June 15, 2009 § 9 Comments
A burst of happiness ,
A breath filled with reverence.
The hour of acceptance ,
The world ceases to be a menace
And belonging a definite- to the sense .
Yet the acceptance is not of defeat ,
But of the understanding the ability .
For all the known worlds , the stars
Exist and emit through dawn and day ,
Hid only by the scorching sun , rainy storms
And dreams filled with sleep .
Those dreams do make a world ,
Where in the days are spent
Watching the brain run away ,
Watching our actions make and create;
Our love breaking the walls of courtesy sakes.
Alive those dreams do come ,
Our actions inseparable from our virtues,
Throwing light to the hues of the dispersion .
At the sight of such shades , our vanity
Covered ego sheds the skin and exposes
The true face of the self -
Understanding of the light , its forms ,
Right-wrong , love-hate , ways of fate .
That we write destiny is the truth ,
That we abide by that prophecy is true too -
The makers of it we are and never are we bound
By that , for it is destiny that we do write ,
For the metaphor is to fill the spaces
Left by ignorance and knowledge is the scintillation
That the metaphor emits when it feels light .
Rise and fall of the emotions ,
The verses of anger and penance ,
The thought of those fears and
The speculation – all end when
We understand the beauty
Of the palpable world .
Yet that is that much ,
That unknown which we try to see
Fails to fit into our heads and thus feel
An ultimate peace . There is something
Beyond everything . If not for one ,
There is no infinity , If not for the thought ,
There is no belonging and life .
Ultimately acceptance comes from within -
When we know , we no more need
Those words of praise or the harsh
Words of a conceited being , when we
Feel at peace with the dreams -
When the world whispers tales ,
When the destiny follows the trails ,
When the pains feel themselves
And when illusions know their reflections .
Finally a breath of happiness ,
Some how there is some sense ,
Belief in yourself and confidence ,
Belonging is transient ,
Existence of one is permanent ,
Illusions remain in perception ,
Clarity the sight of the first star ,
The end – when no one is at war.
The light shines the brightest
December 20, 2008 § 12 Comments
Yet a curse to be borne,
and even as we parade
we feel the sense of
magic and divine incarnations.
Not a God,it is,but
a sense of belonging
to something bigger,
as wide as the universe
more profound than the curse.
Yet a boon in bane,
there is no need to refrain.
With a panache,
we can move on,
yet so is the earthly mood,
that the universe is not
great enough,for our dreams
to be filled with those illiterate
verses,which are sung,
by a betwixt soul,
in transmission between
a mortal heaven and a mortal hell.
For paradise,we have been thought
and so as to that,we bore a mark,
that sin was to break apart,
by the name of some good God.
Yet no salvation was kindled,
nor a state of rest born,
for a sudden silence was worn
by all,as if it was to mourn
one alive,even as the person,
gasped aloud,in pain.
For that is the cause of attachment
albeit the need you feel,
to return a good thought
to the creatures which stung.
A man cannot not talk to an insect
of immortal(in his eyes) heavens,
but can induce it to move in an
order,only utterly mortal,
that it just seems immoral.
And so too cannot this sense
be thought,to those who
decide not to evolve,even
if by an unconscious moratorium.
And so ignorance stings,
if not the ignorant,
but those who know
the light.For shadow
needs light,to hide,
and ignorance needs knowledge
to say that it has a right.
The night sky,shines with so
many a star,whose energy
is past anything close by.
Yet to us,they seem but a dot,
on a canvas,one to be painted over,
by ignorance,so that in bliss,
we can say that as a majority
we have eliminated the probability
of a greater state
and that this is our fate.
With such a obscure and misfit
proposition,even as our hands
pray to itself to build a better
the better for the worse,
lest,we feel greater than
what we are.
Yet when the within flickers
and a ubiquitous leap we make,
into the light,the world
throws its darkness onto,
so that it can sleep a bit more.
This is like a winter-stops
growth and delays the next.
But what of the one who
was striped? Bare and
let to face the cold,
life within seems to draw to a close.
And for one who has decided to live,
the world chooses death,
majority are never wrong
and at the mercy of the merciless
throng,almost buried alive,
the light within then grows
alive and makes the universe see
and so the sunshine seeks
to kill the earthy darkness
and let the soul of the ignorance
see that it is belittle
and that greatness is of one,
who punishes not that which can’t see,
though it means taking a worse.
That is the kind which is alive.
The one who will choose death
instead of the ignorant be hurt
so fondly-lest he be woken
from his awakened sleep
earlier than he deemed be.
And so life will kiss
and wish to be blessed
by the divine,who not
one the speck,but the world,
for they belong to themselves
and no other.
the light shines the brightest
August 31, 2008 § 8 Comments
July 23, 2008 § 13 Comments
What is the use? what is the use of this world?
It is always amazing,to know that we the significant micro(maybe even smaller) particles who make up the universe have some purpose and a life to live.Why i live my life,in a regimented way,going to school,supposedly learning things.What will it be like to be in another planet? What will I be,if i were in another planet.Would that planet too have death as we have?What is the big deal anyway of being earthling?
Think of the universe,as it is.I know it is too big to fit into my minuscule three dimensional imagination,but whatever little i can ‘see’,leaves me perplexed ,confused and in a dire need for becoming larger than life itself.Why how can something so big exist in the first place? When i was small,the sun was just ‘nature’ something which i was born into.It was a constant,to the mind which was ready to be tinkered ,it saw what what others thought they saw.The moon Always represented an old lady making ‘idly’.the beach was a place where something called waves lashed on endlessly and if i ventured into it alone,i would be eaten by it.My life was of prime importance to me.Being another heir of the mistake stricken ,unwanted humanity,survival was the instinct.
But as i grew up,i slowly realized,that things are different.In fact education does at least that much to you.You are told that we belong to a solar system and that the moon goes around us.The next time i saw the moon,i looked at it as an entity who was moving around the earth.Now i am digging really deep to feel what i felt then.It is surprising that ‘life’ is so old.What are these memories? So are we a dream,a memory too?
Me writing rather typing,is an memory in more ways than one.Since i am writing i do not care what happens else where around me.Why would i react when i am content,why the moment will always be embedded in me,carved into me,for i am in tune with the reminiscence of the world’s making. Did we go to the heavens because earth never satisfied us? Why when did we realize that we were nothing more that illusive little creatures,who don’t know anything?
On earth everything has the touch of man,as it has of ‘god’.Almost all our fellow creatures,all the flora and fauna which were painted with the magic wand along with us ,have been cut,dissected,bisected,trisected and researched upon. We have arrived at the conclusion that we are the only ones who can think the best.We were after all the once who discovered the existence of God.
Our identity as human beings,has perpetuated from our predecessors.But deep inside all of us know that this is not our absolute identity.When we look at the sky and stare stars and suns ,we feel an old belonging ,the sight of home,after an hiatus to hibernation. Since we are the clever modern super humans in terms of an ever expanding brain and since we know about the big bang and such and such,we run a particle accelerator inside our cramped cavity,reproducing with a eerie contentment,what we feel is the origin of the universe.We revel in it for a few spectacular moments,we run the jocund clowns of happiness in us to such speeds that ecstasy is what we pronounce.We are all happy to be home,we wish to keep seeing our Gods for longer,but the ever severing mind,declares that you have to break the bonds,to live life and produce yourself to sacrifice for the betterment of man.You don’t want it.Who wants to move from home,after a long voyage?Who wants to travel,when travel is all he has done?Who wants to swim,when he has all the while swam?Yet since you are the mind,with a rhetoric puffed up displeasure you try to satisfy your real want with a chronic happiness ,which is at most momentary and small enough to displease the materialistic narcissistic in you and carry on with it.I am trying to write something and all the while i am thinking of the wonderous world,whose width widens my perspective.I am here and i am not.
What is my identity?Am i a lost sibling of a distant star,for whom if i am found,i will look the same as when i landed on Eden? Or have i crossed an Adam’s bridge,to burn all that was bad and mortal? Am i an entity for whom this body was a lease,lent by earth to write off her ever lasting loans?Or am i, simply an animal,a tainted beast,with the curse of thought and want of fantastical fantasies to suit my ill-tempered unbalanced mind?What am i anyway?
Yes,i feel lost.Yes i feel lost here too.Yet i can hear the world,but i can’t see it.I can hear the old song,but my eyes have grown used to this,so that the old song,is a poignant, nostalgic de -javu.i dream up lands,i build my castles.I am a man,a human,who has written tales upon tales with fairies and fun and frolic but i am also the man who writes edifices and breaths the voice of an enigmatic Satan,a suitable tool ,one sprung during my autumn,to sooth the God in me.yet i know,i do not need him,for i was the one who gave god a face,which he can hold high and i was the one who taught him to write,so that he can say what he felt.I lent a being bigger than me,i lent it not one but two identity,i created a juxtapose of the good and the bad,of light and night,of God and Satan,yet i fail at lending myself a single identity.I call myself the third.I am happy to pull the strings of the first too.Yet my fingers move without my knowledge in my sleep,they want home and what they see is that destruction can retrace me,to where i belong.
There is music playing in the background.The song is melodious.It is a classic,it breaths life into the creature,whose identity is his name and his music.Why what caused him to play and create music?Did he realize that if he struck his strings and quietened the world with symphonies ,he might be able to shriek out for his lost sibling?Or did he realize that when he played his music,he could be himself ,free and inheritor of freedom,the absolute transparent being,who could smile away adversity and sleep ugly to beauty? I am listening to his and with gusto summoning my aesthetic consciousness to appreciate his ballades.I try to feel the same joy he felt when his fingers were let lose upon the keys,to key in the codes of his disparity among humanity.But his code was always good,for such is the magic,of the hands who are at home,always,poor pathetic things,they can’t see nor hear,they are slaves whose only wish is to satisfy their master, as they feel that is their duty and destiny.
Movements.The breeze tickles the trees.Those gigantic beings let out giggles.Why among humanity their existence is varied.One day they are paraphrased as the basic need for the survival of humanity’s earth,the next day,they are cut by the very hands,oh! pathetic hands,they are the only ones who want to get us home.
If my hands know my home,then why don’t I?Should i close my eyes,for all eternity,so that the reality has a chance to roll the dice and bring me home to see its son?I wish i could,but i have a mind,who is a ardent appraiser of the rebellious me.I am torn by my hands,physically and by my mind mentally.I ask you both,i think of either home or heaven-hell only when i am felt free,to my peace.They refuse.I shut my eyes.The hands sway the puppets of infinity,they try to hail home closer.The mind eats into me,they ruthlessly try to disrupt the harmony and bleed my namesake into surrender,but they fail ,neither will give up,i am the used,i am the user,i am between myself.I am still wondering about me and my true reality,one thing is for sure,i will lose mortality when i find the reality,let it be soon.Mortality is lost,when sense of reality is found.
May the world be in peace.Home is not far away,the darkest night,is the last of winter,the coldest water is one before the hot.Let the world exist at it should,let every man reach his harbor and let every flight end at home,may the world be in peace,i go to sleep….