under the moraines

Knowing that the temples around Pushkar top the remains of glacial moraines brings things into a new perspective. Time, scale and significance play in my mind. For thousands of years, more like millions, these sentinels of the desert have watched the water flow and seep into the earth nourishing the plants and feeding the animals, all of which have changed from snow covered winter pelts to brilliant and dazzling saris that saunter through dirty alleyways

The rituals, rites and essence of the people have been borne from these places. Thousands flock to the flanks of the valley, staking their claim to existence amongst the picturesque sunsets and pigeon shit.


Bathing under shoeless feet, chanting as one being, breathing the same air to feel connected. But always segregated. This folly the moraines have forever craned over forever, they’ve felt the pitiful grandeur of concrete to appease effigies of the mind, sat watching sins wash away to bring light to the din of people’s destiny.

Uniforms, megaphones, block printed cloth, camel husbands and chief ministers all play their part in this sinister scam for consciousness. I am but a lame participant, staring through a lens at the cacophony of culture that subsides down the valley 

Sounds of the city ring, the freedom of having no phone deafens me to the din

Chanting, people cling to the only hope of retribution or absolution from the pollution that fills their worrisome heads; Priests, saints, goads and goods all traded for piece of mind.

Scorched stretched lips cracked in appreciation.                    

There’s nothing like a perfect sunset

to check out some more of Pushkar fairing, check out;

Pushkar Camel Fairing

Pushkar from the top of 7th Heaven

Sun, sweat, pale dress on dark skin

Hillocks like the deserts humps hide water as cellars do wine

Eyes of time hide the sublime, behind a glazed shine

Climbing from the aeolian landscape, 

shrines enslave humankind in every enclave of the mind

Sentinel towers shelter cowering trees

Temples protect these ‘developing world’ people from the liberated western uncertainty

The scar of sunset, sweet sweat dries on dark flesh

Ghats capture the gods nectar

Where once alluvial veins drained silt knee deep by the hectare

grains give way to brains, that which’s for sale

Kites rise to meet the still sky as  

lost laconic clouds lay in the dying light

Complexions, complexity and dexterity of culture 

                                                                                       I can’t buy into, but only swim through

                                                                                                      

the pain of a thousand pasts smudging glass goggles

like paid ranking search results on google

you want to know them all, down the rabbit warren of each

here on this desert beach, enlightenment might just be in reach,

but I can’t care from this seat i can watch the sunset, 

besides I’m parched as...

It's a slow drain, light to dark 


If you want to see some more photos from Pushkar, check out: http://picasaweb.google.com/jai.allison/AroundPushkarCamelFair?feat=directlink

an oldy but a goody

Check out some more of Jailo's mountain dreaming on Inspirazzi

http://inspirazzi.blogspot.com/2010/07/truly-living-is.html

a mountain goddess

Everything before now has been an introduction to...

She, an uncertain giant to the outside,
solid as a mountain inside
Unable to hide
The droves come striding
up the canyons we clamber
forgetting our homes as we sleep in the red panda’s abode

She, Eternal purity
a brand man’s dream
An adolescent Waiting
for lens and screen

Growing pains razor up the ridgeline seam of her scree slope dress.
her screams of distress in the avalanches that ingest the best hopes of her disciples
or the schemes of those that cling to obscene concepts of conquering her tiara
Men with Dumpies and sonar measure her scars to calculate how close the sky they could climb forgetting how far they’ve actually come just to sit by her side and watch a sunset die in the sublime



The river: Milky, white liquid ice cream, poured from sloping hips of snow, slows in glaciers then rushes forth coursing from her rivulet veins, pounding the rocks that strain against

She, keeps her toes in the icy cold flows while
Wild goat meadows billow in the morning mist
Shrouds come as Moslem women in a crowd
But none know of a heart throbbing, hobbled to Himalaya chain
On a clear day with eyes strained she can see the rain clouds pound Bengal’s bay
Blue hues hide a solem mood
Mute to others ears no one listens to her fears as she strikes adrenaline into theirs


what are the dreams of a mountain goddess?

Just to be?
or
to chase kangaroos through desert open space?
to lay with a lover face to face?
to slip slowly into warm salt water?
or
Just to... swim into freedom?

If you want to see some more pics check out
team picaso take on lang tang

More Mountain stories on Jailosmiles

Check out some stories of adventures, the first one from the mountains

http://jailosmiles.blogspot.com/

a pomegranate to please

hands welt to claim conviction

tongue whelps for distinction

a mountain un-climbable

holding on my heart

anticipation of crunch undefinable

cleave a crutch

along untouchable thigh lines

find Rubies, Rambunctious, raunchy, ripe and ready

edgy in expectation

poised, plump in pantyhose

there’s pattern in the panic of falling love red pearls

roses blossoming amongst milky skin

to straining sticky hands lovers cling

 

sensuality made simple

to taste pleasure

 

No knuckled knees needed,

fingers deseed this sensual queen

shiver to the touch of tongue

an overflowing moon

brings eve’s blood tinge

life shines discoloured… from my fingers drip

is it love on my lips

or murder and sin

lost satisfaction on the floor?

dream forever more

of red dress blemished skin, hiding pomegranate hips

After

only the stains remain

so i sleep now in desire