Poems by Uttik

ammasriram By ammasriram, 8th Nov 2015 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/16m003sm/
Posted in Wikinut>Health>Mind & Spirit>Positive Thinking

Some of the poems describe the nature of the true self, and the advent of misconception of the true self as a result of human birth and "knowing". Other poems describe human character and behavior, and an opportunity to look in the mirror and "know thyself":
-- Uttik

The pearl

What is, isn't,
What isn't, is.
Ere my advent, I did not know,
Now I know, but am not aware.
There was truth and bliss, and no other,
Now there is an oyster shell, and a speck of pearl dust inside.
Oh life, cast thy bolts of thunder and lightning,
Make the heart seed sprout, and dissolve the shell into nothingness.

The flight of oneness

Many a night, I flew merrily, where I pleased,
Many a day, I was chained with a dead weight holding me aground,
Remembrance of Thee lent invisible golden wings,
Remembrance of me held me anchored, buried under the sea,
Yet, I never had weight to be weightless,
Yet, I never had form to be contained,
Now, in gratitude, thou cometh in my place,
Now, in Love, thou art me.

Giving

I reached out my hand, to get,
It was lovely to behold,
With great anticipation I tasted and swallowed,
And it burned me slowly, from inside out.
I reached out my hand, to give,
It was pathetic and miserable a sight,
I immersed myself in the misery,
And lo! It dissolved me delightfully, from outside in.

What now?

The Whole saw a piece of deadwood,
And whispered softly,
'Tis time,
Out of Nothing a silver thread reached out and touched,
A thrill permeated through the wood, but only the Whole was aware,
Nothing cast its shadow inside the wood,
Wood could feel the thrill now,
But strange! Wood felt apart from the Whole!
And wood felt he owned the Whole,
The Whole whispered softly,
'Tis time,
A bolt came out of Nothing and struck wood,
Wood cringed, and cried piteously,
Then it saw the plight of another wood, and forgot itself,
The Whole smiled, and whispered softly,
'Tis time,
Nothing embraced wood into its fold,
What now?

A mirror and a mirage

Of parched throat and tired legs I wandered,
My chains weighed me down, and my skins suffocated me,
Oh my love, how did I forget thee?
The way was filled with travelers,
That sought my skins and admired my chains,
The burning sands and the scalding breeze, were without respite,
My desperate eyes espied the delightful sight of a shimmering surface,
My heart leaped at the hope of coolness and comfort,
Alas! Upon reaching the lake, I found it ever afar,
Oh my love, how did I let go of your hand?
Has the moon possessed my mind?
Has the scorching desert confounded my senses?
Oh wait! What is this lovely dream I now see?
Or, was I not dreaming before?
With thine infinite patience, thou hast crafted a mirror with my sweat and toil, with my faith and compassion,
And now, when I have stumbled into this mirror on my path,
I have lost my way, only to find myself in thine arms,
Oh how sweet, and blissful that I am no more!

The shaagirdh

There are roses, and then there are roses. O Friend, bring me a rose that outruns a creeper, and outlasts a desert cactus.
There are nightingales, and then there are nightingales. O Friend, bring me a nightingale that has a donkey's bray, and yet gladdens hearts with its tunes.
There are monkeys, and then there are monkeys. O Friend, bring me a monkey that has an unclenched fist and a calm mind.
There are snakes, and then there are snakes. O Friend, bring me a snake that, when stepped on, yet doesn't strike, but knows to hiss.
There are jesters, and then there are jesters. O Friend, bring me a jester that can make me laugh, yet not at another's expense.
There are warriors, and then there are warriors. O Friend, bring me a warrior that can kill his own anger and ire, ere he strikes at others.
There are wise men, and then there are wise men. O Friend bring me a wise man whose heart drives his hands.
O Friend, my very own, won't you cast your shadow upon me?
O my dearest, I long for the time when the threads are untangled, when I can see through to me.
My one and only refuge, make me thy shaagirdh.

The madness of the madeira

Lip on the rim of the cup for a sip.
I imagined the curves of the wineglass.
I imagined the flavors of the contents and the feeling of it flowing down my throat.
I remember forgetting myself in the aftermath.
The curves.
The contents.
The illusions.
I wanted more. And more.
The taverner served with a smile. Others readily joined me.
I believed I had found friends in my life.
The curves.
The contents.
The illusions.
As I staggered out into the moonlit night, the Trainer accosted me.
He slapped me on my face.
I passed out of the world and into dreams.
I woke to the sound of a gurgling brook.
The Trainer held me across his knees seated in the water, and I was torn to shreds by His nails.
The purifying waters carried away all that was not me.
I gazed into the eyes of the Trainer and passed out.
As the Trainer I gazed down at the cleansing.
The madeira would touch me no more.

Pressure

I asked the Owner for space.
He gave me confined infinity.
He built numerous doors and windows.
They started pouring in, through the doors and windows.
Nonstop.
Continuous.
Countless.
Some upon my invitation.
Some, thieves.
Some, vagabonds.
Some, rabblerousers.
Some, pilgrims.
The Owner called out, "You asked for space. Are you prepared now, to deal with Time?"
I heard Him but paid no heed.
Soon I started carrying them all.
The guests.
The thieves.
The vagabonds.
The rabblerousers.
The pilgrims.
I cried out to the owner, "Why hast thou made it so heavy?"
The Owner asked again, "Are you prepared to deal with time?"
In desperation I froze.
The top quarter shrank till it was no more.
The middle expanded to fill the confined infinity.
The bottom was grounded, but it mattered not.
A silver dove emerged, with the softest coo, and spread the Owner's pure white blood.
All is light now, for sight and for touch.
Forever, and for no time.

The journey to nowhere and back

I had the impertinence to become a wave in my Father.
Father took delight in permitting the mischief.
He smiled with the amused patience born of having seen it before.
From the smile He embodied Himself,
And He breathed into me, and chopped me off.
I cried.
I know not whether it was from detachment or attachment,
"Oh, my child, but you are naked", said Father.
And He clothed me in five layers.
Threads were formed of Mother, and formed in Father.
With the fifth layer, I descended with a hard bump.
I forgot how wonderful it was to be naked.
Mother welcomed the clothed me to her bosom.
I cried.
I know not whether it was from detachment or attachment,
I grew smaller, and the clothes grew bigger.
I now had a mother and father, and was orphaned.
Sometimes I dreamed that Father called out to me, with arms open.
Always, my reply was the same. "Father, let me tarry a while, yet."
Sometimes, Mother reminded me to see myself naked in the mirror.
Always, my reply was the same. "Mother, I am afraid to lose my clothes."
In no time at all, the clothes were dirty.
I wanted what was worn by others.
I could not bear the pain and the restlessness.
I asked others to help.
Father was quiet.
Then I surrendered.
I called out. "Father, won't you help me? Do what you will,"
Father willed.
Mother flared.
I spent more and more time in front of the mirror.
The head scarf was burnt.
I saw a bit of myself.
My shoes were burnt.
I saw a bit more of myself.
My robe was burnt.
I was naked once more.
I rejoiced as a wave yet again.
But this time, it was Father rejoicing.
And Mother was in hiding, never far away, in case Father wished to play again.

Passion fruit

O pilgrim!
A piece of wood is set on fire at a great distance from you. Would you feel burnt?
A piece of wood is weighed down by boulders. Would you feel crushed?
A piece of wood is exposed to a downpour of rain. Would you feel wet?
A piece of wood is subjected to torment and abuse by others. Would you feel hurt?

Alas! I did, o pilgrim.
I felt seared.
I felt shattered.
I felt damp.
I felt wounded.

A tender sapling, green and young, smooth of skin, and supple of form,
I was enamored,
I wished to possess it.
It would grow to be firm, with fine shape and features.
I longed to possess it.

After all, these were objects for my pleasure, were they not?
I yielded. Time and again.
It mattered not that there was pus and filth inside.

It mattered not that they would one day be rough and wrinkled.

Alas!
They bound me in myriad ways, seen and unseen.
They succeeded in increasing my hunger and thirst, and roused my passion to no end.

Whiterobe summoned me one day.
She breathed a quantum of vibration inside the wood.
She pulled me away and made me a witness.

Every day She fans the spark.
Every day She reminds me to watch.

O wonder of wonders!
When I watch, I don't do!
When I do, I fall.
Yet She is always there, with a lasso and a bait.
Now, when I do, I am punished, being placed in front of a mirror.
When I watch, there is no mirror, and there is no me.

A musk-deer's quest for musk

My son wondered.
"Father, why doest thou chase thine shadow?"
I wondered what he meant.
I sought beauty in expression.
I sought beauty in the world.
Every day was a pageant show, a feast for my eyes, for my senses.
A blind man was in the presence of beauty.
It made no impression on him.
A child was in the presence of beauty.
It made no big impression on him.
A server passed by.
It enticed him not at all.
A devotee passed by.
For him there was no other.

Who was aware of the beauty?
Where was the beauty seated - in a form? In a seer's vision? In the seer's mind-threads?
If it was in me, what was I seeking outside?
Is the presence of beauty in me of some purpose?
Is the awareness of it a means to an end?

My son saw through it all.
"Father, seek ye to be aware of the seams of thine mind-threads."
"The seams shall be the means."
"With the unraveling, shall come the end of the confounding den of thine mind."
I tried to understand.
I did, yet it made no difference.
My son plugged my holes.

In solitude I enjoyed Nothing.
I stopped knowing.
I started being.
Now, the musk deer need search no more.

The ways of the jungle

My friend took me hunting in the forest.
My friend.
Traitor!
He left me there.
He sincerely believed I should experience the pleasure of it.
He said it was for my own good.

I fell.

I arose a lion, and killed those that dared oppose my ego & lust.
I arose a tiger, and took pleasure in lording over the weak, full of wrath.
I arose a hyena, stealing and wresting away that which belonged to others.
I arose a vulture, feasting on the misery and sorrow of others.
I arose a snake, loving a life in dark holes.
I arose a crocodile, swooping on others at their weakest moments.
I arose a leech, feeding on the lifeblood of others.
I arose a crow, jealous of every morsel that went to others.

I died, again and again.
My friend, the traitor, played his role faithfully and treacherously.

Through it all, I believed I had no father.
After all, why couldn't I see him?
After all, why did he not do anything to help me?
No, it was clear - I had no father.
One day, as a lion, when I held a baby deer in my powerful jaws, a voice was heard.
Let go, your belly is full.
I did, in a rare moment of weakness.

That's all it took.
Father was born in me.
The pool was dirty and turbulent to begin with.
Yet with each day, Father grew in me.
The pool became calmer, clearer.

One day, I lorded as elephant over the lion & the tiger,
As lion over the hyena,
As hyena over the vulture,
As mongoose over the snake,
As hippo over the crocodile,
As eagle over the crow,
As medic over the leech.

My friend was yet treacherous, but had no more power to entice me to the hunt.
I was in the forest.
But, the forest was not in me.

Seeking nothing in the land of plenty

The one who wants, gets, and is then found wanting.
The one who sleeps, loses the chance to get what he needs.
The one who wants what he needs, is given.
The one who wants not for himself, gets plenty.

Yes, I came across such a land,
The cuckoo sought to be a peacock, and the peacock the cuckoo.
The rabbit sought to be a lion.
The sparrow sought to be a kite.
The mouse sought to be a snake.

I was born in such a land.
I was given a name, but sought fame.
I was given life, but sought strife.
I was given health, but sought wealth.
I was given arms, but sought alms.
I was given a brain, but sought to be vain,

I was given success, but sought my neighbor's failure.
I was given freedom, but sought to lord over a kingdom.
I was given clothes, but sought to be naked.
I was given a gift, but sought for it to be in no one else's hand.
I was given legs to move forward, but sought to keep others behind me.
I was given industry, but sought to be idle.
I was given a heart, but sought to be apart.

One day I chanced upon strange sights.
A man carrying a donkey.
That changed into a mouse donning a discarded snakeskin.
That changed into the ocean berating the sun.
That changed into a fawn trying to imitate a tiger's growl.
That changed into a fish trying to walk on land.

I turned inside out, and outside in.
I lost my senses, and gained freedom.
I lost my mind, and learned to be kind.
I lost my knowledge, and became conscious.
I shed my form and became beauty.
I lost my vision, and merged in the light of truth.
I died, and lived in bliss.

The golden womb

In the beginning, there was what is and will be.
This was in ether, with no time.
There was only the golden womb.
Gold did not exist.
Womb did not exist.
Space was contained in it.
None was there to know of it.
What existed was conscious.
What was conscious was in bliss.
What was in bliss was in vibration.
It was a vibration with no motion in space or time.
The womb playfully willed and caused an aberration in itself.
It had the power to erase the aberration, yet indulged in not erasing.
Again and again, it indulged in play.
Yet, there was neither space nor time.
In the aberration, it created slow, and medium and fast vibrations.
The slow vibration crystallized.
The womb laughed with delight at its play of self-delusion.
For, there was no crystal!
It injected a little of fast vibration into the crystal.
The crystal started growing.
The womb smiled with delight.
It peered into the crystal and cast its shadow.
The crystal awoke, and saw it existed.
The womb roared in delight.
The crystal came to know of others, and reached out to them.
The womb watched in great excitement.
One crystal wanted to be bigger than the others.
Another worried if something might harm it.
Yet another wanted to be of a different color.
The womb stepped up its play.
It became one of the crystals.
The other crystals watched it, learned, and dissolved.
The womb erased the aberration.
None of this happened.
Yet the womb continues to delight in its cycle of aberrations and erasures.

Jagat

Mother breathed me out through her nostrils.
As father shone on me, I felt the warmth of their love.
Feeling light as anything I rose upward with my trillions of brothers and sisters.
Mother continued to breathe out trillions of me.
Some stayed with me, others wandered away, across the heavens.
I started feeling cold and alone.
Father's heart melted, and he wanted us all to be together.
He clapped with his hands, and tore open his chest.
We all fell, and fell, and fell.
Mother received us into her arms.
Deep inside we went, and she fed us from her bosom.
I merged with my siblings, and emerged young and green.
Father smiled on me, and I grew desperate with longing to be with him.
He placed me in the company of The Child, and I died.
I was reborn and could move.
He placed me in the company of The Child, and I died.
I was reborn and could feel.
He placed me in the company of The Child, and I died.
I was reborn and was aware of myself.
He placed me in the company of The Child, and I died.
I was reborn and became The Child.
He called out to me and I died.
I stayed dead, and now I watch all this continue to happen.

The rise and fall of shadows

I plucked a flower from a plant, and expected it to be grateful to me.
I plucked berries from a bush and said it was my birthright.
I swung an axe at a tree, and thought, after all, it exists only to serve me.
I touched the flame of a candle and screamed in rage that it burnt me.
I felt a sense of outrage at the rain, that it dared to wet me.
I danced with impatience when bread was late getting to my plate.
I felt miserable when my neighbor was praised, and when his wife was said to be prettier than mine.
I laughed in delight when I saw others fall.
I wrinkled my nose in disgust when the homeless man came seeking alms.
After all, life was meant to cater only to my wishes and desires, was it not?
A mountain rumbled, roared and erupted. It buried my house, my family, my possessions, and all that was dear to me.
A plague of dark spots and shadows approached closer and closer, and smote me.
A storm arrived, blowing with might and fury, and as I stood homeless, it shred my clothes to tatters.
My wellwishers said, "Marry, you shall need someone to look after you."
Now where are my caretakers? I only see the moon smiling at their graves.
As I stood naked and utterly helpless, I was reborn with the same dirty body-frame.
For, I had no recourse but to surrender.
But, surrender to whom?
Out of the most terrible agonies, out of abject poverty, out of utter despair, out of the most desolate loneliness, there arose a being of light and love.
The light killed me and all of mine.
The love killed my death for all time.

That which holds and that which flows

All was quiet, all was even.
Inertia above, and greater inertia below.
Peace was easy.
Yet there was no peace.
For, there was neither birth nor death.
Yet, who was there to feel peace?
Wait.
Something was brewing.
The upstart! Up to his mischief as usual!

A will was exerted.
A thrill did escape.
Below and Above liked it so much, they grabbed the thrills as much as they could hold on to.
In the mad frenzy that followed, some parts of Above broke off, and sneaked into the Below.
Some pieces of Below started gathering together, and climbed one above the other.

A will was exerted.
A sigh did escape.
A piece of Below awoke.
It had a will.
It willed to have more of itself.

A will was exerted.
Above became below, and Below became Above.
A piece ported itself.
And another.
And another.
Some in Below, and some in Above.
For no reason.
Again, and again.
Some tiny, and some gigantic.

A will was exerted.
A fire escaped.
A piece rose, and went beyond the Above.
Then, there was no stopping it.
Nothing was still, nothing was even.
Yet, the Upstart celebrated!
For, in the presence of agitation, he felt peace.

The tumors of liberation

I was carried here and there in a pocket,
I suckled at will,
Nourishment was never far away,
Neither of life, nor of love.

The cord was snipped,
The caregiver took a fancy to me,
She continued giving life and love,
But, I wanted other things,
Each time I drifted further, seeking new trinkets.

I would call out to her, just to know she was there,
She answered not, while my attention was on something else,
When I hungered for life's succor, she answered out of compassion,
Yet, I stopped minding her love.

I drifted away farther and longer,
I cared not for the caregiver,
Gratitude was dismissed to the dungeons of the derelict mansion,
Love became divided.

The trinkets hailed me every day,
Glorious in their sizes, designs, and colors,
Enchanting in their value and potential for pleasure,
Never was there a greater tornado, a greater vortex.

I savored and suffered,
The pendulum swung wider and faster,
The fear grew, and lost was the taste for savoring,
I grew desperate with longing for nothing.

The caregiver gave way to the surgeon,
The examination had begun,
Was I tumors on a body, or a body on tumors?
Scalpel and scissors went to work.

With each nip, the pain grew,
I started screaming till I could scream no more,
I gave in to the pain, and there was pain no more,
For the surgeon had sculpted a surgeon out of me.

The falsehood of true light

It was brighter than anything else in creation.
There was nothing else in creation.
It was.
It is.
It will always be.
Its light reaches everywhere, and leaves nothing untouched.
Yes, by its light nothing can be seen, nor known.
What manner of white magic is this?!
Where there is white, can black be far behind?
A mere reflection of the white light it was, that came about in trivial play.
And lo!
The infinite was contained.
Apparently.
The eternal was made ephemeral.
And by the light of this reflection all could be seen, and known!
But alas, the reflection became dirty.
Apparently.
The white light could be touched no more.
What manner of black magic is this?!
Alas!
How unfortunate!
When the clouds became pregnant, the reflection felt heavy.
When the clouds travelled through time, the reflection grew restless.
When a cloud touched another, the reflection became insatiable.
The golden hour arrived.
The cloud felt a pull.
It rose.
As it rose, it lost what it held, and rose higher.
It became thinner, and rose higher.
The call was irresistible.
There was hardly anything left of the cloud.
No other cloud could touch it now.
It grew infinitely thin, and stopped moving.
There was so little left of it, and all the emptiness was filled by white light.

From containment to contentment

The belly growled.
I ran hither and thither at its command.
Some chased me away.
I put on a pitieous face, and some gave grudgingly.
I grew weary of the hunt.
I saw a gatherer.
"Oh, what a wonderful and easy life he leads", said I.
I became a gatherer.
I built a warehouse.
I collected water there.
Other bellies growled, but I cared not.
I collected grain there.
Other bellies growled, but I cared not.
I collected cloth there.
Other bellies growled, but I cared not.
I amassed wealth and buried it there.
Other bellies growled, but I cared not.
The belly could never be sated.
One day the belly had to depart.
All that I amassed came to naught.
The belly returned, but he looked different.
There was a strange calmness about him.
He touched my heart, and then my head.
I ran hither and thither yet again.
I collected water and poured in my neighbor's tank.
And lo! I was never again thirsty!
I collected grains and filled my neighbor's granary.
And lo! I never went hungry again!
I collected cloth and gave to my neighbor.
And lo! I never had to provide for myself again!
I tended to my neighbor at his time of need.
And lo! I never ailed again!
The container was now content.

The ethereal dance of grace

A raindrop took the plunge,
From high above, and fully blind,
It landed on a leaf, and then a soft petal,
In its final moment, it gave its all,
It passed on in ecstasy.
The thrill and joy were felt by leaf and petal,
They could hardly help it,
They swayed and quivered in joy,
In their final moments they gave their all,
They passed on in ecstasy.
The air took on the merriment,
And moved in swirl and wave,
In its final moment it gave its all,
It passed on in ecstasy.
A nestling took on the lightness,
It peered over the edge of its comfort line,
And beheld the plunge in trepidation,
Yet, there was an unknown soul-stirring beckoning,
It tipped over, and flew with infinite grace,
In its final moment it gave its all,
It passed on in ecstasy.
The cloud took on the fluidity,
It moved without moving,
It had wondrous shape without taking form,
In its final moment it gave its all,
It passed on in ecstasy.
A lover beheld the ethereal beauty,
His smile was incomparable,
He was lost in the cosmic enchantment,
He was then found.
In the raindrop,
In the leaf and petal,
In the air,
In the nestling,
And in the cloud.

A sojourn

I desired to see the provider,
She pushed me out, with great force,
I came out wailing,
Sensing safety only in her arms,
A rich feast was held in honor of my exit,
All i desired was to get back in,
Yet I knew the cocoon was not the answer,
The call came one day, Sweetest of sweet voices,
I was mesmerized, but fleetingly,
My eyes grew round and wide,
I sought to take in more and more through the light-holes,
The enticement was endlessly rich,
The return was lavishly poor,
I grew full of myself,
I grew hollow inside,
I dismissed the voice,
I distanced myself from the sweetness,
And sought sweetness everywhere,
Yet, not from that which was beyond taste,
The ball of me rolled around,
Merriment embroiled in insatiable volition,
The source thrust a spear of care into my ribs,
It shot an arrow of love through my mind,
It pierced through my heart with a dart of discrimination,
It shell-shocked me from the inside,
I chanced upon the golden palaces and beautiful damsels of the nether world,
I sucked up my life force, sent it out from the back of my head, and passed on,
I chanced upon the green pastures of idyllic abundance,
I clipped wings to my feet, and flew on,
I chanced upon the glory halls of knowledge,
I covered my ears, and marched on,
I chanced upon my museum of golden mirrors and silver statues,
I cast my eyes down, and ran on,
A great sigh of relief was let out by the source,
I was home, yet trapped in a clay pot,
The water in the pot became clear and still,
The sun shone on the surface,
The reflection sensed all that was not reflection,
The ghost escaped through the surface,
I vaporized, and then I scented everything,
I am thoughtless and I am beauty,
I am the bliss in every beautiful thought.

The soothing sheathing of the sword

The crowd howled with lust and fury,
The champion felt light and strong in the ring,
With sword in hand, he set about conquering all,
His dexterity brought admiration from all,
In lands far and wide was he known,
With the sword he sometimes wrote his skills,
With it he sometimes cured a malignancy,
He rescued many a fair maiden with it,
He wielded it with might, to set many heads rolling,
Yet, at the end of each day, he grew desperate,
His conquests could bring him no satisfaction after dusk,
For that, he needed to sheathe his extension in a scabbard,
That smooth insertion brought him ecstasy like no other,
It brought a sense of heady and addictive pleasure and closure,
With his skills and his power, he still had to kneel before his sovereign,
He seethed and raged inside, at his impotence,
And sought the comfort of scabbards of many sizes and hues,
His strength ebbed, and his alertness waned,
It became more important to sheathe the sword than to wield it,
A stained blade brought blotches on the bearer, and to his name,
Tongues wagged, the same ones that sang paeans for many a moon cycle,
One night, the dark-skinned visitor arrived,
The darkness seemed to light up the room with light that was beauty and love,
The champion fell to his knees, unable to drink enough of the lovely eyes,
The face was stronger than a mountain, yet radiating angelic softness,
The peacock feather in the crown lent a mischievous dancing step to his every move,
The voice, sweet as the most melodious flute, yet commanded instant obedience,
The eyes, with all the cosmos held in them, sent a thought to the champion,
“Neither sword nor scabbard is yours. They are to be used to serve me.”
The visitor vanished leaving a scent of assurance and hope,
The champion swooned as millions of his errors led to his misgivings,
His misgivings led to a sense of wondrous amazement at his journey,
Every cell of his body radiated in gratitude, as he opened his arms and embraced the world,
The sword became blunt, and the sheath sharp,
The grateful outpouring of love made the sheath cut the sword to pieces,
The sheath itself got reduced to dust in the process,
A glowing portal of white and blue light opened up,
A voice beckoned from the other side,
Come, my child! Thou art no longer a man, nor a woman,
Come play with me.

The cheeps of a meadow lark

She landed softly on a scented bough,
A young fawn looked up with interest,
Wagging its spotted tail in appreciation,
Which artist wouldn't appreciate an appreciator?
The cheep melody commenced,
Soft whistles, lyrical chirps, and dancing tweeps,
As singer and hearer merged in spirit,
The melody gained a soul,
And traveled to a resting bard,
It entered his heart through his dream,
As the bard walked into the village, his heart sang,
The tune gained a soul and entered a mother's breast,
She floated in heaven as she sang a lullaby to her little one,
The lullaby gained a soul and entered the baby's smile,
Never was a face diviner!
A moonbeam chanced upon the smile and gained a soul,
It wandered and came upon a hunter taking aim for the kill,
The terrible string was drawn taut, and the humble prey was pulled in sights,
At the moment of release, moonbeam played its enchantment,
Two lover, their hearts in unison,
The fawn and the lark,
Rapt in attention of each other, gazes locked,
The music was not just sound, it was beauty,
The music was not just sound, it was harmony,
The music was not just sound, it was love,
The music was not just sound, it was oneness,
The bow string was gently eased, for, the heart strings had been pulled.

The pain of pleasure

A touch,
A passing word suggestive of the feeling,
A fleeting thought remindful of a touch,
And off they went.
The electron messengers set forth on their voyage by the million,
Through fleshy conduits, and along with floods of red essence,
Braving periods of rolling thunder,
Darting through electrical storms,
Not resting at any junction nor node of organized chaos,
Until they reached the abode of decision and determination.
Now, the instructions were given,
Now, the festivities began,
With a whoop here, and a sprightly titillating jump there,
With a wordless sigh here, and an escaped moan there,
With a delightful dance here, and a rhythmic darting prance there,
The air was incredibly charged, as the mystery of ecstasy was building up,
A crescendo was in sight, and many a time reached.
But, wait!
Where is the owner amidst all this revelry?
Alas, why that face of restlessness and discontentment?
Why the heightening of the cravings?
Alas, all that energy and celebrations have come to naught, with false purpose.
How many repeated visits had he made,
Celebrating in the intoxicating heavens, and through the desolation of the desert?
Yet, all was not lost,
For he recalled the unspoken wisdom of Eternal Rose,
Who had promised him, that one day, he would yet embrace the rose and not feel the thorns,
The hoary sage of time had not had his fill yet of the owner's meandering ways,
And waited till he was hoarier still,
The owner passed through abject misery, self-pity, surrender, acceptance, and calmness,
The camphor had taken its time to sublime,
Now, the owner was ready,
Now, Eternal Rose rose to the occasion, and lit the wick,
The owner saw it all, for what it was,
He had been ignorant, in seeking bliss through knowledge,
He saw that knowing could only be justified if it could relieve his neighbor's pain,
He had ignored the ocean, seeking dirty dew drops on poison ivy,
He saw through the deception,
That a grain of pleasure brings a granary of pain,
But now all was well, and he sought to know no more,
For he realized, that in Ignorance lies Bliss.

A twist of fate

A walk in the park,
A sighting in the dark,
A face resplendent as the moon,
That gladdened the heart all too soon,
Meetings are not for the mind,
They are for hearts of a kind,
One had gone to bid adieu to a bad tie,
She was fragile and rued the days gone by,
Another had gone seeking sunshine for the days ahead,
His erstwhile frolicking days had never stood him in good stead,
The tie was broken in absence of the never-showed-up,
The heart proves able where the mind seems not to fill the cup,
The hesitant and blind miss had a nervous reversal,
And aimed a kiss at a shape in the dark,
The clueless mister was at just the right place by the carousel,
As the kiss landed on his cheek and hit the mark,
No sparks flew, no passion was roused,
But the hearts beat in unison, for, together were they now housed,
A corridor of trees opened, warmth written with a shape of heart,
The moon shone through, and carried them on silvery stairs to the land of never-apart.

The weaver and the wearer

It takes two to make discord,
Is there a need for discord?
Perhaps the sweetness of accord can only be tasted with the tongue of discord,
The weaver created one in His image,
And another for his companion,
The two were content in themselves,
Yet, the images had been created with the seed of change,
A change that could only rest after it ceased its motion,
The restlessness bred another image,
As they vied with each other, they were no longer self-contained,
Every moment they knocked on the door of their mother,
Seeking on some days, looting on other days,
She always knew what they needed,
But, alas! Now, they wanted!
Each image now sought to cover his wants,
And thus began the Age of Shame,
The weaver was approached,
Warp and woof went to work,
The images strutted about proudly,
The wearer knew how to cover himself,
His character,
His ignorance,
His greed,
His lust,
His envy,
His beastliness,
The covers were tantalizing,
Causing stirrings inside over what was not seen,
Wearers were ravaged, wars were fought,
Destruction was sought, pestilence was wrought,
These were confounding times,
Where strength was seen as weakness, and abundance as penury,
Out of hopelessness, a wearer sat on the battlefield,
Dazed beyond reason, and simply stared with unseeing eyes,
That blindness made him a savior,
For he saw death,
He saw an image had had his covers torn beyond repair,
A cloudy wisp, accompanied by a sigh,
And an image disappeared, causing wailing laments,
Only to appear at a distance, to the sound much welcome merriment,
Yet there was no distance in the relocation, nor time in it,
The image seemed oblivious of his past,
And ungrateful for his new lovers,
The lamenters knew not of his relocation, nor of his new covers,
The savior smiled,
A loss of tattered rags, is it worth the wail & lament?
Is this not a time for celebration?
Oh my friends, see thou with my vision,
And you shall see that you can never be part of the vision,
But the vision is a part of you,
And the vision is never apart from you.

Hiding beneath the hide

In an idle moment I watched a fly in drunken flight,
Its travels involved stops on the way,
On a wild bloom, on a dewy leaf, on a pile of dung, and then on a horned rhino,
It was as if the fly had alighted on my skin,
I gave a twitch, just catching myself from swatting at imagination,
I idly wondered why the rhino did not twitch.
A flock of ox-peckers decided to camp on the rhino's ample back,
The fly decided to camp elsewhere,
I idly wondered why the rhino did not twitch.
The ox-peckers took up the challenge,
They went hard with their beaks at the ticks, buried in the folds of the ample back,
Such excursions inevitably result in creating a few red spots,
I idly wondered why the rhino did not twitch.
The grazing was done in a state of walking meditation,
The rhino wandered, into a thorny acacia thicket,
I watched as hundreds of the little white spears attacked,
I idly wondered why the rhino did not twitch.
My idle moments were gone,
I hauled bricks for a living,
The watchers said I was incapable of hauling much else,
I twitched.
The world whirled,
I apprenticed under a master sculptor,
The watchers said I would steal my master's secrets, and turn traitor,
I twitched.
The world whirled.
As I sat down to eat after a day's toil, a starving mother and child appeared,
I offered my tear-soaked plate and grain,
The watchers said I knew how to put on a show,
I twitched.
The world whirled.
I sat with young ones, offering to impart my scant knowledge,
The young ones expressed their affection in gratitude,
The watchers said age had not made me forget my lust,
I twitched.
The world whirled.
As I lay unconscious to the world, the rhino gored me, deep and hard,
The horn served to be a silent clarion call,
"Why dost thou permit space between will and action?", asked the rhino,
The watchers shall always fill that space,
I closed that gap, and cloaked my thoughts and actions with the coarsest and ugliest of hides,
Now I watch with a smile,
As the watchers twitch instead.

The Alignment of Passage

The Wheelturner hung my chart up,
For me, and for all to see,
It was crystal clear, and made of sheer nothing,
He left me to my plays and pretences,
On a day, I thought of waking up early, but slept in,
The chart showed a ruffle,
I wanted to walk around greeting a pleasant morning,
But spent my time in idle thoughts,
The chart showed a ruffle,
I felt envy at my neighbor's prosperity,
Yet I hailed him across the fence,
And spoke honeyed words of happiness at his success,
The chart showed a ruffle,
I sought means of acquiring wealth,
And narrated fairytales of my skills and prowess,
With it I gained riches and fame,
The chart showed a ruffle,
As I sat by the window on a rainy day,
I merged into an eagle that swooped down and tore up a rabbit,
The chart showed no ruffle,
I merged with a pack of hyenas,
As they fell upon a zebra foal,
And set about eating it alive,
The chart showed no ruffle,
I was in lustful enjoyment of the blood, yet mortified at my depravity,
A mocking laughter rang out like thunder,
"Oh ye foolish one, do you yet not know what sin is?"
A white dove alit in my heart, and gave birth to its fledgling in my mind,
And my arms became its wings,
I thought well,
I spoke of what I thought,
I acted upon what I spoke,
Nary a stain nor a ruffle was seen on the chart,
The Wheelturner appeared, as if on cue,
And aligned my seven star-wheels,
He caught my hand as we entered the vertical tunnel,
My lower parts disappeared as we passed each gate,
And at the thousand-petalled wheel, I had my final thought,
And beyond that, I saw my Self.

Islands - Links in the Chain of Love

Boan, lived a happy life,
With an exchange of rings he promised loyalty to a fair partner,
With the trust earned, he sired, for his future,
He drew a firm circle in his life,
Encompassing those few he held dear,
He sought the world solely to nourish his circle,
He called out to the savior many a time,
To provide care and cloth for his circle,
A day came when he saw a lame man, slow in crossing his path,
The man's labored and slow effort irked him,
The savior planted a thought in his mind,
Of the lame man's circle's worry at his failure to return home,
Yet Boan's thoughts were on the delay towards the loving welcome of his circle,
As he walked to a well to quench his thirst, he saw a child lying by it,
An orphan, that had fainted from starvation,
With his feet he pushed the child's body out of his way,
And had his thirst quenched,
The savior planted a thought in his mind, of the orphan's suffering,
Yet Boan's thought was on the relief of his own parched throat,
A young mother carrying an infant and a heavy load, labored along, seeking to catch the last ferry across the river,
She knew it would be fearful for her and for her child to spend the night by the riverbank,
Yet she was far from the ferry, and cast a pitiable look at her fellow traveler,
Boan saw her plight, but it reminded him of his loved ones at home, and he hurried on,
The savior planted a thought of the woman's terrifying experience of the night,
Yet Boan pushed the thought aside,
After all, he was in no way obliged to do anything,
Why should anyone find fault that he had much love to share in his circle?
The savior tried reasoning with Boan, but the mind was set,
And the silken thread of attachment was mistaken for the cotton thread of love,
Days passed, years passed,
The dark shadow of a plague moved though,
Leaving a trail of wails in its wake,
A billion circles were spared,
Alas, Boan's was not one of them,
Days passed, and years passed,
Boan's employer felt there were better hands at work,
Boan was frantic in his worry,
Running hither and thither for sustenance,
Days passed and years passed,
He slipped on a rainy day, and lay by the road with broken limbs,
The world passed by, oblivious to his cries,
Images flashed in his mind,
Of bygone cycles, and other circles,
His circle expanded, but just in his mind,
The savior donned his disguises once more,
And came to His son's aid,
As a foreman, with an offer of hire,
As a healer, to tend to his circle, and
As a mother & son, to tend to his wounds.
The savior smiled as two circles became one, now in heart,
And triggered an endless chain of love.

All at sea

I was floating, adrift, bobbing up and down,
Held afloat by desires and inscribed impressions,
Never spared from the diurnal desolation of the sun's life-giving pain,
Nor from the moon's cool light of mind pulls,
My eyes scoured the horizon constantly, for any glimmering sign of hope,
The pole star appeared, with the promise of a new dawn,
With the promise of serenity for the supplicant,
Yet, the choppy waters had to be churned still,
The venom was contained from its vicious intent by the blue-necked anchorite,
The damsel was diverted from flagrant displays to nobler dances,
The serpent was tamed into an ornamental coil by selfless action,
The mind settled in its rightful place of sacred slavery,
The heart discovered its place of considerate compassion,
Vapid existence yielded its place to joyful living,
Ropes were cast aside to bind with the freedom-shrouds of love,
And lo!
The one who was all at sea, became all of the sea.

Pay shuns patience

End of a day's labor,
The mind in a hurry to receive wages,
It was only fair, was it not?
The man in front, hardy of physique, received more,
I got what was my due,
But, what's he done better'n me anyway?
A day at home, tending to the flock,
A neighbor's social visit on the morn,
Irksome, the uninvited guest,
Until a few passed minutes reveal his purposeful excursion,
A sharing of holiday desserts,
The tone transitioned from polar to tropical,
A journey on wheels, and a smelly neighbor,
An apologetic smile is met with a disdainful head turn and a royal squirm,
Others have a nobler response to the warmth,
For, a stranger with good cheer, is no different from a friend,
The child that lived in the moment knew this,
A puppy accompanying the child knew this,
A little elapse of time, and a sincere word of praise from the cheery imposer,
The disdainful countenance was replaced by one of joyous pride,
A visit to a concert, scores of listeners, decked in fashionable attire,
Many a snobbish look-down at the humbler odd fish,
The odd fish was invited to the stage, to share his knowledge,
The snobs were all ears, enthralled,
A few even deigned to change their fancy coverings, to affectedly humbler ones,
But, caliber conquered conceit for the moment,
An achiever holding center court, filling all ears,
A baby's piercing cry tearing the air,
The speaker halting in indignant wrath,
A harried mother seen calming the daring darling,
With two other daring darlings in waiting,
The achiever felt his pride falling, and heart rising,
An intimate moment, with a loved one,
A compelling intrusion of the door chime,
A feeling of curses coming to the fore,
A mountainous inertia to respond,
Yet, two clock tickings bring deathly tidings,
Compassion conquers lust - in two clock tickings too,
Expectations of pay abound,
Then, by the situations are we bound,
But, the waif and the newborn do not look forward,
All they seek is in the moment,
The moment delivers what they seek,
In that going from the future to the present,
The liver becomes a lover,
For he knows that the thought of future holds the expectation of pay,
And pay shuns patience.

The sky and the stars

I sat by the river, and reached up to the sky one day,
I sat on a hilltop and reached up to the stars one night,
Blue by day, and glow in the dark, both equally compelling,
I wondered how I missed what surrounded me always,
A druid came by,
"You are seeing it all wrong, lad", said he,
"Only with your eyes closed can you see far and deep",
"You have only reached with your sight, but you need to reach with your self",
"But, what will that do for me?", asked I,
"Ask the sky and the stars", said he, with a smile,
I asked the sky, "Why do you embrace and love all?",
"Nothing MAKES me love, I AM love", said he,
I asked a star, "What makes you glow?",
"Nothing MAKES me glow, I AM light", said she,
"How did you two meet?", asked I,
"We were never apart, we are not two, but one!", came a voice,
I closed my eyes and pondered long and hard,
A tap of the druid's staff at the base of my spine,
And chills and thrills later, I learnt to be blind,
And reached without moving,
For, the reach of understanding was in me, in the light & love of consciousness,
Seeing in understanding, I see the stars and not the sky,
Seeing in love, I see the sky and not the stars.

You knit unity

I craved for possession, and called it love,
I sought attachment, and called it kinship,
I sought a circle of flattery, and called it friendship.
In my youth, many a lad and a lass came forth seeking company,
I donned a filter upon my eyes,
And screened them by their countenance,
Some were not worthy, for their words flowed not smoothly o'er their tongues,
Some were summarily dismissed, as they seemed to hold no promise of service to me,
Some were seen to lack refinement,
Some were seen to be of irregular feature,
Some were guilty of imperfections on their leather,
Some seemed to have no recognition of my greatness,
Some were dull, and some dared to hint of outshining me.
A voice, tiny and tentative, rose in me,
"Please, won't you give me a chance?"
I conveyed my disdain with an inward glance of contempt and impatience,
I had much to do, places to see, and fruits to eat,
I thought I was doing a fine job of building bridges,
Yet, each passing day brought a rude shock,
Whenever I needed to crossover, the bridge proved flimsier than a mirage,
I could no more cross upon it, than upon a silken spider thread,
The voice inside now seemed firmer, more insistent upon my attention,
It showed me the secret labyrinths,
With the rest stops of purity, patience, and perseverance,
I ate and drank to my fill at the rest stops, and travelled forth, guided by my silence,
And lo, the bridges were mended, one after another,
I lost my possessions,
I lost my judgment,
I lost my past,
I lost my future,
I lost my gratifications,
And the voice delivered its final thundering import,
I received it with a spreading wave of bliss,
"Now you are ready. That is how you build a bridge. You knit unity."

Lose your head, to go ahead

Oh, what a sight! A lion willingly walking up to the guillotine,
And placing its majestic head under the blade,
Wait, he is not alone!
The serpent follows suit!
And the peacock,
The tiger,
The crocodile,
The monkey,
The water buffalo,
The boar,
The rabid dog,
The dung beetle, and
Finally, the maggot.
The heads roll,
The undertaker swings into action,
The urns are filled,
The contents are fed to the river,
Mother earth gladly consumes her children,
To release more into the world,
But one among them is the resurrected phoenix,
His gaze is sharp, his eyes are alert, and his mind white with innocence,
The fallen heads did rend the dark veils of ignorance,
The dissolved minds did rend the chains of bondage,
The act of rending, did render a new vision,
The act of surrender, was condemned to be a loss,
Yet, it brought a gain of unstoppable expansiveness!
Now the phoenix occupies all of time and space,
And sends one last message,
"Lose your head, to go ahead."

Tryst with trust

I wanted trinkets for play, and props for my pleasure,
I cried out for my Father,
He never appeared, though I sensed he was around,
I was hungry, and cried out for my Father,
Food was brought to me, though He never appeared,
I wanted my Father, and He appeared and held me in his arms, in His Heart.
Yet, memories come and go.
On a day, I was gifted a coat, and I prized it in a lordly fashion,
I strutted about, in a manner to outdo a peacock's preen,
A passing chariot paused not over a puddle,
The puddle was sent in flying post to my poor coat,
I repaired hither and thither, to repair my fancy skin,
But all to no avail.
On a day, an angel child was skipping her merry way over a meadow,
She arrested her raised foot in mid air,
To avoid stomping on a dainty darling of a snail,
That led her to a stumble, a fall, and cuts on her knee,
She prayed to Father, to heal her wound fully,
A passing mate, was amused and condescending,
"Do you REALLY think He will answer your call?"
The child was full of confidence, "Of course He will. You shall see."
The next day, the passing mate came by, and saw that the cuts were yet in sight,
"Oh, so, He didn't answer your call, after all."
The child eyes shone as diamonds, as she uttered these most amazing words,
"Of course He did. He felt that not healing the cut was best for me."
Father smiled proudly, and proclaimed to all of creation, "That is real TRUST."
And He proclaimed to all His children, "There, is your tryst with trust."

Work for an end, or end of work?

I toiled underneath the moth-ridden lamp,
With aching joints and tired eyes,
In preparation for an assessment and a scroll,
The assessment happened, but I was deemed unworthy of the scroll,
I felt my world had crashed, that there was nothing to live for.
Others flaunted their scrolls, dreamed of their future, and indulged in much merriment,
I sought to drown body and mind in the canal.
As I walked along, I saw a pair of ovenbirds gather twigs and mud,
Setting about with determination and skill, to build their home,
I watched as the home took shape,
I watched as the opportunist finch and plover attempted to occupy the site,
The indignant workers set about defending and chasing away the intruders,
The hard working pair tirelessly continued for a month,
A gust of wind blew a strong branch on to the nest,
Mercilessly ripping, and creating a gash,
A clueless ox chose that very tree to relieve an itch in its forehead,
And the month's toil was undone,
With not a tear of sadness, not a cry of dismay, not a sigh of exasperation, and not a moment of hesitation,
The ovenbirds started afresh, salvaging what they could of the fallen structure,
Building with the same focused effort.
My heart felt lighter, as I moved on.
I came upon an army of ants hauling food and materials for their homes,
A never ending march of utmost precision and discipline,
I watched as the fortresses took shape,
And rose above the ground, in majestic confidence,
A heavy downpour still was not a threat to their engineered marvel,
Gales of wrath did not bother the architects, nor their work,
But, a passing herd of elephants, created its path, trampling and moving even venerable trees out of their way,
And the fortresses were flattened to a level,
The army appeared as if by magic,
Each soldier knew his place and role, and commenced undeterred.
Now my heart soared, and my mind stayed clear of thoughts, relishing the moment of thrilling insight.
The end of work does not come when work ends.
But the end of misery comes when I become one with action.

Cleansing with a bloodspill of love

A dark damp night, with the gods letting loose from above,
The twentieth violent sneeze helped me make up my mind about finding shelter in a barn,
The inside was an assault on my nose, but apparently not a strong enough one,
I stayed.
A tap-tap and a body-drag was followed by a curious sight,
I saw eyes on a ball of fur that seemed to have special gliding ability,
The fur ball also had a mouth, through which a tentative whimper escaped,
I never knew that a cry, a welcome, a question, and relief could all be combined and delivered in a single sound,
But that's precisely what the barn's first claimant managed to do,
I stood no chance after that,
My heart was handed over, with no expectations of getting it back.
I stepped forward, and his eyes grew larger, but he didn't retreat,
I reached out and scooped him up,
And my wet face was being cleaned thoroughly with a wet tongue,
I managed to hold him away, enough to take a look at my bundle of love,
First was the water from the gods,
Then the water of love from the fur ball tongue,
And now commenced the water of the heart,
Which blinded my sight as I beheld the maimed, torn and bloodied limbs,
For it took the gods, a rumble and a flash to wake me up,
A downpour to cleanse my body,
A canine caress to cleanse my mind,
And a self-oblivious, pain-oblivious, outpouring of love to cleanse my heart.
With my naked mind and damp eyes, I now set about cleaning and healing the bundle of love,
As he set about cleaning and healing my heart.

Explore the essential, explode your potential

A diffident suitor stood behind the bushes,
Waiting for the right moment to declare his love, and his noble allegiance,
As he waited in vacillation, another made his move, to good effect too.

A smart young lad, turned a few pages of his burdensome tome,
"Oh, what's the point of this? After all, no one could possibly commit these to memory, and retrieve at will."

A little one in pig tails, stood with her nose turned up, obstinate and firm,
Why did the master have to be so picky with her half-tones and harmonies?

A group of lads lolling on the grass in idle conversation,
"All this talk of serving others, it is all for the philosophers. Think about it. What difference could a few people possibly make, when the problems are truly infinte?"

A smart young lady, dressed in academic regalia,
Looked at the hall teeming with those that seemed smarter and wiser,
"I better leave now, while I have still some dignity left. After all, how could I possibly know more than these greybeards?"

The dear errant ones were summoned to their darling Governess' presence,
The complaint was strong in unison, "Oh, why won't you just leave us be? Isn't it enough that we be good, and mind our business? Why dost thou bother us with talk of the soul eternal, our essential nature, our latent potential, and all such?"

The infinitely gentle, and patient answer carried the glorious light & love of a selfless smile,
"My dears, I have watered many a seed in this rich soil. Now, go thou forth, and tell each one to stay as seed, and not become a tree."

Complacence over consequence

I stepped forward into a crowded market place,
A short, sharp, and shocked cry & pull, were generated,
To remind me that another's feet were carrying my partial weight.
Over the course of the day, and through the push of the rush,
Some pairs of feet charted virgin paths,
Some trespassed and passed on with muttered words of regret, and
Others carried on oblivious of their transgressions.
I came upon a muted request for silence, on a corridor of a healer's sanctuary,
Scores of unfortunate ones lay in small chambers,
Awaiting a touch of the healing hands, and the voice of soothing comfort.
Over the course of the day, and through the wails and travails,
Some hearts sensed the pain of their brethern and complied with the sign, in dignity,
Some decided to express their gaiety, in boisterous measure. Of these, some received an admonishment and passed on with muttered words of regret, and
Others carried on, indignant at the attempts to thwart their celebrations, and oblivious of their transgressions.
Father Time watched with his characteristic eternal patience.
A man toiled for years, and shed much sweat and blood,
To save and build his humble cottage with a picket fence.
On a day, an unassuming mongrel was on his patrol,
He paused at a post of the fence, raised a hind leg, and sprayed forth.
A man came along, paused, looked to his left and right, and imitated the canine act.
Over years, countless were the men that seemed to have the same urge,
Some had lingered a bit, unabashed but possibly a bit vexed,
They realized they had been a little clumsy, and proceeded to wipe their hands on the clothes hanging across the fence on a line,
Some cursed others for dirtying the place where they had dirtying to do.
Father Time watched still.
The place had acquired a name, for its ill sights & smells.
The man who shed his sweat and blood now found his house and life in fester and ruin.
Father Time turned to his child, Awareness,
"Who has done right my wise one? What made them different?" Asked He.
"Father, the ones that did right, saw themselves where they saw others. They had no complacence over the consequence."
Then, I understood - that I must ever bother for my brother.

The Romance of the Nightjar

In the stillness of the jungle night, a stranger beckoned me with her dulcet tones,
I knew not how, but I knew that She was there, with care for me,
I spread my wings, and let the winds caress my feathers,
A motleyed monarch flitted in relaxed flutter, scenting the night queen,
I was in no hurry, yet irresistibly drawn on,
I watched demons asleep with angelic masks,
I spotted cold slitherers, soundless and intent on their deathly slides,
I watched a pack of dhole in their final moment of attack on a doe, with excited yips,
Many a sleeping mother & child on treetops were made visible to me,
The scenes and emotions lingered and passed on the canvas of my mind,
Causing waves and tilts and abatements,
Yet something in me was aware of the great tumult to come,
I came upon Her at last, a heavenly vision,
Darker than the darkest night, yet glowing in the brilliance of love,
The tumult removed all else from my mind, and filled all of me,
I had but one mind and now She had erased it, and stilled it,
I had but one heart, and I gave it away,
As we rose up together, and danced in the air, we were One in spirit and One in eternity,
Time stood still, and The One shed silvery tears of ecstasy,
Each tear drop found and moistened the eyes of the forest residents,
As they awoke to a new vision of compassion and camaraderie,
The One had fulfilled yet another cycle of awakening,
As the night jar sought romance, but found love instead.

I have been schooled

A few copper pieces changed hands,
I was taught how to open my mouth and make sounds,
But I didn't learn when to open my mouth and when to keep it shut.
A few copper pieces changed hands,
I was taught how make ink markings on a scroll,
But I didn't learn to connect what the heart valued, to what the pen created.
A few copper pieces changed hands,
I was taught how to hammer a nail into the wall,
But I didn't learn how the hammering might hurt my neighbor.
A few copper pieces changed hands,
I was taught to mix things, and make pretty cloth,
But I didn't learn how to cover my naked brothers and sisters.
A few copper pieces changed hands,
I was taught to erect a colossal monument,
But I never learnt to put a roof over my homeless brother's head.
A few copper pieces changed hands,
I was taught to add surplus value to the sale of my goods,
But I didn't learn how I could feed my benefactors with my excess.
A few copper pieces changed hands,
I was taught how to build a vehicle to take me to the moon,
But I didn't learn how to carry the burden of my lame brother.
A few copper pieces changed hands,
I was taught how to apply a poultice to a wound,
But I never learnt how to apply the balm of compassion to a heavy heart.
O Father, 'tis time, take away my mind, and make thy home in my heart,
For, I have been schooled, but never educated.

The light and sight of understanding

I lay upon my bed and unshackled my strained minds,
I chanced a gaze o' laze o'er to the window blinds,
There was many a trinket hanging by the chain,
I wondered why 'twas that their details were unseen, and their forms plain.
Was my charlatan mind upto his tricks again,
Or was my vision fading, leaving me guessing in vain?
I called upon some friends, and placed them in my spot, to know what they saw,
In a moment, I knew that I had confounded an opinion for a law.
So there it was, the history of the world, and that of mine, laid open bare,
I hung my head in shame, for all the times that I had misplaced my care.
Countless were the occasions, when I was convinced they were wrong, and I was right,
But now I know, that understanding by sight derives from understanding of the light.

Three mirrors

When I was born, my father gifted me with three mirrors,
I was delighted and enchanted with each one, beyond measure,
Yet, for a time I knew not how to use them.

When I grew older, I stood in front of my golden mind-mirror,
I saw what I was, judged me, accepted me partly, and housed desires upon my image,
I grew quite fond of my mind-mirror,
It amplified my beauty, glorified my qualities, quickly forgave me, overlooked my shortcomings, and never failed to support me.

When I interacted with my well-wishers and care-nots, I took out the silver other-mirror.

The words of praise and hurt caused my image to brighten and fade alternately, in endless measure,
I was distraught with the distortions, and often failed to remember my mind-mirror in the midst of the fluctuations.

Through heart tugs, careful whispers, and angelic visions, my father offered reminders of my third gift.
Deeply disillusioned with my two images, I sought a better third.

It was not to come so.easily,
I wandered and searched in vain,
To finally sit in utter exhaustion, and
Gave in to stillness and surrender.

Now the third image came forth.
It was "I am".
With the awareness, the image came to an end,
For, where there is light everywhere, there is no room for shadow.

Tags

Inspirational Poem, Inspirational Poetry, Inspirational Thought, Mystic Poetry, Spiritual Poem

Meet the author

author avatar ammasriram
The writings are informal attempts at documenting spiritual, mystical and philosophical concepts learned through self-experience.

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Comments

author avatar Retired
9th Nov 2015 (#)

wow, lot of poetry...

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