Ruskin Bond's Book of Verse Read online

  Most lives run riot—

  But the bud opens silently,

  And flower gives way to fruit.

  So must we search

  For the stillness within the tree,

  The silence within the root.

  Listen!

  Listen to the night wind in the trees,

  Listen to the summer grass singing;

  Listen to the time that’s tripping by,

  And the dawn dew falling.

  Listen to the moon as it climbs the sky,

  Listen to the pebbles humming;

  Listen to the mist in the trembling leaves,

  And the silence calling.

  Firefly in My Room

  Last night, as I lay sleepless

  In the summer dark

  With window open to invite a breeze,

  Softly a firefly flew in

  And circled round the room

  Twinkling at me from floor or wall

  Or ceiling, never long in one place

  But lighting up little spaces…

  A friendly presence, dispelling

  The settled gloom of an unhappy day.

  And after it had gone, I left

  The window open, just in case

  It should return.

  Rain

  After weeks of heat and dust

  How welcome is the rain.

  It washes the leaves,

  Gives new life to grass,

  Draws out the scent of the earth.

  It rattles on the roof,

  Gurgles along the drainpipe

  Collects in a puddle in the middle of the lawn—

  The birds come to bathe.

  When the sun comes out

  A lizard crawls up from a crack in a rock.

  ‘Small brown lizard

  Basking in the sun

  You too have your life to live

  Your race to run.’

  At night we look through the branches

  Of the cherry tree.

  The sky is rain washed, star-bright.

  The Owl

  At night, when all is still,

  The forest’s sentinel

  Glides silently across the hill

  And perches in an old pine tree.

  A friendly presence his!

  No harm can come

  From night bird on the prowl.

  His cry is mellow,

  Much softer than a peacock’s call.

  Why then this fear of owls

  Calling in the night?

  If men must speak,

  Then owls must hoot—

  They have the right.

  On me it casts no spell:

  Rather, it seems to cry,

  ‘The night is good—all’s well, all’s well.’

  The Snail

  Leaving the safety of a rocky ledge

  The snail sets out

  On his long journey

  Across a busy path.

  The grass is greener on the other side!

  For tender leaf or juicy stem

  He’ll brave the hazards of the road.

  Not made to dodge or weave or run

  He must await each threatening step

  Chancing his luck

  Keeping his tentacles crossed!

  Though all unaware

  Of the dangers of being squashed

  He does not pause or flinch—

  A cartwheel misses by an inch!—

  But slithers on,

  Intent on dinner.

  He’s there at last, his prize—

  Rich leaf-mould where the grass grows tall.

  I salute you, Snail.

  Somehow, you’ve made me feel quite small.

  The Snake

  When, after days of rain,

  The sun appears

  The snake emerges,

  Green-gold on the grass.

  Kept in so long,

  He basks for hours

  Soaks up the hot bright sun.

  Knowing how shy he is of me,

  I walk a gentle pace

  Letting him doze in peace.

  But to the snake, earth-bound

  Each step must sound like thunder.

  He glides away

  Goes underground.

  I’ve known him for some years:

  A harmless green grass-snake

  Who, when he sees me on the path,

  Uncoils and disappears.

  Once You Have Lived with Mountains

  Once you have lived with mountains

  Under the whispering pines

  And deodars, near stars

  And a brighter moon,

  With wood smoke and mist

  Sweet smell of grass, dew lines

  On spider-spun, sun-kissed

  Buttercup and vine;

  Once you have lived with these,

  Blessed, God’s favourite then,

  You will return,

  You will come back

  To touch the trees and grass

  And climb once more the windswept mountain pass.

  The Trees

  At seven, when dusk slips over the mountains

  The trees start whispering among themselves.

  They have been standing still all day.

  But now they stretch their limbs in the dark

  Shifting a little, flexing their fingers

  Remembering the time when

  They too walked the earth with men.

  They know me well, these trees:

  Oak and walnut, spruce and pine

  They know my face in the windows

  They know me for a dreamer of dreams

  A world-loser, one of them.

  They watch me while I watch them grow.

  I listen to their whisperings,

  Their own mysterious diction;

  And bow my head before their arms

  And ask for benediction.

  Butterfly Time

  April showers

  Bring swarms of butterflies

  Streaming across the valley

  Seeking sweet nectar.

  Yellow, gold, and burning bright,

  Red and blue and banded white.

  To my eyes they bring delight!

  Theirs a long and arduous flight,

  Here today and off tomorrow,

  Floating on, bright butterflies,

  To distant bowers.

  For Nature does things in good order:

  And birds and butterflies recognize

  No man-made border.

  Dandelion

  I think it’s an insult

  To Nature’s generosity

  That many call this cheerful flower

  A ‘common weed’.

  How dare they so degrade

  A flower divinely made!

  Sublimely does it bloom and seed

  In sunshine or in shade,

  Thriving in wind and rain,

  On stony soil

  On walls or steps

  On strips of waste;

  Tough and resilient,

  Giving delight

  When other flowers are out of sight.

  And when its puff-ball comes to fruit

  You make a wish and blow it clean away:

  ‘Please make my wish come true,’ you say.

  And if you’re kind and pure of heart,

  Who knows? This magic flower might just respond

  And help you on your way.

  Good dandelion,

  Be mine today.

  Night Thoughts

  This mountain is my mother,

  My father is the sea,

  This river is the fountain

  Of all that life may be…

  Swift river from the mountain,

  Deep river to the sea,

  Take all my words and leave them

  Where the west wind sets them free.

  So, piper on the lonely hill,

  Play no sad songs for me;

  The day has gone, sweet night comes on, />
  Its darkness helps me see.

  Wild Is the Wind

  Wild is the wind tonight,

  Deep is the thunder,

  Lightning across the sky

  Splits it asunder.

  Witches will ride tonight,

  Ranging the sky,

  Wizards will cast their spells—

  Great men will die.

  Who’ll be my guide tonight,

  Starless the sky;

  Who’ll brave the demons

  Now riding so high.

  I’ll take the road alone,

  I’ll reach my goal;

  Witches and wizards

  Must yield to man’s soul.

  The Whistling Schoolboy

  From the gorge above Gangotri

  Down to Kochi by the sea,

  The whistling-thrush keeps singing

  That same sweet melody.

  He was a whistling schoolboy once,

  Who heard god Krishna’s flute,

  And tried to play the same sweet tune,

  But touched a faulty note.

  Said Krishna to the errant youth—

  A bird you must become,

  And you shall whistle all your days

  Until your song is done.

  These Simple Things

  The simplest things in life are best—

  A patch of green,

  A small bird’s nest,

  A drink of water, fresh and cold,

  The taste of bread,

  A song of old;

  These are the things that matter most.

  The laughter of a child,

  A favourite book,

  Flowers growing wild,

  A cricket singing in a shady nook.

  A ball that bounces high!

  A summer shower,

  A rainbow in the sky,

  The touch of a loving hand,

  And time to rest—

  These simple things in life are best.

  A Bedbug Gives Thanks

  I’m a child of the Universe

  Claimed the bug

  As he crawled out of the woodwork.

  I’ve every right

  To be a blight.

  To Infinite Intelligence I owe

  My place—

  Chief pest

  Upon the human race!

  I’m here to stay—

  To feast upon their delicate display,

  Those luscious thighs,

  Those nooks and crannies

  Where the blood runs sweet.

  No, no, I don’t despise

  These creatures made for my delight.

  A kind Creator had my needs in mind…

  I thank you, Lord, for human-kind.

  Childhood

  Sweet Dolly

  Sweet Dolly, you’re the girl for me,

  Kind Dolly, I shall always see

  You climbing in your father‘s garden,

  Picking apples off a tree,

  Sorting out the rosy ones

  And giving them to me!

  Boy in a Blue Pullover

  Boy in a faded blue pullover,

  Poor boy, thin, smiling boy,

  Ran down the road shouting,

  Singing, flinging his arms wide.

  I stood in the way and stopped him.

  ‘What’s up?’ I said. ‘Why are you happy?’

  He showed me the nickel rupee-coin.

  ‘I found it on the road,’ he said.

  And he held it to the light

  That he might see it shining bright.

  ‘And how will you spend it,

  Small boy in blue pullover?’

  ‘I’ll buy—

  I’ll buy a buckle for my belt!’

  Slim boy, smart boy,

  Would buy a buckle for his belt

  Coin clutched in his hot hand,

  He ran off laughing, bright.

  The coin I’d lost an hour ago;

  But better his that night.

  Little One Don’t Be Afraid

  Little one, don’t be afraid of this big river.

  Be safe in these warm arms for ever.

  Grow tall, my child, be wise and strong.

  But do not take from any man his song.

  Little one, don’t be afraid of this dark night.

  Walk boldly as you see the truth and light.

  Love well, my child, laugh all day long,

  But do not take from any man his song.

  View from the Window

  I’m in bed with fever

  but the fever’s not high.

  Beside my bed is a window

  and I like looking out at all

  that’s happening around me.

  The cherry leaves are turning a dark green.

  On the maple tree, winged seeds spin round and round

  There is fruit on the wild blackberry bushes.

  Two mynah birds are building a nest in a hole—

  They are very noisy about it.

  Bits of grass keep falling on the window sill.

  High up in the spruce tree, a hawk-cuckoo calls:

  ‘I slept so well, I slept so well!’

  When the hawk-cuckoo is awake, no one else sleeps

  That’s why it’s also known as the fever bird.

  A small squirrel climbs on the window sill.

  He’s been coming every day since I’ve been ill,

  and I give him crumbs from my tray.

  A boy on a mule passes by on the rough mountain track.

  He sees my face at the window and waves to me.

  I wave back to him.

  When I’m better I’ll ask him to let me ride his mule.

  Cherry Tree

  Eight years have passed

  Since I placed my cherry seed in the grass.

  ‘Must have a tree of my own,’ I said—

  And watered it once and went to bed

  And forgot; but cherries have a way of growing

  Though no one’s caring very much or knowing,

  And suddenly that summer, near the end of May,

  I found a tree had come to stay.

  It was very small, a five months’ child,

  Lost in the tall grass running wild.

  Goats ate the leaves, a grasscutter’s scythe

  Split it apart, and a monsoon blight

  Shrivelled the slender stem…Even so,

  Next spring I watched three new shoots grow,

  The young tree struggle, upwards thrust

  Its arms in a fresh fierce lust

  For light and air and sun.

  I could only wait, as one

  Who watches, wondering, while Time and the rain

  Made a miracle from green growing pain…

  I went away next year—

  Spent a season in Kashmir—

  Came back thinner, rather poor,

  But richer by a cherry tree at my door.

  Six feet high, my own dark cherry,

  And—I could scarcely believe it—a berry,

  Ripened and jewelled in the sun,

  Hung from a branch—just one!

  And next year there were blossoms, small

  Pink, fragile, quick to fall

  At the merest breath, the sleepiest breeze…

  I lay on the grass, at ease,

  Looked up through leaves, at the blue

  Blind sky, at the finches as they flew

  And flitted through the dappled green,

  While bees in an ecstasy drank

  Of nectar from each bloom, and the sun sank

  Swiftly, and the stars turned in the sky,

  And moon-moths and singing crickets and I—

  Yes, I!—praised night and stars and tree:

  A small, tall cherry grown by me.

  Kites

  Are you listening to me, boy?

  I am only your kitemaker,

  My poems are flimsy things

  Torn by the wind, caught in mango trees,

  Gay sport fo
r boys and dreamers.

  My silent songs. But once I fashioned

  A kite like a violin,

  She sang most mournfully, like the wind

  In tall deodars.

  Are you listening? Remember

  The Dragon Kite I made one summer?

  No, you are too young. A great

  Kite, with small mirrors to catch the sun

  And eyes and a tongue, and gold

  Trappings and a trailing silver tail.

  A kite for the gods to ride!

  And it rose most sweetly, but the wind

  Came up from nowhere,

  A wind in waiting for us,

  My twine snapped and the wind took the kite,

  Took it over the flat roofs

  And the waving trees and the river

  And the blue hills for ever.

  No one knew where it fell. Boy, are you

  Listening? All my kites

  Are torn, but for you I’ll make a bright

  New poem to fly.

  I Was the Wind Last Night

  I was the wind last night.

  I vaulted the river and swam seven mountains.

  And turned aside the tall trees guarding the valley.

  I caught glimpses of you through the window as I wandered around the little house.

  They wouldn’t let me in; too cold a wind!

  I hung about listlessly, afraid to call too loud.

  Then like a weary man limped homewards over the sleeping mountains

  When will I learn the value of stillness?

  Tigers Forever

  May there always be tigers, Lord.

  In the jungles and tall grass

  May the tiger’s roar be heard,

  May his thunder

  Be known in the land.

  At the forest pool, by moonlight

  May he drink and raise his head

  Scenting the night wind.

  May he crouch low in the grass

  When the herdsmen pass,

  And slumber in dark caverns

  When the sun is high.

  May there always be tigers, Lord.

  But not so many that one of them

  Might be tempted to come into my bedroom

  In search of a meal!

  Evening by the Fireside

  Boy by the fire dreaming

  Baby sleeping

  Mother nodding, knitting

  Father reading

  Wood crackling, spitting

  Wind in the chimney humming

  Old house creaking

  Small mouse squeaking

  No one speaking…

  Baby waking!

  Boy hungry

  Mother grumbly

  Father rumbly-bumbly

  Baby shrieking!

  Old house shaking

  Small mouse squeaking

  Wind in chimney howling

  Everyone shouting, scowling

  Baby yowling!

  Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark

  Don’t be afraid of the dark, little one,

  The earth must rest when the day is done.

  The sun may be harsh, but moonlight—never!

  And those stars will be shining forever and ever,

  Be friends with the Night, there is nothing to fear,

  Just let your thoughts travel to friends far and near.