Pebble Beach Rocks
(1)
Out here in the Pacific
Along the Pebble Beach
The rocks bare their torsos
To the mighty elements -
The sun, wind and waves -
That chisel and sculpt them
Into myriad magical shapes.
The rocks sit there since aeons
Stroked fondly by unseen hands
That paint with unique pastels -
Of lichen, moss and fungus -
Murals of yellow, green and red
That neither mortals nor angels
Can ever create.
(2)
There are more rocks here,
Big and broad and bare,
Silver-grey, black and craggy,
Stretching out into the sea -
An open-air aviary
Where pelicans, gulls, cormorants
Roost in complete harmony.
They assemble in large flocks
Silhouetted against the sun
Like a congregation of priests
In beautiful black attires
Heads bowed in evening prayer
As the sun dips imperceptibly
And gently blows the balmy breeze
And the restless waves
Charged with love's ache
Embrace the longing shores
Churning the songs of eternity
Reciting the mantra:
Om bhur bhva swaha.
Rust Trees at Point Lobos
With gnarled trunks and curvy limbs
Denuded of your dress and cover
Web-like lacy strands of rust
Tangled around your torsos
You stand with tiny footholds
At the edge of the world
Drought stricken and windswept
Holding tenuously on your own
In coves and groves and on the cliffs
Feeding through the chinks in rocks
Drinking from the amorous mists
Striking a Tandava pose
A picture of transcendence.