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.

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.

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…

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.

Lo’ behold, there she comes!

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

The Winds of Change

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

I am like the flute.....

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

Why do I see so much?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, I see so little ……

Castles of Sand.....

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

The plane we have reached

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

Perfection Vs. Contentment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Worlds, Our Words

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