Oh if but my prayers were answered …..
The soul would be perched on the summit of your excellence.
I was in the sky, soaring across the sun,
The world was so far down,
I had wings of fire to top my heart’s spire.
I have run out of inspiration
In this cessation of beauty to my senses.
Its but a world now, small and naïve.
I have been grounded, forever.
I am a mortal again, with small worries
And smaller securities, and stronger bindings.
No longer would I see the stars so close
Or be blessed by a beauty so proud.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Birthday Contemplation
My Birthday Contemplation
Today is my birthday. So I decided to dedicate this little essay to myself, after all I have lived for a quarter of a century.
I was sitting in my balcony last night, and reading. Surprisingly, my music system was quiet, and the air was cool. I suddenly got this urge to listen to one song in particular. It was 11.55 pm.
It was a song by the master Jagjith Singh. I coolly lit a cigarette and sat down on the floor of my room. I started thinking. The moon was shining, unlike the season. And I was moved by a sensation so very new to me.
Here I was, born today, 25 years ago, in some strange place. I was created by love or rather by an act that symbolized love. I had grown in snug intervals, always breaking into the open to find a new path ahead. Sometimes I grew like a newly sprouted seed, and then sometimes I grew into a strong solitary tree, and then sometimes into a creeper that longs for support and will perish in the absence of it.
I was a man now, in every right of the word. I made a living on my own. I aspired for a family of my own. I longed to be loved by women. I longed to create, value and forms. I guess it is so much easier for women to create out of love. The most primitive and highest being bearing a child. But man has to love and explore and create to be satisfied.
In the course of the contemplation, I realized something. I had casually killed a fly that tried to bite me. And I saw many other flies too. The one that I had killed fell limply to the ground, while ants were gathering for a feast. Isn’t it a big cycle? Life feeding on death and death feeding on life. If the both can consume each other, then aren’t life and death the same? The creation of something, maybe love, joy, emotion….
When I live I will create what can be felt now. When I die I will be God. I would have created a new life for the world, by being absent from it. The world would be in a new dimension in the absence of one of its members. I would have reshaped its destiny, even by my death, just as I had altered it by my insignificant birth. I would have escaped from a thousand sorrows, missed a million joys and a multitude of illusions.
Life and death play parallels. Man kills a thousand animals during his lifetime and maybe even a few human beings. Man brings new men into this world, as death simultaneously takes them out of the physical dimension. But where do we all go? Where does death lead us? It cant be that a man dies and its just like a fuse that gets burnt and the electricity just vanishes, lost forever. Life will regenerate into life, even when death play the fiddle close to our ears. Pain will regenerate into pleasure, and pleasure into pain. It’s a big circle, with many concentric circles within, endless. And in the middle is the man, the Supreme Being, with the consciousness and the knowledge of life. He is the perfection towards which our souls move, till deaths do us apart from life. And man will be perfect after death, because death is perfection in our harried souls, the culmination of our strivings and supercilious consciousness
Today is my birthday. So I decided to dedicate this little essay to myself, after all I have lived for a quarter of a century.
I was sitting in my balcony last night, and reading. Surprisingly, my music system was quiet, and the air was cool. I suddenly got this urge to listen to one song in particular. It was 11.55 pm.
It was a song by the master Jagjith Singh. I coolly lit a cigarette and sat down on the floor of my room. I started thinking. The moon was shining, unlike the season. And I was moved by a sensation so very new to me.
Here I was, born today, 25 years ago, in some strange place. I was created by love or rather by an act that symbolized love. I had grown in snug intervals, always breaking into the open to find a new path ahead. Sometimes I grew like a newly sprouted seed, and then sometimes I grew into a strong solitary tree, and then sometimes into a creeper that longs for support and will perish in the absence of it.
I was a man now, in every right of the word. I made a living on my own. I aspired for a family of my own. I longed to be loved by women. I longed to create, value and forms. I guess it is so much easier for women to create out of love. The most primitive and highest being bearing a child. But man has to love and explore and create to be satisfied.
In the course of the contemplation, I realized something. I had casually killed a fly that tried to bite me. And I saw many other flies too. The one that I had killed fell limply to the ground, while ants were gathering for a feast. Isn’t it a big cycle? Life feeding on death and death feeding on life. If the both can consume each other, then aren’t life and death the same? The creation of something, maybe love, joy, emotion….
When I live I will create what can be felt now. When I die I will be God. I would have created a new life for the world, by being absent from it. The world would be in a new dimension in the absence of one of its members. I would have reshaped its destiny, even by my death, just as I had altered it by my insignificant birth. I would have escaped from a thousand sorrows, missed a million joys and a multitude of illusions.
Life and death play parallels. Man kills a thousand animals during his lifetime and maybe even a few human beings. Man brings new men into this world, as death simultaneously takes them out of the physical dimension. But where do we all go? Where does death lead us? It cant be that a man dies and its just like a fuse that gets burnt and the electricity just vanishes, lost forever. Life will regenerate into life, even when death play the fiddle close to our ears. Pain will regenerate into pleasure, and pleasure into pain. It’s a big circle, with many concentric circles within, endless. And in the middle is the man, the Supreme Being, with the consciousness and the knowledge of life. He is the perfection towards which our souls move, till deaths do us apart from life. And man will be perfect after death, because death is perfection in our harried souls, the culmination of our strivings and supercilious consciousness
Sunday, December 11, 2005
The Going Away
Last night, I was travelling from Chennai. I was sitting in the bogey, waiting for the train to move. It was late in the night, and there was the usual commotion that precedes a long distance train.
Opposite me was a young chap, with crew cut hair and tough built body. He was having a loud farewell from his friends. When the train left, he was kissing their hands, and the scene was emotional for the observer and for the man too.
I learnt from him later that he was a new recruit to the BSF, leaving Chennai for training. He was going away from home, his girl friend and his childhood friends….all that for the first time in his life.
I told him that not everyone gets such a wonderful farewell, and that he was a lucky guy. He disclosed that all the friends who were with him are army aspirants too, and only he among them had gotten selected.
We all grow up after the first time we go away from home. Till then there are traces of the boy, who keeps showing up once in a while, in a playful moment. After that, its all the man stuff all the way. The friends’ circle, the kind of conversations you have, the kind of jokes you crack, your wardrobe, your language, and all your perceptions. For some, this happens at a very early stage, and for these people there is no major adjustment needed in their attitudes. But for people like the guy I am talking about, and for me too, it would take a very major change that will and has happened.
It is amazing this life thing. It makes you go through so many things, and yet people change always for the better for themselves, this is my own opinion.
Opposite me was a young chap, with crew cut hair and tough built body. He was having a loud farewell from his friends. When the train left, he was kissing their hands, and the scene was emotional for the observer and for the man too.
I learnt from him later that he was a new recruit to the BSF, leaving Chennai for training. He was going away from home, his girl friend and his childhood friends….all that for the first time in his life.
I told him that not everyone gets such a wonderful farewell, and that he was a lucky guy. He disclosed that all the friends who were with him are army aspirants too, and only he among them had gotten selected.
We all grow up after the first time we go away from home. Till then there are traces of the boy, who keeps showing up once in a while, in a playful moment. After that, its all the man stuff all the way. The friends’ circle, the kind of conversations you have, the kind of jokes you crack, your wardrobe, your language, and all your perceptions. For some, this happens at a very early stage, and for these people there is no major adjustment needed in their attitudes. But for people like the guy I am talking about, and for me too, it would take a very major change that will and has happened.
It is amazing this life thing. It makes you go through so many things, and yet people change always for the better for themselves, this is my own opinion.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Pleasure.....
Yesterday, I decided to buy a water heater, and I did just that. After that I went home and heated up some water and soaked my feet in it. I was listening to some music and what indulgence! It felt like warmth was entering through my soles and permeating throughout my body. Then I cut my toenails and massaged my feet with oil. Oh what pleasure! Oh what pleasure!
Then a real hot shower, in candle light. Farida Khannum was glorifying my hedonism with her fleeting voice and wonderful lyrics…. Jab us zulf ki bath chali…the water was steaming, like my senses at that time.
We are all hedonists. We will all the time seek pleasure over pain, not because pleasure is good to feel rather than pain, but because pleasure is such a convenient allegory to the assurance of existence. Pleasure creates a stratum where pain seems too remote to be able to affect us. It is like a veil that hides the undesirable from us, though not fully, but enough to assure us the permanence of its expression.
The expression of pleasure is infinitely more complex than the experiencing of it. More difficult is giving pleasure, i.e., making pleasure happen. That is because, in my opinion, pleasure seeks a finer niche than pain, a finer point to converge upon. Pleasure always occurs in multiple planes, with each plane that is surpassed leading to a higher level and higher sensitivity.
Pleasure seeks a gratification of a sense or a need to fulfill, like water that must flow down, if there is a downgrade. So pleasure exists as an object, shapeless and expressionless, till it finds a channel. Then it flows into the spirit, and starts ruling it while it can, till reality steps in rudely. When reality comes into the picture, we realize that we had been put to sleep by pleasure and this creates guilt and moroseness.
Then a real hot shower, in candle light. Farida Khannum was glorifying my hedonism with her fleeting voice and wonderful lyrics…. Jab us zulf ki bath chali…the water was steaming, like my senses at that time.
We are all hedonists. We will all the time seek pleasure over pain, not because pleasure is good to feel rather than pain, but because pleasure is such a convenient allegory to the assurance of existence. Pleasure creates a stratum where pain seems too remote to be able to affect us. It is like a veil that hides the undesirable from us, though not fully, but enough to assure us the permanence of its expression.
The expression of pleasure is infinitely more complex than the experiencing of it. More difficult is giving pleasure, i.e., making pleasure happen. That is because, in my opinion, pleasure seeks a finer niche than pain, a finer point to converge upon. Pleasure always occurs in multiple planes, with each plane that is surpassed leading to a higher level and higher sensitivity.
Pleasure seeks a gratification of a sense or a need to fulfill, like water that must flow down, if there is a downgrade. So pleasure exists as an object, shapeless and expressionless, till it finds a channel. Then it flows into the spirit, and starts ruling it while it can, till reality steps in rudely. When reality comes into the picture, we realize that we had been put to sleep by pleasure and this creates guilt and moroseness.
Friday, November 18, 2005
What prevails....
Empty spaces were meant to be filled
By the mighty fires, that start as simmering
Embers in the meadows of Eden.
The vacuum that once drew the molten
Metals together has become greater,
With the fire that died, the metals forever
Remained as distinct as conceived, as they
Fell through into the depths of the earth,
May be to be brought out again, into
Yet another birth and ensuing struggle.
Disparate persons seek a comforting
Fire to come to terms with cold life;
Who go back to the origin of innocence
With the emotions invoked mutually.
There is a calm before a fury,
Agitation before a failure and
Clarity before happiness.
And cold prevails before a fire is needed…
And solitude prevails before love is needed.
By the mighty fires, that start as simmering
Embers in the meadows of Eden.
The vacuum that once drew the molten
Metals together has become greater,
With the fire that died, the metals forever
Remained as distinct as conceived, as they
Fell through into the depths of the earth,
May be to be brought out again, into
Yet another birth and ensuing struggle.
Disparate persons seek a comforting
Fire to come to terms with cold life;
Who go back to the origin of innocence
With the emotions invoked mutually.
There is a calm before a fury,
Agitation before a failure and
Clarity before happiness.
And cold prevails before a fire is needed…
And solitude prevails before love is needed.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
The Ghost
I am a fragrance that was
Once lost in the clouds.
I am a god who was
Once revered in silence.
I am an emotion that was
Once denounced as remorse.
I am a meditation that was
Once broken by a breeze.
I am a tree that was
Once trimmed by a woman.
I am a counselor who was
Once dismissed as a mistake.
I am an elixir that was
Once reproached as a malady.
I am a magical potion that was
Once possessed by a few sorcerers.
I am a mystical herb that was
Once shunned as a wound.
I am a truth that was
Once rooted to earthly reality.
I am a book that was
Once read in obscurity.
I am a brook that was
Dammed by invisible walls.
I am a placid lake that was
Once accused of destruction.
I am the universe that was
Once believed to come around the earth.
I am the man who was
Once loved for the complexity.
I am the raging fire that was
Once sought for its warmth.
I am the silence that was
Once the language of the hearts.
I am the music that
Once made the angels sing.
I am the object of life that was
Once conceived as a theory.
I am the reflection of what was
Once an act of love.
I am a thought that
Once met a poet.
I am you who
Once were innocent.
I am the ghost of the day that was
Once your best to remember.
Once lost in the clouds.
I am a god who was
Once revered in silence.
I am an emotion that was
Once denounced as remorse.
I am a meditation that was
Once broken by a breeze.
I am a tree that was
Once trimmed by a woman.
I am a counselor who was
Once dismissed as a mistake.
I am an elixir that was
Once reproached as a malady.
I am a magical potion that was
Once possessed by a few sorcerers.
I am a mystical herb that was
Once shunned as a wound.
I am a truth that was
Once rooted to earthly reality.
I am a book that was
Once read in obscurity.
I am a brook that was
Dammed by invisible walls.
I am a placid lake that was
Once accused of destruction.
I am the universe that was
Once believed to come around the earth.
I am the man who was
Once loved for the complexity.
I am the raging fire that was
Once sought for its warmth.
I am the silence that was
Once the language of the hearts.
I am the music that
Once made the angels sing.
I am the object of life that was
Once conceived as a theory.
I am the reflection of what was
Once an act of love.
I am a thought that
Once met a poet.
I am you who
Once were innocent.
I am the ghost of the day that was
Once your best to remember.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
An account
Today, I am down with a fever. So I decided to sit down in office and write an account of my life after I started marketing trucks.
I landed in chennai after a couple of weeks of training at Indore. I was promptly transferred to Andhra, since my name ended with a “lu”! I was back in the land of my mother tongue. I spent a couple of days in Hyderabad, trying to get to know my boss, who always managed to overpower me with smartness! He is one amazingly smart guy. He actually made me buy the story that I would learn more in vijayawada, than in Hyderabad.
So I landed up in vijayawada, one hot night (remember, there is nothing called a non hot night in my “territory”). I am basically comfortable in any place if I know the following things:
1. where is home?
2. where is office?
3. who are my colleagues?
4. how am I going to sell?
5. what am I doing here?
The point was that I did not know any of these! The first time I tried to get an auto rickshaw was hilarious. I told him I wanted to go to such and such a hotel in amazingly unintelligible telugu. The gulti in the driver understood, and offered to talk in English, again so amazingly….. I managed to get the word Governorpet out of my mouth and he understood. The process of getting to understand each other had taken many jeers from other auto drivers, and about 10 minutes!
The next day started with me calling up the person who was supposed to be transferred to Hyderabad, “balu”. He told me to come to the dealer’s office. I put the phone down and I remembered that I did not know where “that” place was. So again I called up and asked him and again an episode of understanding and tolerance from auto drivers.
I realized that classical telugu was nothing but the addition of one “undy” after everybody or everything that has to be addressed with respect. After that everything is understood and forgiven on compassionate grounds.
I got to know that my territory would include 7 districts, having a total of 3 dealers and 5 service points. And I would have to visit each of these atleast once in a week. So I would be traveling, a lot. I decided I had to rent a house, and so tried the papers. No success. My colleague from Hyderabad, murali, came to my rescue. He found a place for me and I fixed up home.
It was particularly difficult the first few weeks. Everything was either hot or hotter or hottest. The wall was hot. The floor was hotter. The water was hottest. And I did not have a bed or a sheet to sleep on. So I slept like I was the freest man ever born. I slept anywhere in the house.
Those first few days were the most difficult. I did not know anyone in the city. I was running short of money, and I did not even have a fan in the house. And I did not have the time also to go and buy a few necessities.
The few things that had been very dear to me were not with me here. I did not have my bike. I did not have any books. I did not have my music system. Everyday, rather every evening was a struggle against loneliness. I had these bouts of wretchedness, which happened when I traveled and I stayed in hotels.
“I was depressed”
Meanwhile, things were going great guns at work. I was coping well and getting on my own feet rather quickly. And work was the only solace for my soul, which seemed to be suspended in the past and in faded memories.
I was calling up a lot of my old friends, every night. I would lament, I would laugh, I would sound confident, and I would sound proud. And all this while I was regularly missing my meals, and was profoundly sweating, always. The good was that I lost a lot of weight.
I did not notice that I was losing weight till I tried an old pair of jeans that used to be very tight. Then I checked my weight, I had gone down by 10kgs!
All this while I was living like a free animal, rather than a free man! That was the comment made by my mother when she visited me for the first time. My home was transformed, by her, into what I could call a homely home. I had a bed, I had sheets on them. And ladies and gentlemen, for the first fantastic time in my life, I had a kitchen of my own.
I love my kitchen and cook everyday if I am in town. I cook what I feel like eating, and I don’t bother to give them any names. I always cook before 11pm, so I can still have food outside if anything goes wrong. Its been a string of success stories all along. I started with rice and noodles. Now I have graduated to all curries, dosas, chapathis and even non vegetarian stuff. I love cooking and shaking it up with some music.
This afternoon I went home to have lunch. I quickly made some vermicelli, had it with some sauce and pickles, and I am feeling full after a cup of milk and an apple. Food is good and so is life!
And the gulti style is catching up with me too. For the first time in my life I got myself an orange coloured tee shirt! And my conversations are interspaced by telugu words. And my friends seem far away. And so is a society. The coffee shop is my only hang out.
I am sure I will go back to my old life, but I am learning here. I can never feel more insecure than when I landed here that first night. I can never feel more nervous than when I sat down for my deal. There are quite a few extremes I have come to this summer. I can say that I have had quite an adventure!
I landed in chennai after a couple of weeks of training at Indore. I was promptly transferred to Andhra, since my name ended with a “lu”! I was back in the land of my mother tongue. I spent a couple of days in Hyderabad, trying to get to know my boss, who always managed to overpower me with smartness! He is one amazingly smart guy. He actually made me buy the story that I would learn more in vijayawada, than in Hyderabad.
So I landed up in vijayawada, one hot night (remember, there is nothing called a non hot night in my “territory”). I am basically comfortable in any place if I know the following things:
1. where is home?
2. where is office?
3. who are my colleagues?
4. how am I going to sell?
5. what am I doing here?
The point was that I did not know any of these! The first time I tried to get an auto rickshaw was hilarious. I told him I wanted to go to such and such a hotel in amazingly unintelligible telugu. The gulti in the driver understood, and offered to talk in English, again so amazingly….. I managed to get the word Governorpet out of my mouth and he understood. The process of getting to understand each other had taken many jeers from other auto drivers, and about 10 minutes!
The next day started with me calling up the person who was supposed to be transferred to Hyderabad, “balu”. He told me to come to the dealer’s office. I put the phone down and I remembered that I did not know where “that” place was. So again I called up and asked him and again an episode of understanding and tolerance from auto drivers.
I realized that classical telugu was nothing but the addition of one “undy” after everybody or everything that has to be addressed with respect. After that everything is understood and forgiven on compassionate grounds.
I got to know that my territory would include 7 districts, having a total of 3 dealers and 5 service points. And I would have to visit each of these atleast once in a week. So I would be traveling, a lot. I decided I had to rent a house, and so tried the papers. No success. My colleague from Hyderabad, murali, came to my rescue. He found a place for me and I fixed up home.
It was particularly difficult the first few weeks. Everything was either hot or hotter or hottest. The wall was hot. The floor was hotter. The water was hottest. And I did not have a bed or a sheet to sleep on. So I slept like I was the freest man ever born. I slept anywhere in the house.
Those first few days were the most difficult. I did not know anyone in the city. I was running short of money, and I did not even have a fan in the house. And I did not have the time also to go and buy a few necessities.
The few things that had been very dear to me were not with me here. I did not have my bike. I did not have any books. I did not have my music system. Everyday, rather every evening was a struggle against loneliness. I had these bouts of wretchedness, which happened when I traveled and I stayed in hotels.
“I was depressed”
Meanwhile, things were going great guns at work. I was coping well and getting on my own feet rather quickly. And work was the only solace for my soul, which seemed to be suspended in the past and in faded memories.
I was calling up a lot of my old friends, every night. I would lament, I would laugh, I would sound confident, and I would sound proud. And all this while I was regularly missing my meals, and was profoundly sweating, always. The good was that I lost a lot of weight.
I did not notice that I was losing weight till I tried an old pair of jeans that used to be very tight. Then I checked my weight, I had gone down by 10kgs!
All this while I was living like a free animal, rather than a free man! That was the comment made by my mother when she visited me for the first time. My home was transformed, by her, into what I could call a homely home. I had a bed, I had sheets on them. And ladies and gentlemen, for the first fantastic time in my life, I had a kitchen of my own.
I love my kitchen and cook everyday if I am in town. I cook what I feel like eating, and I don’t bother to give them any names. I always cook before 11pm, so I can still have food outside if anything goes wrong. Its been a string of success stories all along. I started with rice and noodles. Now I have graduated to all curries, dosas, chapathis and even non vegetarian stuff. I love cooking and shaking it up with some music.
This afternoon I went home to have lunch. I quickly made some vermicelli, had it with some sauce and pickles, and I am feeling full after a cup of milk and an apple. Food is good and so is life!
And the gulti style is catching up with me too. For the first time in my life I got myself an orange coloured tee shirt! And my conversations are interspaced by telugu words. And my friends seem far away. And so is a society. The coffee shop is my only hang out.
I am sure I will go back to my old life, but I am learning here. I can never feel more insecure than when I landed here that first night. I can never feel more nervous than when I sat down for my deal. There are quite a few extremes I have come to this summer. I can say that I have had quite an adventure!
Monday, September 19, 2005
Street of joy
I went walking down a street of joy…
There was laughter all around
Children were playing on the pavement….
There were catcalls and hooting
Youth was being celebrated
Music could be heard from somewhere.
Couples were cuddling up
Families were thankful for the joy
The elderly had a sparkle in their eyes
That wonderful night of festivity.
The sky was filled with bursting light
The city was dazzling in brightness.
I was gazing in awe and
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I turned around, only to see darkness….
In the path I had walked.
I was alone.
There was laughter all around
Children were playing on the pavement….
There were catcalls and hooting
Youth was being celebrated
Music could be heard from somewhere.
Couples were cuddling up
Families were thankful for the joy
The elderly had a sparkle in their eyes
That wonderful night of festivity.
The sky was filled with bursting light
The city was dazzling in brightness.
I was gazing in awe and
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I turned around, only to see darkness….
In the path I had walked.
I was alone.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Dancing by the moonlit river
Dancing by the moonlit river
In a trance I was….lost……
The world was spinning its course
Life was spinning its web
And I was lost in a maze.
I gave up to the maze
Conceded my decisions to its designs
Resigned to a fate full of mysterious turns.
Every turn shows me a new world
Every turn changes my attitude
Every Samaritan seems a friend.
In its passages I have lived my life
Passions carving my next turn
And guiding my next principle.
Its walls have given me legends
And poems so beautiful….
I have fallen in love with paintings
On its listless walls.
I have lived for an eternity now…..
I will dance forever….
I will be reborn with the first drizzle….
I am dancing by the moonlit river….
In a trance I was….lost……
The world was spinning its course
Life was spinning its web
And I was lost in a maze.
I gave up to the maze
Conceded my decisions to its designs
Resigned to a fate full of mysterious turns.
Every turn shows me a new world
Every turn changes my attitude
Every Samaritan seems a friend.
In its passages I have lived my life
Passions carving my next turn
And guiding my next principle.
Its walls have given me legends
And poems so beautiful….
I have fallen in love with paintings
On its listless walls.
I have lived for an eternity now…..
I will dance forever….
I will be reborn with the first drizzle….
I am dancing by the moonlit river….
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Let one lamp be alight....
Let one lamp be alight, lest we get lost.
Let one door be open, lest everything becomes dark.
Let one hope remain, lest there be despair.
Let it be the beacon to those lonely hearts….
That grope around listless through
Those mazes in the night and
Are blinded by the day.
Lets keep up the vigil till dawn….
When hope sprouts anew,
When a new day shows her promise,
We start anew with vigor and strength.
There would be strength to see
This weak night through….
There would be joy in the strength
As the light would show us the night’s mysteries.
It would show our smile and tears,
Be it in despair and pain or in faith and hope.
And the one lamp would have touched a
Thousand hearts through this dark night.
Let there be music to calm us down,
Let there be wine to warm us up,
Let there be company to cheer us up,
Let there be light to see.
So, let one lamp be alight….
Let one door be open, lest everything becomes dark.
Let one hope remain, lest there be despair.
Let it be the beacon to those lonely hearts….
That grope around listless through
Those mazes in the night and
Are blinded by the day.
Lets keep up the vigil till dawn….
When hope sprouts anew,
When a new day shows her promise,
We start anew with vigor and strength.
There would be strength to see
This weak night through….
There would be joy in the strength
As the light would show us the night’s mysteries.
It would show our smile and tears,
Be it in despair and pain or in faith and hope.
And the one lamp would have touched a
Thousand hearts through this dark night.
Let there be music to calm us down,
Let there be wine to warm us up,
Let there be company to cheer us up,
Let there be light to see.
So, let one lamp be alight….
Saturday, August 20, 2005
It was an evening like any other….
It was an evening as any other.
Light was dying as any other dusk.
Birds were going back with gay laughter.
The earth was settling down to silence and the night.
We were walking that daily stretch,
Amid a slight drizzle, with the air damp,
The road straight, the moon serene.
I was holding her hand.
There did not seem to be a future….
Nor was there any past to contemplate.
We were not talking, nor were we thinking.
What was present was ease, with ourselves.
There was beauty all around,
In nature and it was reflected through her,
Clarified to purity by her.
There has never been a more beautiful sight.
My mind plays strange tricks on me.
Who had been a strange neighbor for a year,
Had become my dearest, of immense importance.
I had new ideas, I started flowing.
What had been passing glances
Became moments of worship.
What had been a shallow acquaintance
Became a bond of faith and trust.
She was nurturing me, with care,
And I was growing into a man.
I was happy with the trust and the warmth.
My soul was responding to her calls to live.
We decided to turn back,
I caught a whiff of her fragrance.
I knew she was the one chosen.
I could now move mountains.
We walked on….
Light was dying as any other dusk.
Birds were going back with gay laughter.
The earth was settling down to silence and the night.
We were walking that daily stretch,
Amid a slight drizzle, with the air damp,
The road straight, the moon serene.
I was holding her hand.
There did not seem to be a future….
Nor was there any past to contemplate.
We were not talking, nor were we thinking.
What was present was ease, with ourselves.
There was beauty all around,
In nature and it was reflected through her,
Clarified to purity by her.
There has never been a more beautiful sight.
My mind plays strange tricks on me.
Who had been a strange neighbor for a year,
Had become my dearest, of immense importance.
I had new ideas, I started flowing.
What had been passing glances
Became moments of worship.
What had been a shallow acquaintance
Became a bond of faith and trust.
She was nurturing me, with care,
And I was growing into a man.
I was happy with the trust and the warmth.
My soul was responding to her calls to live.
We decided to turn back,
I caught a whiff of her fragrance.
I knew she was the one chosen.
I could now move mountains.
We walked on….
Friday, August 19, 2005
To be worthy....
Like how an upturned rock reveals moisture,
You have shown me living life.
I have been purged all this time and
I find you standing in meaning like the ultimate truth.
You are my prevailing charm….
Will you light up my body like how my soul is glowing
With your health and love?
Will you be my temptress,
Like how you are my teacher,
setting my heart on a rasping flight?
What does it take to move the heavens to bless men….
What does it take to be worthy….of you?
You have shown me living life.
I have been purged all this time and
I find you standing in meaning like the ultimate truth.
You are my prevailing charm….
Will you light up my body like how my soul is glowing
With your health and love?
Will you be my temptress,
Like how you are my teacher,
setting my heart on a rasping flight?
What does it take to move the heavens to bless men….
What does it take to be worthy….of you?
Monday, August 15, 2005
The Love Tree
In our heart there is a tree that bears the fruits of our soul.
Of the labors of love and sacrifice.
It blooms in our spring and lies dormant in our autumn.
Beautiful birds perch on its swaying branches and
Consume its seeds and consummate its partake in loving.
It gives to all in joy and takes only pleasure and pain,
Nothing in between.
Through its loving, it spreads across the span of the earth.
May my loving be in giving and not in asking.
May it free me to be beautiful.
And may it come to me like how I have loved you.
Of the labors of love and sacrifice.
It blooms in our spring and lies dormant in our autumn.
Beautiful birds perch on its swaying branches and
Consume its seeds and consummate its partake in loving.
It gives to all in joy and takes only pleasure and pain,
Nothing in between.
Through its loving, it spreads across the span of the earth.
May my loving be in giving and not in asking.
May it free me to be beautiful.
And may it come to me like how I have loved you.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
The Collector
Your presence lies scattered all around my home.
Like those stars around the moon,
They brighten me to your eyes.
At day, I go unnoticed into another world.
In such times, I gather those stars closer to me,
In a wishful indulgence. Who can explain this
Greed in me to collect what is about you.
Let me be the collector and you can be the creator,
And I will relive beauty, yet again…..
Like those stars around the moon,
They brighten me to your eyes.
At day, I go unnoticed into another world.
In such times, I gather those stars closer to me,
In a wishful indulgence. Who can explain this
Greed in me to collect what is about you.
Let me be the collector and you can be the creator,
And I will relive beauty, yet again…..
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Captured Heart
Not that there is no happiness is my life.
But this life doesn’t seem like a living.
The day looks long even now as it started.
Filled with nothing but myself and sanity.
The climate is wonderful and memories come to me
Of when my soul was warm and cozy in custody.
Now it is free to roam and all it finds is your worship.
Now it is unchained, yet held here by a force invisible.
What can I have left when my heart has been captured?
But this life doesn’t seem like a living.
The day looks long even now as it started.
Filled with nothing but myself and sanity.
The climate is wonderful and memories come to me
Of when my soul was warm and cozy in custody.
Now it is free to roam and all it finds is your worship.
Now it is unchained, yet held here by a force invisible.
What can I have left when my heart has been captured?
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
One Beautiful Thought
In the delightful evening so breezy
The reeds were swaying back and forth.
The birds were rejoicing another day’s end.
The flowers were showing off their evening airs.
And you were there, shining over them
With your embracing silence,
As they received you, tender moon.
They fell quiet at this juncture
As your charm lulled them to sleep,
With a thousand quiet prayers,
With a thousand wonderful memories,
But with one beautiful thought…. You.
The reeds were swaying back and forth.
The birds were rejoicing another day’s end.
The flowers were showing off their evening airs.
And you were there, shining over them
With your embracing silence,
As they received you, tender moon.
They fell quiet at this juncture
As your charm lulled them to sleep,
With a thousand quiet prayers,
With a thousand wonderful memories,
But with one beautiful thought…. You.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
I wander alone these silent nights.
I wander alone these silent nights.
I walk those deserts,
Every direction correct,
Every circle perfect,
Every path prudent.
I wander alone these silent nights.
I wade through those brooks,
I scale those peaks,
Every fall is fatal,
Every summit is victory,
Every step an achievement.
I wander alone these silent nights.
I glide over those plains,
Every feature vivid,
Every landmark dwarfed,
Every river a mere line.
I wander alone these silent nights.
I sail those unruly seas,
Every wave is yielding,
Every storm is fought,
Every port is visited.
I have been a mere man,
And this a mere night,
Both among the uncountable.
O’ how small I am
And how much smaller my world.
I walk those deserts,
Every direction correct,
Every circle perfect,
Every path prudent.
I wander alone these silent nights.
I wade through those brooks,
I scale those peaks,
Every fall is fatal,
Every summit is victory,
Every step an achievement.
I wander alone these silent nights.
I glide over those plains,
Every feature vivid,
Every landmark dwarfed,
Every river a mere line.
I wander alone these silent nights.
I sail those unruly seas,
Every wave is yielding,
Every storm is fought,
Every port is visited.
I have been a mere man,
And this a mere night,
Both among the uncountable.
O’ how small I am
And how much smaller my world.
That Simple Smile
Of the fleeting moments of love,
Of the unfathomable lust and
Of the so very human hatred,
What still remains is that simple smile.
The smile that radiates all over the face
And sparkles in the eye.
From which emanates a cozy warmth.
It feels like the safety of the womb when
The gaze of that smile beholds me.
The moment is elevated into an emotion,
As I choke with my smallness to God,
Who shows in the smile so pure.
In its truth expressed, yet unsaid,
In its meaning so deep,
In its love so evident.
Of the unfathomable lust and
Of the so very human hatred,
What still remains is that simple smile.
The smile that radiates all over the face
And sparkles in the eye.
From which emanates a cozy warmth.
It feels like the safety of the womb when
The gaze of that smile beholds me.
The moment is elevated into an emotion,
As I choke with my smallness to God,
Who shows in the smile so pure.
In its truth expressed, yet unsaid,
In its meaning so deep,
In its love so evident.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
I don’t know what I don’t have!
I am at my lonely best.
In half lived emotions are my days,
As my world shapes its destiny.
In wonderful memories are my nights,
As my soul wanders in those distant meadows.
In bright hope are my mornings,
As my mind is inspired by possibilities;
I don’t know what I don’t have.
In half lived emotions are my days,
As my world shapes its destiny.
In wonderful memories are my nights,
As my soul wanders in those distant meadows.
In bright hope are my mornings,
As my mind is inspired by possibilities;
I don’t know what I don’t have.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Rush....
In what a rush we live,
in what a rush we leave....
With what zeal we create,
with what abandon we destroy....
with what labour we collect,
with what flambuoyance we squander....
with what impunity we fight,
with what meekness we surrender....
with what a heart we give,
with what a coldness we refrain....
with what innocence we love,
with what cruelty we perceive....
In what a rush we live,
in what a rush we leave....
in what a rush we leave....
With what zeal we create,
with what abandon we destroy....
with what labour we collect,
with what flambuoyance we squander....
with what impunity we fight,
with what meekness we surrender....
with what a heart we give,
with what a coldness we refrain....
with what innocence we love,
with what cruelty we perceive....
In what a rush we live,
in what a rush we leave....
Friday, June 24, 2005
And then.....
There is a sea in my eyes
A desert in my heart
An orchard in my soul
Chaos in my mind
And yet, there you are,
Somewhere within me,
Like a diamond lost in a
Treasure of gold and silver.
And so, there is beauty;
And then, there are these words.
A desert in my heart
An orchard in my soul
Chaos in my mind
And yet, there you are,
Somewhere within me,
Like a diamond lost in a
Treasure of gold and silver.
And so, there is beauty;
And then, there are these words.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
I saw you.....
I saw the sun rising from the sea to its glory.
I saw you in that moment of freshness.
Sunshine on my shoulders and you in my mind make me high.
The moon shines over me in this silent night's journey.
I felt you in that moment of quiet reflection.
A moonbeam on my brow and you in my heart make this moment so lovely.
I saw you in that moment of freshness.
Sunshine on my shoulders and you in my mind make me high.
The moon shines over me in this silent night's journey.
I felt you in that moment of quiet reflection.
A moonbeam on my brow and you in my heart make this moment so lovely.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
When I....
When I saw gold and diamonds,
When I walked through those mountains high,
When I touched those clouds dark,
When I waded through that brook clear,
I was still meek in wonder at nature.
When I walked those dreary streets with you,
When I held those hands so delicate,
When I beheld your smile so genuine,
When I kissed those eyes so pure,
When I was held by your thoughts so lovely,
I was one with the Gods.
When I walked through those mountains high,
When I touched those clouds dark,
When I waded through that brook clear,
I was still meek in wonder at nature.
When I walked those dreary streets with you,
When I held those hands so delicate,
When I beheld your smile so genuine,
When I kissed those eyes so pure,
When I was held by your thoughts so lovely,
I was one with the Gods.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Why do my eyes burn?
Why do my eyes burn?
Why doesn’t the dust settle?
I rub my eyes,
There are a few tears,
And alas, it is today….
As this revelation occurs,
I see two reflections of me in the mirror.
You are beside me
Like I am a king and
You my crown’s beauty.
My conscious courts you
With these wonderful words.
My unconscious maroons me
In your pleasure.
I look for my thoughts I have labored
To write a song that would play forever,
In your splendor, of your beauty.
In this moisture in my eyes,
I feel your rise within me.
As I close my eyes again,
Your thoughts arise,
And I ponder in a corner….
Why do my eyes burn?
Why doesn’t the dust settle?
Why doesn’t the dust settle?
I rub my eyes,
There are a few tears,
And alas, it is today….
As this revelation occurs,
I see two reflections of me in the mirror.
You are beside me
Like I am a king and
You my crown’s beauty.
My conscious courts you
With these wonderful words.
My unconscious maroons me
In your pleasure.
I look for my thoughts I have labored
To write a song that would play forever,
In your splendor, of your beauty.
In this moisture in my eyes,
I feel your rise within me.
As I close my eyes again,
Your thoughts arise,
And I ponder in a corner….
Why do my eyes burn?
Why doesn’t the dust settle?
Moments in my solitude
When I am sitting here,
When I close my eyes,
Go do those sore sights
Comes does your smile
Like infant grass
To my blessed lips.
When I am sitting here,
When the breeze ruffles my hair,
Go do those aches
Comes does your care
To my weightless soul.
When I am sitting here,
When I feel this fragrance,
Go do those worries
Comes does your touch
Like the saving rain
To my parched heart.
When I am sitting here,
When this music wafts along,
Go do my acts
Comes does your grace
Like the perfection of time
To my tired body.
When I am sitting here,
When my thoughts come to you,
Go do my rationale
Comes does your name
Like words to a poor poet
To my caroused tongue.
When I close my eyes,
Go do those sore sights
Comes does your smile
Like infant grass
To my blessed lips.
When I am sitting here,
When the breeze ruffles my hair,
Go do those aches
Comes does your care
To my weightless soul.
When I am sitting here,
When I feel this fragrance,
Go do those worries
Comes does your touch
Like the saving rain
To my parched heart.
When I am sitting here,
When this music wafts along,
Go do my acts
Comes does your grace
Like the perfection of time
To my tired body.
When I am sitting here,
When my thoughts come to you,
Go do my rationale
Comes does your name
Like words to a poor poet
To my caroused tongue.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
I have....
In my self,
I have been God.
In my imagination,
I have created.
In a brightness,
I have seen beauty.
Like a creeper around a tree,
I have felt love all over me.
Like a fruit on its branch,
I have seen me bear its fruit.
Like a pine in the cold,
I have pined for the sky.
I have rafted the rapids,
I have run behind mirages,
I have been to the end of the sky,
I have been locked up,
I have been loved,
I am alone.
I have been God.
In my imagination,
I have created.
In a brightness,
I have seen beauty.
Like a creeper around a tree,
I have felt love all over me.
Like a fruit on its branch,
I have seen me bear its fruit.
Like a pine in the cold,
I have pined for the sky.
I have rafted the rapids,
I have run behind mirages,
I have been to the end of the sky,
I have been locked up,
I have been loved,
I am alone.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
The Archway of Roses
When I sit alone, I let my heart wander.
It hastens, sure of the way,
To her gate. The archway of roses
Looks like its solace and it courts
Those flowers with such abandon.
Bathing in their fragrance and
Rejoicing their many colors.
And spirals into the heavens, in the
Anticipation of its future. But it knows
Not, only the gate has been touched.
The gardens are vast, and the flower
Beds hold such marvels. It lingers
At the gate with impatience.
It heeds my call to this earth.
It waits for me to let it go again,
To the archway of roses, where the
Moon shines over her sleep.
It hastens, sure of the way,
To her gate. The archway of roses
Looks like its solace and it courts
Those flowers with such abandon.
Bathing in their fragrance and
Rejoicing their many colors.
And spirals into the heavens, in the
Anticipation of its future. But it knows
Not, only the gate has been touched.
The gardens are vast, and the flower
Beds hold such marvels. It lingers
At the gate with impatience.
It heeds my call to this earth.
It waits for me to let it go again,
To the archway of roses, where the
Moon shines over her sleep.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Charmed
One thread holds me back,
Like a golden rule that must be observed.
The strength of an ox and the will of a man’s
Is all void to this silken strand.
Like faith that moves mountains, It allows me to fly.
Sure is its grip whilst I soar and
Strong is its chiding when I glide into an abyss.
The mightiest is quelled at its heart,
Such is a man’s heart charmed by beauty.
Like a golden rule that must be observed.
The strength of an ox and the will of a man’s
Is all void to this silken strand.
Like faith that moves mountains, It allows me to fly.
Sure is its grip whilst I soar and
Strong is its chiding when I glide into an abyss.
The mightiest is quelled at its heart,
Such is a man’s heart charmed by beauty.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Your greatest gift.
You sit on a throne,
Above me, but by a whisker.
Unsung go my little actions.
In vain are my juvenile overtures.
Isn’t this your greatest gift?
I have been saved from a weak and unsure desire.
Above me, but by a whisker.
Unsung go my little actions.
In vain are my juvenile overtures.
Isn’t this your greatest gift?
I have been saved from a weak and unsure desire.
Come, sit with me for a moment....
I am working, toiling, like
I am rowing to the end of the world.
Come, sit with me for a moment in leisure.
The world can wait,
Time can waste itself,
My work can be done, but later.
Come, sit with me for a moment in leisure.
Let my face be perched opposite your perfection.
Let my soul soar as it senses beauty.
Let my heart flutter at the thought.
Let my eyes view their purpose.
Let my mind lose itself.
Come, sit with me for a moment in leisure.
I am rowing to the end of the world.
Come, sit with me for a moment in leisure.
The world can wait,
Time can waste itself,
My work can be done, but later.
Come, sit with me for a moment in leisure.
Let my face be perched opposite your perfection.
Let my soul soar as it senses beauty.
Let my heart flutter at the thought.
Let my eyes view their purpose.
Let my mind lose itself.
Come, sit with me for a moment in leisure.
A strange posture....
You hold me in your arms,
My arms envelope you,
Our eyes are locked.
We gaze into our lives.
A strange posture this for me.
Someone with me, in my room,
Who does not share it, or need it.
I dare not give,
I dare not ask.
My arms envelope you,
Our eyes are locked.
We gaze into our lives.
A strange posture this for me.
Someone with me, in my room,
Who does not share it, or need it.
I dare not give,
I dare not ask.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Evenings....
There were evenings when
I had the moon beside me.
My gazing eyes would be glazed
At its perfection. Raptures.
The Gods were dancing and
The clouds were musing.
The food would be an afterthought.
The mind would bring my soul’s food.
There was a starry lane where I would stop
Thinking. I would be consumed by a spirit
And yet consume would my own.
Thus would an evening end,
In spiritual ecstasy and
A heavy set feeling of responsibility.
I had the moon beside me.
My gazing eyes would be glazed
At its perfection. Raptures.
The Gods were dancing and
The clouds were musing.
The food would be an afterthought.
The mind would bring my soul’s food.
There was a starry lane where I would stop
Thinking. I would be consumed by a spirit
And yet consume would my own.
Thus would an evening end,
In spiritual ecstasy and
A heavy set feeling of responsibility.
My Smile
My mind is clouded,
Shrouded by its thoughts,
But you as a thought stand out
Like a beacon to this lost sailor.
I hear the world with its many voices,
But you drown out the crowd with your silent whisper.
I am touched by a thousand hands,
But you touch me as a tender memory.
I am rendered parched by solitude,
But you drench me like a rain bearing cloud.
I am helpless to my emotions,
And you come to me as my pacifying spirituality.
I am stuck with my theories,
And you come as the season’s first breeze.
I am tired of life,
And you occur to me as an unsaid prayer.
I see a thousand things,
And you come to me as a woman.
I say a million words,
And you come to me as my poetry.
My mind is clouded,
Shrouded by its thoughts,
And you come to me as my smile.
Shrouded by its thoughts,
But you as a thought stand out
Like a beacon to this lost sailor.
I hear the world with its many voices,
But you drown out the crowd with your silent whisper.
I am touched by a thousand hands,
But you touch me as a tender memory.
I am rendered parched by solitude,
But you drench me like a rain bearing cloud.
I am helpless to my emotions,
And you come to me as my pacifying spirituality.
I am stuck with my theories,
And you come as the season’s first breeze.
I am tired of life,
And you occur to me as an unsaid prayer.
I see a thousand things,
And you come to me as a woman.
I say a million words,
And you come to me as my poetry.
My mind is clouded,
Shrouded by its thoughts,
And you come to me as my smile.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
.........
How does it feel....
To be on your own,
No direction, no home,
Like a complete unknown,
Like a rolling stone.....
To be on your own,
No direction, no home,
Like a complete unknown,
Like a rolling stone.....
The Storm and The Sands
Like the storm which bears down
Upon peace to become peace,
Your thoughts come to me
To become one with me.
The conscious thinks not about you.
Your shadow is shown like a light
In my heart, that which is followed.
Footprints on the sands dream
Of permanence. But who dares
Define its form, that which flows
Free as the wind itself? Who can
Prophesize the whims of the winds?
But prayers may be done,
Sacrifices effected and pain taken.
The rose plant within me has
Taken roots, but it blooms not now.
Who dares doubt my patience?
Upon peace to become peace,
Your thoughts come to me
To become one with me.
The conscious thinks not about you.
Your shadow is shown like a light
In my heart, that which is followed.
Footprints on the sands dream
Of permanence. But who dares
Define its form, that which flows
Free as the wind itself? Who can
Prophesize the whims of the winds?
But prayers may be done,
Sacrifices effected and pain taken.
The rose plant within me has
Taken roots, but it blooms not now.
Who dares doubt my patience?
Friday, May 27, 2005
Free Falling
Feels like I want something
Desperately that is within
My reach and my hands are tied.
I struggle against the rope and
Yet Loving it. Sweet helplessness.
Free falling all this time,
Spiralling towards my destiny.
Desperately that is within
My reach and my hands are tied.
I struggle against the rope and
Yet Loving it. Sweet helplessness.
Free falling all this time,
Spiralling towards my destiny.
Shoreless, but not windless....
My waves are within me.
Shoreless, but not windless.
They take me to the land.
And back I go to the seas.
Lonely the seas are.
Winds are the catalysts,
The sun and the moon my companions.
The wind welcomes me to the highs,
Stirring me to my Godly embodiment.
Letting me be my glorious conqueror.
I fall back to my brooding, wavy self,
Only to long for the winds
To carry me, to hold me…..
One more time, yet one more time…..
Shoreless, but not windless.
They take me to the land.
And back I go to the seas.
Lonely the seas are.
Winds are the catalysts,
The sun and the moon my companions.
The wind welcomes me to the highs,
Stirring me to my Godly embodiment.
Letting me be my glorious conqueror.
I fall back to my brooding, wavy self,
Only to long for the winds
To carry me, to hold me…..
One more time, yet one more time…..
No more I
My lips touch those feet.
My temples perspiring under the achievement.
My tears blinding me to ecstasy.
I would have lived my life.
No goal unachieved.
No land unexplored.
No pleasure deprived of.
No moment unfinished.
No more longing.
No more me, but You.
No more I, but God.
My temples perspiring under the achievement.
My tears blinding me to ecstasy.
I would have lived my life.
No goal unachieved.
No land unexplored.
No pleasure deprived of.
No moment unfinished.
No more longing.
No more me, but You.
No more I, but God.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
An Ode to the Love for a Woman.....
I am blinded by the spectres
Floating over my head and
I am drawn to you by an
Inner force I cannot deny.
I was free as a bird, riding
The currents high. I was
Like a lost thought. I was
Like a fantastic dream,
Fantasizing for its pleasure.
Then you captured my fancy.
I became intoxicated. I drank
The poison from the golden
Chalice. I found me kissing
The hand that hits me.
I am now unchained, free again.
But in a strange land........
Which road shall I travel?
My freedom has been restored.
Will you now accept me as a
Willing companion? Will you
Accompany a youth who spends
His days like a lone eagle and
His nights like a restless lion
In the heartland of the deserts?
Will you own me, but not possess me?
By taking my body and not my heart?
Then there is my hand - grasp it
With your beautiful hand and
Here is my Body - embrace it with
Your loving arms; and here are my
Lips - bestow upon them a
Deep and dizzying kiss.......
Floating over my head and
I am drawn to you by an
Inner force I cannot deny.
I was free as a bird, riding
The currents high. I was
Like a lost thought. I was
Like a fantastic dream,
Fantasizing for its pleasure.
Then you captured my fancy.
I became intoxicated. I drank
The poison from the golden
Chalice. I found me kissing
The hand that hits me.
I am now unchained, free again.
But in a strange land........
Which road shall I travel?
My freedom has been restored.
Will you now accept me as a
Willing companion? Will you
Accompany a youth who spends
His days like a lone eagle and
His nights like a restless lion
In the heartland of the deserts?
Will you own me, but not possess me?
By taking my body and not my heart?
Then there is my hand - grasp it
With your beautiful hand and
Here is my Body - embrace it with
Your loving arms; and here are my
Lips - bestow upon them a
Deep and dizzying kiss.......
Saturday, May 21, 2005
An Ode to Longing
I protect you in my heart.
Its walls your fortress, its
Forbearance your moat deep.
From within am I shaped,
Forged mighty and strong.
From within am I beautiful.
From within do I see God.
From within do I love.
From within do I value.
You are the fire in me,
And you are the smith.
Hitting me with pangs of
Hunger, making me yearn,
And yet grinding me sharp,
Polishing me to a shine, and
Launching me in my path,
To my destiny, far, far away.
Its walls your fortress, its
Forbearance your moat deep.
From within am I shaped,
Forged mighty and strong.
From within am I beautiful.
From within do I see God.
From within do I love.
From within do I value.
You are the fire in me,
And you are the smith.
Hitting me with pangs of
Hunger, making me yearn,
And yet grinding me sharp,
Polishing me to a shine, and
Launching me in my path,
To my destiny, far, far away.
Darkness
Light, you come but in flashes;
And darkness, O great you are.
You show the value of light
And the rainbows. But for you,
Would there be consciousness
And would there be a conscience?
What makes the light makes you,
Woven from the black fibers of
Our hearts, its juvenile ignorance.
The animal wakes in your company
And hunts in his primal hunger.
In dreams do we see our dreams.
Of that which we could attain,
The heights which we can soar.
In your hold, we see the Gods.
We fly like the kite sans a bond.
And darkness, O great you are.
You show the value of light
And the rainbows. But for you,
Would there be consciousness
And would there be a conscience?
What makes the light makes you,
Woven from the black fibers of
Our hearts, its juvenile ignorance.
The animal wakes in your company
And hunts in his primal hunger.
In dreams do we see our dreams.
Of that which we could attain,
The heights which we can soar.
In your hold, we see the Gods.
We fly like the kite sans a bond.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Perfection
I see the perfection in You,
which i strive to be, of that
which inspires me, to be bigger
and higher in spirit. With the
chalice in my hand, I stand now
in a stance of pride, it full of
the manna called life. What i have
learnt is a way of life, what has
been thrust to me is a philosophy.
Oh...how i drank, how i want more.
What a happiness lingers in my heart.
Yes, Man can stand in perfection.
which i strive to be, of that
which inspires me, to be bigger
and higher in spirit. With the
chalice in my hand, I stand now
in a stance of pride, it full of
the manna called life. What i have
learnt is a way of life, what has
been thrust to me is a philosophy.
Oh...how i drank, how i want more.
What a happiness lingers in my heart.
Yes, Man can stand in perfection.
Monday, April 11, 2005
To the world i go.....
I sat there, in the sands,
By the river. I leave today,
Headed for home, to another
World, from my sojourn here.
It's magic, yes it is. The
Silence's mystique sending
Shivers down my spine, with
God I seek respite, I opine.
The fireflies are here, and so
Are the frogs. For them it's a
New night, after the twilight.
For me, the last touch with a
Place I love. I look up to the
Gods. I split the sky in two.
To my right, a star is shone,
Glowing in solitary splendor,
Towering above its dark décor.
To my left is the moon and its
Wonderful nymphs, the little
Stars. As I walk away today,
To the world at large, I wonder,
Do I take the left or the right?
Right I could, to the lone star
In my sky, dance with it in
A cosmic ecstasy. Left I could,
To the many, to no one in full,
But to live like a speck of cosmic
Dust. I take the right, to the lone
Star, to glow with it, to be bright,
As the star itself. Distinct I will be,
High up there, perfect and precious,
Distant, yet proud I will be.
By the river. I leave today,
Headed for home, to another
World, from my sojourn here.
It's magic, yes it is. The
Silence's mystique sending
Shivers down my spine, with
God I seek respite, I opine.
The fireflies are here, and so
Are the frogs. For them it's a
New night, after the twilight.
For me, the last touch with a
Place I love. I look up to the
Gods. I split the sky in two.
To my right, a star is shone,
Glowing in solitary splendor,
Towering above its dark décor.
To my left is the moon and its
Wonderful nymphs, the little
Stars. As I walk away today,
To the world at large, I wonder,
Do I take the left or the right?
Right I could, to the lone star
In my sky, dance with it in
A cosmic ecstasy. Left I could,
To the many, to no one in full,
But to live like a speck of cosmic
Dust. I take the right, to the lone
Star, to glow with it, to be bright,
As the star itself. Distinct I will be,
High up there, perfect and precious,
Distant, yet proud I will be.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
It rains on....
You, who drenched me,
In your pour of loveliness,
Every drop signing your
Sweet name on the hard
Wood of my heart, to leave
My soul carved in the intricate
Fashion thus. Making me
The delicate design of the
Simple maze, in its patterns,
In its beauty. Only to find it
Then, lost in every meaning,
Within itself, not unlike a calf
Lost in a herd, seeking the warm
Bosom. The sun is shone and
I am dry. Burning with the very
Desires that you synthesized, in
A concoction of my emotions.
What a cocktail you made, what
Colors I have seen, the rainbows
I have touched. The old seasons
Are here, a full circle they scribe.
It rains again and how…
I am born again and how…
In your pour of loveliness,
Every drop signing your
Sweet name on the hard
Wood of my heart, to leave
My soul carved in the intricate
Fashion thus. Making me
The delicate design of the
Simple maze, in its patterns,
In its beauty. Only to find it
Then, lost in every meaning,
Within itself, not unlike a calf
Lost in a herd, seeking the warm
Bosom. The sun is shone and
I am dry. Burning with the very
Desires that you synthesized, in
A concoction of my emotions.
What a cocktail you made, what
Colors I have seen, the rainbows
I have touched. The old seasons
Are here, a full circle they scribe.
It rains again and how…
I am born again and how…
Saturday, April 09, 2005
You smell divine
You smell divine, of a unique
Flower, of the colorful meadow,
Vivid from a distance. Like a
Far away illusion, yet distinct
To the passer by. Like the gentle
Touch of the sanguine grace of
The colorful butterfly, and yet,
Like the whirlwind that rises
From the breeze and weaves its
Magic. Unseating me from my
Diamond throne, as I close my
Gifted eyes, to give your airs
The attention of a moment, in an
Unwavering effort reserved for
Something this pure, which guides
My verses like the Maestro’s baton,
As I dance to the fragrant tune.
Like a balloon pricked by the rose’s
Thorn, wind out of me, as sudden
As the thunder that resounds of the
Meekness of Man before divinity.
The moment passes, the eyes open,
What beauty can surpass what the
Mind sees in you, divine fragrance.
Flower, of the colorful meadow,
Vivid from a distance. Like a
Far away illusion, yet distinct
To the passer by. Like the gentle
Touch of the sanguine grace of
The colorful butterfly, and yet,
Like the whirlwind that rises
From the breeze and weaves its
Magic. Unseating me from my
Diamond throne, as I close my
Gifted eyes, to give your airs
The attention of a moment, in an
Unwavering effort reserved for
Something this pure, which guides
My verses like the Maestro’s baton,
As I dance to the fragrant tune.
Like a balloon pricked by the rose’s
Thorn, wind out of me, as sudden
As the thunder that resounds of the
Meekness of Man before divinity.
The moment passes, the eyes open,
What beauty can surpass what the
Mind sees in you, divine fragrance.
Friday, April 08, 2005
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!
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.
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.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
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?
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 ……
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
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 ……
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 ……
Saturday, April 02, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, April 01, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
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?
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?
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
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?
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.
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.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
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.
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.
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.
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.
Friday, March 18, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
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.
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.
The Firefly
The Firefly
You are right there, glowing
And making merry, among
The bushes, with your green
Body, giving light, not to
Show us the path, but to etch
Your presence in the darkness.
That there can be such light,
Such brightness, in the gloom,
As you search for your worthy
Partner. You come near, search
For the light in me, which is
In you. Sitting on my arm,
As I glance at you in attuned
Attention, at the best that
I can be, the light I yearn for,
You go again, free as you were
Conceived, beautiful as you are
Now. Its enough for this lonely
Warrior just to be with you, as
Your light resonates in my being,
Good things happen to me,
Letting me come closer to you.
You are right there, glowing
And making merry, among
The bushes, with your green
Body, giving light, not to
Show us the path, but to etch
Your presence in the darkness.
That there can be such light,
Such brightness, in the gloom,
As you search for your worthy
Partner. You come near, search
For the light in me, which is
In you. Sitting on my arm,
As I glance at you in attuned
Attention, at the best that
I can be, the light I yearn for,
You go again, free as you were
Conceived, beautiful as you are
Now. Its enough for this lonely
Warrior just to be with you, as
Your light resonates in my being,
Good things happen to me,
Letting me come closer to you.
Distance.....
Distance
As I move closer, as I move away,
As I lay still, as I splash around,
Distance is always there, to be
Reckoned with. It feels like a
Point in space, at the mercy of
Every other point to decide its
Utility as itself in this universe.
Inconsequential in inherence,
Building around itself a web of
Importance, by program, by the
Properties it was bequeathed.
As it waves around in its quest
For consequence, it really feels
Like a very small point in space.
As I move closer, as I move away,
As I lay still, as I splash around,
Distance is always there, to be
Reckoned with. It feels like a
Point in space, at the mercy of
Every other point to decide its
Utility as itself in this universe.
Inconsequential in inherence,
Building around itself a web of
Importance, by program, by the
Properties it was bequeathed.
As it waves around in its quest
For consequence, it really feels
Like a very small point in space.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Somewhere....
Somewhere in this supple,
Rounded, familiar shape
Lies the mind I love.
Credit be to the Hand
That devised such tangle
Of destiny, of intertwining
Paths, towards living we all go.
In every sparkle, in every caress,
In every touch, in every smile,
In every passing moment,
There rises a silent prayer to
The Hand, that devised this.
A prayer in volition, of a
Predestined accord, devised
For me, as I grow; as shaped
By the Hand, the mind I love.
Rounded, familiar shape
Lies the mind I love.
Credit be to the Hand
That devised such tangle
Of destiny, of intertwining
Paths, towards living we all go.
In every sparkle, in every caress,
In every touch, in every smile,
In every passing moment,
There rises a silent prayer to
The Hand, that devised this.
A prayer in volition, of a
Predestined accord, devised
For me, as I grow; as shaped
By the Hand, the mind I love.
Friday, March 11, 2005
The Silk Brocade
The Silk Brocade
The silk brocade
Caught in a thorn, losing its
Value, for life, for adorning
A beauty, to qualify existence,
To justify the Creator, whose
Deft hands crafted it, with care.
The smooth silk dies. The craft
Will forever create brocades
That will delight who
Seeks it, in endless giving,
Blending in color and in sense.
Silk is chosen, condemned to
Everyone who can want it. Like
A thing that can be passed on,
With easy ebullience, still to
Lend itself to creating beauty,
And so goes its legacy.
The silk brocade
Caught in a thorn, losing its
Value, for life, for adorning
A beauty, to qualify existence,
To justify the Creator, whose
Deft hands crafted it, with care.
The smooth silk dies. The craft
Will forever create brocades
That will delight who
Seeks it, in endless giving,
Blending in color and in sense.
Silk is chosen, condemned to
Everyone who can want it. Like
A thing that can be passed on,
With easy ebullience, still to
Lend itself to creating beauty,
And so goes its legacy.
The Insanity of Seeking
The room, enormous it is,
Like a wily twisting maze.
Restless, clueless, I am
Enclosed in its womb.
All ways lead to the torch,
Bearing the eternal flame.
Yet unthinkable it is for me,
To reach out, for it
Could die at my touch.
Let the flame give me warmth,
Transmitted through the walls,
Through the floor, in a gentle
Caress of a touch, a mere rustle.
Feeble in transmission, amplified
By my emotions, fooling my
Rationality. Forever in my paradise.
Clouded by my mind’s ravings,
Of my passionate calling.
Making silent love, in the depths of
My soul, forever embroiled in love
In the cold cell, desire
Running like a fever, so passionate,
So deep. I moan in pain, at the
Insanity of seeking warmth,
At the cost of the flame.
As my eyes burn, the fits of searing
Desolation hit me in waves,
Again and again, pushing me,
To dream the end of my exile, to home,
To her warm bosom, that bed of roses,
Upon which may my head rest, to
Fog into its deserved slumber.
Like a wily twisting maze.
Restless, clueless, I am
Enclosed in its womb.
All ways lead to the torch,
Bearing the eternal flame.
Yet unthinkable it is for me,
To reach out, for it
Could die at my touch.
Let the flame give me warmth,
Transmitted through the walls,
Through the floor, in a gentle
Caress of a touch, a mere rustle.
Feeble in transmission, amplified
By my emotions, fooling my
Rationality. Forever in my paradise.
Clouded by my mind’s ravings,
Of my passionate calling.
Making silent love, in the depths of
My soul, forever embroiled in love
In the cold cell, desire
Running like a fever, so passionate,
So deep. I moan in pain, at the
Insanity of seeking warmth,
At the cost of the flame.
As my eyes burn, the fits of searing
Desolation hit me in waves,
Again and again, pushing me,
To dream the end of my exile, to home,
To her warm bosom, that bed of roses,
Upon which may my head rest, to
Fog into its deserved slumber.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
How to Name It?
My thoughts flow,
Like a river to the sea,
Towards her.
In bouts of sweet pain
Do I exist the days.
In fleeting glances, and
In enduring pride.
So near yet so far.
In spirals of pale despair
Do I endure the cool evenings.
Under the Orion, and in
The silence of my soul.
Hope seems less possible.
In my books and music
Are my nights spent.
Seeking that flash of
Passion. Ever so intense.
So far yet so near.
The thoughts butt the walls
Of my mind, like a torrent
Trying to break the dam
Of my silence, my sanity.
Ever trying to make me
The callous monster.
To cry out in pain,
Unfeeling in my impulse
To let her know
How I feel then.
How to name it?
How to name it?
Like a river to the sea,
Towards her.
In bouts of sweet pain
Do I exist the days.
In fleeting glances, and
In enduring pride.
So near yet so far.
In spirals of pale despair
Do I endure the cool evenings.
Under the Orion, and in
The silence of my soul.
Hope seems less possible.
In my books and music
Are my nights spent.
Seeking that flash of
Passion. Ever so intense.
So far yet so near.
The thoughts butt the walls
Of my mind, like a torrent
Trying to break the dam
Of my silence, my sanity.
Ever trying to make me
The callous monster.
To cry out in pain,
Unfeeling in my impulse
To let her know
How I feel then.
How to name it?
How to name it?
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
My Wait.....
My Wait.
I walk down
The paved path
In sylvan surroundings,
Butterflies and humming bees,
The morning’s light wreath
Turns the cold into rousing warmth.
I feel empty
As a dull numbness sets in
Leaving me gasping for thoughts.
With a vacuum of sorts.
The time comes
When my beauty is realized
By her presence, a smile,
In ethereal stillness.
With her lilting fragrance
Lighting up the instance.
A moment in rhapsody
With the cure for my malady.
Transcending everything else
That was created by
The very same Hand.
In perfect harmony with
Her body and her spirit,
Forever young and perfect.
Made for love, to be
Given without question,
In absolute, with exaltation.
As my chest swells
With the pride in swells,
To life I rise for a toast.
The moment ends.
Leaving a void widened,
Ever deepened.
With love as the end,
And love as the means,
I plough on, through the days,
With its waves shaping my heart
Into the perfection
Of its love.
I walk down
The paved path
In sylvan surroundings,
Butterflies and humming bees,
The morning’s light wreath
Turns the cold into rousing warmth.
I feel empty
As a dull numbness sets in
Leaving me gasping for thoughts.
With a vacuum of sorts.
The time comes
When my beauty is realized
By her presence, a smile,
In ethereal stillness.
With her lilting fragrance
Lighting up the instance.
A moment in rhapsody
With the cure for my malady.
Transcending everything else
That was created by
The very same Hand.
In perfect harmony with
Her body and her spirit,
Forever young and perfect.
Made for love, to be
Given without question,
In absolute, with exaltation.
As my chest swells
With the pride in swells,
To life I rise for a toast.
The moment ends.
Leaving a void widened,
Ever deepened.
With love as the end,
And love as the means,
I plough on, through the days,
With its waves shaping my heart
Into the perfection
Of its love.
Monday, March 07, 2005
My Own Prison
How does it feel?
To be on ur own,
No direction no home,
Like a complete unknown,
Like a rolling stone....
When I am alone, I feel like I am free. But for how long? Till I feel I am not losing anything by not being with people or till I feel I am not gaining anything by being alone. Why should i feel free?
Happiness is a present attitude, and not a future condition, says Hugh Prather, in "My Struggles to Become a Person". Attitudes are shaped by external factors. If attitudes are shaped by externalities, then happiness is external too. We look for externalities to be happy. Someone has to tell me something to make me happy. Someone has to do something I like for me to be happy. I make an externality a precondition to be happy. When I am dependent on someone or something to come to a happy state of mind, I am placing it in the hands of an external factor, which may or may not respect my stakes, may or may not respect my terms and requirements in the whole thing. We have created a relationship between attitude and happiness.
When I say we have created the relationship, I mean that the conditioning we have been through tells us to be pleasing, to be good by someone else’s standards, and therefore to look for external criteria to satisfy. We never had a choice on this, because the relationship was made when for us the world was our family, when the mom and pop were Gods. My happiness lay in theirs. This relationship is ingrained in our mind, deep. To the point of being the only morally acceptable and known means to be happy.
Doesn’t every religion preach the ideal eternal bliss in the Self? What does it take to have nothing to possess and still be happy?
Every pit I am in, I have dug for myself. Every time I find myself in a pit, I find that I will not get out till I realize that I dug the pit. We created our own prisons.
To be on ur own,
No direction no home,
Like a complete unknown,
Like a rolling stone....
When I am alone, I feel like I am free. But for how long? Till I feel I am not losing anything by not being with people or till I feel I am not gaining anything by being alone. Why should i feel free?
Happiness is a present attitude, and not a future condition, says Hugh Prather, in "My Struggles to Become a Person". Attitudes are shaped by external factors. If attitudes are shaped by externalities, then happiness is external too. We look for externalities to be happy. Someone has to tell me something to make me happy. Someone has to do something I like for me to be happy. I make an externality a precondition to be happy. When I am dependent on someone or something to come to a happy state of mind, I am placing it in the hands of an external factor, which may or may not respect my stakes, may or may not respect my terms and requirements in the whole thing. We have created a relationship between attitude and happiness.
When I say we have created the relationship, I mean that the conditioning we have been through tells us to be pleasing, to be good by someone else’s standards, and therefore to look for external criteria to satisfy. We never had a choice on this, because the relationship was made when for us the world was our family, when the mom and pop were Gods. My happiness lay in theirs. This relationship is ingrained in our mind, deep. To the point of being the only morally acceptable and known means to be happy.
Doesn’t every religion preach the ideal eternal bliss in the Self? What does it take to have nothing to possess and still be happy?
Every pit I am in, I have dug for myself. Every time I find myself in a pit, I find that I will not get out till I realize that I dug the pit. We created our own prisons.
Music and Beauty
The reason music is so valuable is that it is an incarnation of beauty, for me. A thing is not beautiful because it is beautiful, but it is valuable because it is beautiful. Beauty is value. What better incarnation can be there for beauty than an art?
To show beauty to someone in any form is a supreme effort. If I am feeling the beauty of a song or music, what would it take it to create it?
Beauty is a state of mind, of the creator and the beholder. The creator creates something, when he is in a particular state of mind, so sees beauty in his creation. To appreciate this beauty, the beholder must correspond to this state of mind of the creator. Thus, the two minds must be on a plane that is mutual.
Surely the creator of so much value, that is beauty, must have been one with the divine when it was created. Consorting with the deepest values of his existence, which are brought out in a state of extreme involvement.
This is the emotional level. When the sounds of some string kindle a feeling of love, sadness or even ecstasy, this is like someone holding the strings and I am a puppet.
What joy in helplessness. To ride the wave, to go with the flow. When you know nothing else matters at that moment, what is the point in thinking? A rare moment. Ascetism could lead to this for longer periods of time, or an orgasm for a moment. In all these cases, the thing that stops the mind is beauty, of the mind itself, of our raw instinct, unsaid, yet expressed.
I am listening to this song now, what else exists but Me.
To show beauty to someone in any form is a supreme effort. If I am feeling the beauty of a song or music, what would it take it to create it?
Beauty is a state of mind, of the creator and the beholder. The creator creates something, when he is in a particular state of mind, so sees beauty in his creation. To appreciate this beauty, the beholder must correspond to this state of mind of the creator. Thus, the two minds must be on a plane that is mutual.
Surely the creator of so much value, that is beauty, must have been one with the divine when it was created. Consorting with the deepest values of his existence, which are brought out in a state of extreme involvement.
This is the emotional level. When the sounds of some string kindle a feeling of love, sadness or even ecstasy, this is like someone holding the strings and I am a puppet.
What joy in helplessness. To ride the wave, to go with the flow. When you know nothing else matters at that moment, what is the point in thinking? A rare moment. Ascetism could lead to this for longer periods of time, or an orgasm for a moment. In all these cases, the thing that stops the mind is beauty, of the mind itself, of our raw instinct, unsaid, yet expressed.
I am listening to this song now, what else exists but Me.
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