Lo’ behold, there she comes!

My heart skips a beat,
A blunt blow on my ribs,
The wind out of my system,
Breathless I behold the sight.
Reality blurs, even as the scene
Sinks in, like a divine insight.
My heart kneels to the beauty.
My breath returns as an after
Thought, to make me live and
Say the next words. My soul
Descends again from the Gods,
To Man’s. But in a flash of
The turning dials, I have seen
That spark that ignites thoughts,
Creates poets, inspires Man to
Levitate to the heavens. And yet
Be grounded to the Earth’s stables,
Where, the sight beckons me,
Again and again and again……
Lo’ behold, there she comes!

The Winds of Change

We come running, like children
To the mother, in pure love,
In fiducially simple affection,
To the singular fondle, with
Outstretched arms, in blind
Faith, to the power of Love.
What chant is this, that echoes
Through our world, of birth and
Death; and the game in between?
People, people and more people,
Those levers that turn the world,
That make us a part of the picture,
A mere part. Yet, to fill the frame.
Yet, to form the whole. Yet, as a part
Of perfection. Yet, to learn the Truth.
Straddled on our humanness, humbled
By the enormity of the endeavor, we
Ride the horse called life. Flow, the
Winds of change; flow forever, break
The structure. Break our chains, for us,
We who love our cuffs, built the forts,
With compromised walls, with blind
Compliance to the codes. Break the chains
That let us plunder, those that let us hate
Without remorse, sin with purpose, lie
With a smile and betray with a justified
Relief. Let us run into caring hands,
Let us be lifted by strength and care,
By firm shoulders, sure in giving Love,
Unhindered by the chains that held us.
Break our chains, for us, within us
Flow, O’ the Winds of Change, Flow.

I am like the flute.....

I am like the flute.
With a thousand tunes, yet
To be touched, to be felt,
Waiting for music to be borne
By my soul, created by you
The wind. I wait, in lonesome
Patience, with sojourn causal,
In expectant, stymied arousal.
Is this the message of the wind?
In this long night, is this my
Mind’s empty key you send?
With every breeze to be irked?
With every wisp to be sulked?
With every moment to be longing?
With every emotion to be killed?

Why do I see so much?

In your sweet voice,
In your tilted stance,
In your dancing gait,
In your lingering laughter,
In your beautiful mind,
In your sculpted body,
Why do I see so much?

Like the canvas of a Master,
A new meaning every moment,
A new fragrance everyday.
Like the Truth of the God,
Mystical in meaning,
Enduring in relevance,
In you, my exotic Princess,
Why do I see so much?

In your gentle words,
In your caring touch,
In your fierce Pride,
I see the Mother of us.
Why do I see so much?

In your playful moods,
In your little demands,
In your heartfelt tears,
In your stubborn stands,
I see my wonderful daughter.
Why do I see so much?

In your fertile soul,
In your wise thoughts,
In your meaning words,
In your poetic verses,
I see my best friend.
Why do I see so much?

Like seeing myself, in an
Ornate carved mirror.
Why do I see so much?
Why do I see myself?

In my expression,
In my exasperation,
In my malice, I see a window,
With fire, its light and warmth.
Why do I see so much?

In the rustling breeze,
In the humming bees,
In the moment’s lightning,
In the voices around me,
I see your splendor.
Why do I see so much?

Why, I see so little ……

Castles of Sand.....

Rolling over in laughter,
Reeking with riotous joy,
Drooling with the jibes,
Swinging to the beat - flowing…
Children building our castles,
Of sand, of dreams, of myths,
Of notions, what piles we add,
To our endeavors? O’ what an
Invite to the big wave, our
Perceptions, impressions, to
Bomb it, to crumple it, to brush
It away, in a stormy froth, into
Nothingness, back to where we
Started building. The serene sands,
Open to the impressions, ready to
Be shaped again, by the hands and
The minds. To create the structures,
With deeper meanings this time,
Safer from the killer, but still infirm,
Still a speck in the scape. Learning
Our lessons, rising to build, to create,
We march in unison with the Piper, to
Our ends, with our means, for meanings,
Flowing with the tune, of His melody,
In a blind ritual, with its mysterious rites.

The plane we have reached

The plane we have reached, is
Like a summit scaled in hard
Labor, over treacherous slopes,
Over numbing snow, biting cold,
And howling winds. What a vista
I see now, from the top, in a slope
Of smooth pastures, of dark glades,
Of deep gullies, of the odd rock,
The meandering river, with its
Green lining. There lies the plain,
From where we rose, to reach this
Very high. Now, proud we stand,
With racing hearts, in twitching
Happiness, of the company of us,
Of the color we see from here,
Of the remainder of our destinies.
Things are small, the faults in the
Scene not big; Detached we can be.
We stand here, the mystique of Gems,
Born out of heat, of pressure, polished
To shine, to adorn the crown, to
Rule over. Glowing in our finish,
Smothered by humbleness, craved
To be touched, to be felt, effort to
Be, within us in peace, in comfort,
In Our sacred spaces, in loving care,
In mutual respect, in a wild tryst,
With life, to life, for a life ……

Perfection Vs. Contentment

Content you shall be, they say, the mandarins of the world, to be full with less than full, to be stable at less than ideal. When a dream departs down the drain, “be content”, they cry.

We all have our wants, the very wants that create an imbalance in our system, letting us perceive a state of being where we are less than what we must be, or want to be. The aspired state of being could be ideal, or practical, this being contingent to our attitudes. The satisfaction of these goals would lead to happiness, and getting less than the ideal would lead to us giving in to contentment, that state where we know we don’t have the best and yet prefer to be happy, or it would seem.

Where is happiness without perfection and its balance? There are no shortcuts to good things. Where there are shortcuts, there is no permanence. Hugh Prather said “Happiness is a present attitude and not a future condition”. If happiness were a present attitude, then can it be motivated and cultivated by our externalities? No, attitudes determine our wants and our means to satisfy them.

Rather, happiness is a state of being, there for a moment, before another want takes to a higher or another plane of wanting and effort. Another imbalance has to be reckoned with, and this has to be encountered and satisfied. Yes, achieving a balance is a prerequisite to happiness, and also a precondition.

So, we will run behind an ideal state. When I say an ideal state, I am relegating success as something that exists on paper like a 100% efficient engine. Yes, permanent happiness will be ideal till there are wants, till we crave for something and are willing to pay a price for it. This they call Nirvana.

Everything else is a compromise, damnation to mankind to hide his shortcoming in achieving perfection. Who taught us to be content with what we are and what we have? We prefer to take the easy way, the path of least resistance, in our fear of change. Cloistered within our limitations, not venturing to be anything greater than being merely a part of perfection.

Perfection. This, I think, is the God’s way.

Our Worlds, Our Words

Our worlds, our own citadels,
Our own creations, our own
Space. Like a cobweb of fantasy,
Like a childish dream, we weave
Our ideas around our ideals. The
Two parallel lines have never met,
And so have our worlds been apart.
The lines meet in an illusion, but
Never in a confluence of stability,
Of a coming together in harmony.
When souls converse, words lose.
Rejoice at this rare moment, for the
Purpose of our lives is enabled,
For being in commune with our
Senses, a higher level of talk,
Higher than our shallow causal
Sniveling. The senses expressed
Through themselves, in unrestrained
Abandon of the idea of rational
Ideas, convey more than a word.
Free to wander, free to find,
Free to express, free to touch.

Parody of Work

You sitting there, few feet away
In serious thought, in a mindless
Day dream, with a bamboozled
Look in your round eyes. What
Placidness in your body, in your
Supple limbs. They convey your
Silence, your lack of action. You
Fumble with the keys, struggle
With your posture, yet in
Proud countenance do you seem
To work. What parody is this?

Life

This race to Be,
This game we play,
This frantic pace,
This thing we seek,
This thing called life.
Conceived by love,
Borne by spirit,
Held by particles,
Run by a program,
Thought by a brain,
Enriched by Us,
Celebrated by Me.

The Blade of Grass

I sit, on the banks, the place
So familiar to me. I am in deep
Thought, pondering o’er my life,
In meditation over the past, my
Actions, my good and bad.
There is a blade of grass at my feet,
Still young, two shoots old. Rustling
In the breeze. Joyous it is, with life.
In a swing of my arm, I pluck it out,
From the barren earth, still soft from
The moisture o’ the last rains.
It comes out with its roots, holding
Its life, quivering in my hands.
Feels like I touched the low limits of
My endurance, to my self worth.
I keep looking at it, taking off its
Soiled roots, with the blades left
In my clutch. I took it off its world,
A figment in its destiny to die today.
But why? My mood is not the price
For a life. If I cannot create, can I
Destroy? Can my limitation be the
End of a meek life? I carry the dead
Blade with me, to ponder later. To
Make it a martyr in my struggle
To become a better Man?

O’ you moon

O’ you moon, who shines
So high, in silent glory,
In the purest white, as the
Symbol of solitude, as the
Image of a chastity promised
To man by the Gods, in the
Celebration of excellence in
Spirit. Come down to us moon,
You who are so high, up there
There are no paths for us to
Come to you, neither are there
Ladders. Our necks pain from
Our craned yearning for you.
Shine on our courtyards. Our
Children, play on their brows,
They sleep in sweet innocence,
Make them smile then, in vestal
Satisfaction of the moment, of
Their youth, of their purity.

They come, they go

They come, they go.
They give, they take.
They live, they subsist.
They concede, they counter.
They deride, they praise.
They demand, they deserve.
Program teaches reason.
Reason feeds naivety.
Naivety hounds truth.
Truth defeats the lie.
As I try to reason, as
I search for my meaning,
For one truth, in hard reality,
They feed me with the lessons
Of my life, with the harshness
Of a whip on a colt. They lead
Slow and sure, to the truth itself.
I endure, for truth is sweet.

The Sunshine of My Heart

Oh you, the sunshine of my heart,
Happen like land to the blind sailor.
With the sails, his speed he lost.
With the rudder, his bearing.
Tossed by the seas, by the giant
Waves of its wrath, by the small
Countenance of his vessel.
He would kiss your expanse, who
With a handful of you, will reach
The purpose of his life, praying to you,
In a macabre ritual called living, from
The ordeal of his existence.

I have been here....

I have been here. The
River bed, sans water,
The sands, in their winding
Patterns, in the breezy
Dusk of a hot day. The
Twilight holding promise,
Of a night of rejoice and
Warmth. The returning birds
Calling out to their kin, in the
Joy of a day happily made.
I saw a sparrow, lone, flying
With pride, to its home, sure
Of its flight, of its path.
The place full of life, the birds
So full of energy. I return today,
To find the place devoid life,
In eerie silence, like the haunted
Old house, with odious pathos
In the air. Silence unbroken, the
Twilight too advanced, the birds
Gone, the sands dark and the
Foliage darker. The moon showing
In patches, the stars shying to come
In infinite mass. Did I find the place
In its transient form, in the moment of
Its dark, in the throes of its perilous
Solitude. In deep thought, as I
Reflect on the truth of the moment,
Life comes and goes, as does the
Twilight. Now it is dark, and I
Return, broken in spirit, shrouded
By the dark, a thorn pricking me,
Clad in Silence. I have been here.

In such moments am I beautiful

In the laughter of a dear friend,
In the heartiness lies the innocence
Of a soul buried in itself, smitten
By its own tenderness, as we all
Turn into children, drooling over the
Trivial, in absolute peace, mindless.
Never wanting more, not even less.
In thoughtless spontaneity, in casual
Flambuoyance, as we were created,
Rudderless, thoughtless and worriless.
The moments in this state vanish, as
All good things must, and there come
The morbid compulsions, of unending
Expectations, of the omni present
Disappointments. The complex State
Of our existence. Simple things are
The most beautiful. Let them be.
Let life be complex, in the quest for
Our higher endeavors, in the search
For peace as an Adult,
Peace with conviction,
Happiness with knowledge,
Existence with awareness,
Thoughts thus made clear.
In such moments am I beautiful.

Walk down the calm road....

Walk down the calm road,
In darkness, in silence, but for
The song in my ears. Some genius,
Playing the tune of my heart.
I come to this bench. Seems like
The Gods must have sat here. So
Serene, unlike my mind. Boiling
With my desires, limited by
My perceptions, repenting my
Prejudices and mocking at all this.
As my fist crashes against the
Seat, the pain shafts through
To my head, the music mocks at my
Mute anger. My fist pays for my rush.
My silence pays for my emotions.
My anger pays for my passion.
My pain pays for my hunger.
What will I pay for this impotent rage?
To cross the line, to scale the wall.
To move up, like when I was born.
A new birth, a new being, a new meaning,
A new terms and a new world.
To think fresh, to start without a thought.

Breeze

Breeze, you come to me,
Refreshing and cleansing my soul,
In the cool, casual amble of yours,
Touching my senses, in causal
Sensuousness. In impertinent
Rudeness do you unnerve me, at
The moment that is desolate, my
Mind at its lonely sojourn. Would
This moment be less remembered,
Without you ruffling my hair, in
Gentle caring, as my cheeks go flush,
As my heart swells, at the thought
Of your equal, the gentle breeze that
Touched my calloused heart, the wood
Stock that it was, moved by the
Fragrant self, in one sweeping motion,
Off my feet and into the abyss of
Longing. Come to me, in pangs of
Swift pain, cutting through my soul,
Through pain am I shaped for you.
To your ever changing whims.
Turn into the monster that you can be,
Toss me into the unending twister,
Let me see ecstasy in the helplessness,
Of your mastery over me, as I give
In to the power of your hold.

My Flowers….

My Flowers....

Beauty among beauties is
Merely relative.
Beauty they say is an end,
Resonating from our souls,
A part of the perfection,
Strived for and inspiring.
Let these flowers deserve you
As they deserved their great
Garden, as the Nature’s Hand
Shaped them to their uniqueness.
Let them announce beauty to
The ignorant.
Let them be the celebration to
The connoisseurs.
Let them speak forever, your
Resplendent beauty.

My Poetry

My Poetry

As I step out of my abode,
To my place of thinking,
A thought comes to me, like
A fresh breath through all the
Clouds of perception, those color
My vision of the world. I would
Write today, like a poet. I would
Create something, like a web of
Words, that would convey in
Subtlety, my mind’s thoughts.
I would create something, that
Would gush out like a spring,
From the dust of the desert and
Create the green of a meadow.
Like a solitary rose, that would sit
Proud on my love’s fragrant hair,
Like my words, proud on the intent.
Today, I will write, like a poet.