I

It’s I, who set the limitations,
And I who break them,
It’s I who cower in fear,
And I who liberate the self,
I am my source,
And the created, too,
In stillness, I am the numb fingers and the tingling feet,
And it’s I who transcend them both,
It’s I, who see beyond the darkness in my head,
The quiet invincible force...
 

Quietude

Great confusion is needed,

 To be conscious of the space in-between,

To pierce the coarse shell of brightness,

And face the sobbing darkness within,

With so many safe harbours behind,

Exciting as they may have seemed at that time,

All is worthless in the sky of existence,

For the being is beyond words,

It craves quietude of the soul,

Like soft feet padding on the grass of childhood,

Not afraid of the shadows or the wrong turns they took…

In That Flow

The river of feelings is flooding,
It runs to its source,
Not really getting there,
But it's thankful to the creator that it can flow,
In that flowing there is great joy...

For Our Children's Sake

I don’t want you to die,
But you will,
Like everyone does and did before you,
My question is must you go down like that,
Beaten by yourself?
Must you make choices that leave a bitter fragrance?
The other plants are young and blinded,
They don’t understand the rhythm of changing seasons,
They look up to you,
They are yet to find your flaws...

Someday you are going to fall,
Like a rigid tree in a storm,
There’ll be dust everywhere,
Many raindrops of tears,
You’ll be free,
Dead to the world and its monstrosities,
Maybe you would never come to know,
They would have become you,
Your bumbling confusion would have stayed...
For your children’s sake,
You must grow old not merely in body but in spirit, too,
From you they must learn their first lesson,
Life may not be easy but it’s worth living,
And all that is worthy lies within.

Phoenix of Bliss

The thirst of the soul is the wings of a new born bird,

Peering at the world with wonder,

Neither the sweet music of siblings,

Nor the safe confines of the nest,

Keep her from soaring into the sky,

She falls, balances and learns to glide,

Sees much and says little,

Quietness becomes her way,

Follow her,

Sit with her,

Talk to her,

For the day the bird of consciousness is fully grown,

She’ll tower over you,

And welcome you into her fold,

If the purpose of all life is bliss,

Then the phoenix of bliss will follow you.

A Piece of God’s Favoured Land

I own this island,
Where my will governs the course of the river,
The shrubs and bushes bow to me,
The earth grows the grain in my honour,
And spring is a gift from the winter melancholy,
This bequest is too generous,
Perhaps, I should give the island back,
And thank the original owner,
For letting me believe that it was mine to keep,
How could I ever claim to own,
A piece of God’s favoured land,
I, who know no humility,
I, who hoard for eternity,
I, who fight for peace and steal to eat,
I can’t be the owner,
Just an ordinary thief,
Filling my pockets with worthless trinkets,
Foolishly believing my wealth lies in the debris of ownership...

Death of the MInd

The death of the mind is slow to come,
It lingers on,
And plays old fears,
Hurrying like an old librarian,
To fetch his favourite book of gore,
Reading through passages long forgotten,
Kicking skeletons of victories lost,
Whimpering at the door of hurt,
From all those silent nights ago...

Soon, the fireworks from the crowd of thoughts,
Catch fire and burn the threadbare linen of bliss,
Blackened and charred on the deathbed,
The mind continues to breathe,
Until one day,
Beaten and weary,
He feels the cooling bandage of love,
Being laid on the feverish forehead,
By the gentle hand of God,
The hand that never questioned,
The choices he made or the people he bled,
The hand that only wished to pull him out,
Form the dark pit he had fallen into.

Seek Him Out First

Lot’s been happening in the quiet life I have chosen,
There are greater forces at work,
I can’t help but acknowledge,
That not so far away in the clouds,
Lies the hand of God.
This sudden outburst of clarity,
.Is in itself a sign,
Those who do nothing,
Shall be summoned to do much,
It is His will,
That you seek Him out first.

I Find Myself Living

I wish you were nearer but then again,

Thoughts of you run like the flowing river deep inside the heart,

Time and again I sit on the shore,

Feel the muddy cold water brush my feet,

With all the muck gathered,

The river of your being still sings to me,

I don't know if it happens to you,

But through the chaos of our lives,

The reckless wind of the morrow,

In the distant you,

I find myself living...

Crawling

What does pace mean to those who can’t walk?
What does speed mean to someone who can’t run?
Struggle,
It’s a struggle to take a step,
Fall down and be scared to get up again,
Tethered like a cow to a post,
Time is slow in passing,
While the world skateboards,
The eyes swim in vulnerability and fatigue sears the soul,
Every day is like every other day,
Crawling but getting nowhere...

Why is the Soul Quiet?

All that is ugly, is beautiful,

Intrinsic to nature,

The green that blooms in spring,

Withers in autumn,

The pettiness that nurses a grudge,

Gives way to compassion,

Fervor to repulsion,

The seed flowers and wilts away,

The grey streaks in the hair mark the end of youth,

The child becomes a parent,

There are many outcomes,

Conflicts,

Manifestations,

Mergers,

Could it be one energy playing many?

A universal consciousness that reinvents itself,

Its intellect unlimited,

Infinite,

It causes the sun to rise and the moon to eclipse,

It challenges the ordinary mind to crack open its code,

From where do the thoughts come and where do they go?

Why is the soul quiet and the world an echo?

Night Of Fullness

My dreams ride on you, ‘O’ Goddess of the sky,

In the field of your white glow,

Shies my tomorrow,

In the edges of your fullness, roundness,

Simmers the subtle lava of my darkest desires,

The pull of the tide titillates my lunacy,

The lores of your loneliness,

Kick the sleeping hounds of lust,

The light of your moonbeam waxing and waning

Pierce the darkness as the cry of a wolf,

The heart suffers in silence, dwells in vain,

Or so one thinks,

On the twenty-ninth day,

You fire the sky with the coolness of your grandeur,

And shards of love fall into every balcony, every home,

All roads, ugly and beautiful bathed in your light,

Push the wayward traveller on a journey of hope,

Of discovery,

Of that primal force that swirls within,

Quiet, yet, restless on the night of the full moon.

An Intimate Sky

Before the breaking of dawn,

The early morning sky is a personal space,

Neither the pigeons have woken up,

Nor the cuckoo has found her voice,

The wind is frolicking in another sky,

The trees stand dignified,

In this darkest hour the nightmare runs dry,

And sleepy eyes stare at the inscrutable blue,

Wondering how all the elements know the sacred hour,

When the whole of creation falls silent,

To experience itself...

In this intimate sky,

It’s mystical,

This confluence of the creator and the created.