Like a call from somewhere beyond everything.

Amazement.

Dusk, with its confusion of colors,

Like a sun spreading its arms wide to bid a goodbye,

Beyond comprehension.

The moon,

Saying a glittering faint hallo in the night,

Dark facades on the corners evoking a desire to know more.

Helpless.

A storm brewing, the dark clouds gather to create lines of connection to earth,

You need to hide,

But the clouds erode that fear.

Illusion.

Like someone turning on a light beyond the clouds,

Thunder.

A sign of warning.

The universe's language.

You yearn to learn.

She smiles, eyes closed,

Arms reaching to hug instinctively.

Love.

Beyond description.

Now in Chennai,

hands on a keyboard,

He knows what I'm writing about.

What I'm feeling about.

What I mean.

As his fingers strike a note, and his voice hums a note.

It's all obscure, you do not know where it’s coming from,

but it flows through your veins,

It purifies you, nourishes you,

makes you a new man every moment.

Is it the hand of God? You do not know.

But your hands play.

It's a gift.

Not a gift of Oscars, but a gift of feeling connected.

Connected with the real orchestrator of all these opulent designs.

Your hands on that keyboard is your gift,

My hands typing this out here is my gift.

All the miles apart,

We live in the same world,

I know what drives you, as it drives me too.

But you have travelled the path before me.

Thus I look upon the mountain peak.

Humility.

And I know I will get there, to join you.

Dreams.

The best thing of them all.

Ram Anand. 2010.

Dedicated for AR Rahman.

Regards,
Ram Anand.
ram.observer88@gmail.com