Y is for You and I and Yesterday #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the penultimate post of  the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

Today, I'm sharing a poem about an ordinary, everyday, evanescent moment that got captured in the amber of attention and turned into a delight.

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

One of the Eight Zen Lessons for an Ichigo Ichie Life, listed in The Book of Ichigo Ichie is:

Savour this moment as if it were your last breath.

You can live only one day at a time, and no one can be certain that they will wake up the next morning. So, let's not postpone happiness. 

The best moment of your life is always this one.

This happened one morning as I lay in bed; in the in-between time of sleep and wakefulness.

When words pitter patter on half-opened eyelids, magic mingles with moments that hang precariously on the edges of that which has been lived and that which is yet to be.

I try to hold on to them in my hands, my mind, capture them in my pen to feed the hungry, empty pages of my notebook lying by the bed. But, they flutter away as gently as they'd arrived into crevices that exist in between wakefulness and dreams.

Yesterday, while I lay in bed looking at my love, the early morning sun reached him and me, rising through paper blinds that hang from our bedroom window beams.

These words appeared or did I see them for the first time?

Perhaps, they've always been planted inside those translucent concertina folds of the paper blinds.

I don't know, but a love poem rose with diamonds of dust and settled on wrinkles of pillow covers, dove blue-pale and soft with washes. 

The poem is called You and I.

I shared it on Instagram--so, it may be familiar to some who read it then.

You and I

You and I

we fit

your breath, my skin

my kiss, your lips

your heart, our beat

gaps between my fingers

your presence fills.

You and I

we fit

like dew on petal

one on one

complete.

A moment such as this

captured in bliss

you and I

we fit.

Just in case you're wondering about the overly romantic tone of today's post, let me shift the blame from my heart and put it squarely in the weather gods' box. It's raining in Doha!

This happens rarely and last year we didn't get much rain at all. So, it's celebration time. I can hear birdsong over the pitter-patter of rainfall, the neem blooms are dancing like drunken souls, all the leaves--big, small, lush, dusty look like they've seen God. They look so happy. The bulbul and the mynah aren't taking refuge. No sir! They're busy gobbling mulberries and dancing on the branches. Pink Oleander blooms are nodding as if to say--these young'uns -- and the blushing bunches of Madhumalti (Rangoon creeper) from the other end of the garden are sighing happily --'Yes, We know!' they whisper to the music of this long-awaited rain.

We are all dancing with joy.

I had to capture this precious, precious moment for who knows when the clouds will get heavy again and when they will want to let go of their burden and when the stars will align for their shedding to happen over Doha sky? Who knows.

The rain is distracting me:)

I almost forgot to mention that if by chance (after reading the poem above) you're imagining the husband to be flawless and that the two of us often sing duets into sunsets, let me stop you right there. He comes with as many faults as I do.

But his biggest obsession that I have the strongest objection to is his phone. Yes, I understand his work demands it--no, seriously, it does. But Covid-19 induced sequestering had taken his obsession to a new galactic level.

There I was--paying attention to dust diamonds and there he was -- paying no attention to what I was saying. All his attention was dedicated to the phone screen. I would've called it murdering Ichigo Ichie if I had known the term then. But I didn't. So what did I do? I wrote a poem, recorded it and shared it on Mirchi Scribbled.

He got the message loud and clear. He was the one who recorded it! He had to listen. I'm glad to report that he makes time to put his phone down and listen, really listen these days. We are both learning to find our way to be more like dewdrops and petals.

If you're wondering what I'm on about, you'll understand after you watch it:

It's called, Yesterday is not alive.

When I saw the video again, just before posting it, I noticed all the faults/mistakes/pauses/ fumbles but after the X post of yesterday, I'm cutting myself some slack and offering you poetry with a grateful heart.

Are you a lover of rain?

Do you live with someone who's too attached to their phone screen or any screen?

Do you write letters or poetry to make your voice heard?

You know I'd love to hear, if you'd like to share.

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com