaps, if it seems real, than let ‘Mirage’ opine.

On the Way Down

Oneonta Gorge (C) Aashish Vaidya

Oneonta Gorge
(C) Aashish Vaidya

Bradbury: “jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down.”
Tell the GPS to get lost.  Meander, wander and perform hijinks on the way down.

Through the off-track gorge, wade waist deep in snow melts over felled timber and rocks
Before the falls, witness on black basalt, how green fern, moss and epiphyte lichen clings on the way down.

Before cool cats can play jazz or improvise ragas, there are arrhythmic fluttering and off-tune warbling,
Before the reign of melodies and symphonies, cacophony rules and sings on the way down.

Before the meditative fields of color and light, before the Chapel in Houston and hanging palimpsests
Marcus must have splayed at Lincoln High, imperfect Patones on aquarelles and made mundane canvas coatings, on the way down.

Juxtaposed words may actually flow like “wine upon lips”, and Magnum Opus may emerge, someday
Someday a masterpiece may not be a ‘Mirage’.  For now, suffice with  mediocre musings and wordings on the way down.

Notes:

Jumping off point for this ghazal was the Ray Bradbury quote.  If there intertubes got it correct than the longer quote reads like this:

If we listened to our intellect we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go in business because we’d be cynical: “It’s gonna go wrong.” Or “She’s going to hurt me.” Or,”I’ve had a couple of bad love affairs, so therefore . . .” Well, that’s nonsense. You’re going to miss life. You’ve got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down. 

The small snippet in the maqta (last couplet) is from Virginia Woolf – “Language is wine upon the lips.”

The reference to Lincoln High alumnus Marcus can be found here.  And the info on the gorge referenced can be found here.