Chronicle of the Nomad

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright -Björn Rudberg

The grass grew in tussocks along the flight of stone stairs.  The moss clung to walls and the wild flowers that smelled like honey danced in the winter sun. 

The fort still conveyed a sense of lost grandeur, with its double-storied bastions and gigantic towers that housed within the grand palace and audience halls.   But nature was waging a war on the abandoned fort and winning.

In its place now stood a crumbling edifice fighting the vicissitudes of time.

Sab thaath para rehjavega, Jab laad chalega banjara

(All your splendor will lie useless, when the nomad packs-up and leaves).

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Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

When I wrote my last blog post Fragrance of Memories little did I know that I would be attending my mother's funeral in less than a week.  So when I saw this week's prompt of the crumbling ruins, I was reminded of these lines from Banjaranama that my mother used to often quote.

If you are a millionaire, and your stores are brimming,
Know, O ignorant! There is always another merchant who is even greater than you.
What of your sugar, candy, jaggery and nuts? What of your doughs, sweet and salty?
What of your grapes, raisins, ginger and pepper? What of your saffron, cloves and betel?
All your splendor will lie useless, when the nomad packs-up and leaves.

I will miss her but I am grateful to all these little nuggets that she left behind which remain close to my heart.

Fragrance of Memories

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright Janet Webb

When growing up, I watched my mother wield a large pair of clippers and go at the Cherry Blossoms that edged our yard.  She would fill a vase with warm water and dunk the spindly branches with buds that were still tight. 

Within a week we would witness the unfurling with an unbounded joy that still stays with me.

In the first year without her, an unseasonal storm left us carpeted under snow.  When it was over I ventured outside with the clippers in my hand.

Later the family gathered around the flowers and inhaled the fragrance of her memories.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

No songs this time only a link to a poem