Precious and Rare

Walking alone in the hills,
I watched the sky herd clouds
toward some distant thirsty place.

The hills tried to hide,
their emerald crowns.
Inside the moving clouds
Though in vain
Rains had turned to a trickle,
and as I absorbed the cold, bleak view,
it warmed a place deep inside
I had forgotten existed.

Then, when I was not looking,
nor searching for it,
a stream appeared,
moving lazily, almost still,
down the gentle slope.

Was it the clear water,
the ripples,
stones skinny dipping,
leaves drifting at random
or the subtle chaos of waves,
or a diva’s indifference
to everything?

Felt there was more to it
Than something commonplace
I didn’t realise it then
Believing everything repeats
Again and again

Years later it returns
Vivid and whole
The precious stream
Along with those same clouds,
and the hills and that rain
And those moments
May never be felt again
Every moment is precious
Every moment is equally rare

©️ Shashikant Dudhgaonkar