Religion, freedom and What to kill?

As a human being your place on Earth  is dependent on your “sense of belonging”. And we try to belong to a myriad number of groups , in various permutations and combinations , but ultimately the one that seems to scar the singular human comradeship is our religious affiliation.

To secularists it causes endless heart aches, to see humans tear apart each other. But then we have come to a point , where a few frown upon these secularists and the heads of such groups declare them as infidels or a threat to their religion and that they need to be dealt with.

Is belonging or not belonging  to a religious group all that important?

What has made religion the single autonomous power , with their various Gods?

One argument would be that man in general prefers not to take up responsibility.

The irony here is, we have taken it as our responsibility to take care of these religions , with our life and even more.

As we move into a new Era , where in we have started to accept that we need to change our attitude and our demeanour and approach to solving the pragmatic problems in living, the way we define our “sense of belonging” is quintessential .

The reason for problems is that we interact and in the process  two universes of ideas clash , the barring is too much to sustain a bi-ambitious world.

One way to ensure a mono-synthetic society is to conclude that suppression is the only way to maintain a balance. If we look at this syllogism closer , we will find that the major premise is that we need a balance and the minor one that suppression is the only way.

And this exactly is what religion has helped evolve over the ages of humanity.

I do not claim religion is the root of evil , rather that religion has been chained and is being made to do as the masters who control it want it to do. Religion in essence aims at freeing man and hopes to breach the boundaries of human perception.

But in reality the essence of religion lies in the minds of people . The majority of whom are  gullible, influenced  by the rhetoric of orators and politicians. The reason for this gullibility is because we cannot define what is “good and what is “bad” in absolute sense. The alteration done is so simple that many fail to see it – a change in the yard scale. And to change this , we first need to change the latter premise – that suppression is the key to the balance.

To redefine maintaining a balance in any other way , than the existing one, is going to be a task which is hard to even imagine – we would need to move away centuries of domination and slavery. Unfortunately , the method adopted in India(i.e. giving reservations) is a negative step. In a way it is acknowledging that we have become subservient to the pseudo dogmas. It would only strengthen the hold of the suppressive methods.

What is suppression? This is a important question to answer. I would call it curtailing ‘freedom’.

Freedom is again a word which needs to be defined. You can say freedom is that which gives an individual a proportionate sense of belonging and acceptance. And here lies the answer , to what we can try do.

We need to understand and appreciate freedom. The line between indulgence and freedom may be very thin , almost nonexistent but the crux of freedom lies in the way we perceive and interact with others. Of course we cannot interfere with the way people think or make choices for them , but what we can do is try to remove the vintage prejudices and sneers , by stopping them from reaching our future.

We should try to find our way to a better race , not by thinking what ‘God‘ would find comforting but by understanding that our decisions are binding on the future of our kind. It might seem Utopian to dream of such a day, for after all we are no more than a galaxy of cells working together to survive . But then doesn’t this galaxy coexist without any Upheavals? Of course you can say that their thinking capacity is taken away by the ‘brain’. But what is the brain , but again another collection of cells?

But of course there is always a reflex or death. We can say reflexes give us a short term relief , i.e. revolutions are a temporary respite and well that death is the ultimate end of a bad mind. But then what dies and what lives on?

This is the question , which religions have capitalized on. And through out our history this is the question used as a fear of tool. I do wonder if hell really did exist, didn’t those exploiters realize that they would be the first to be dipped into a cauldron of boiling oil? But of course they do claim that , they are messengers of “God” .

At the same time without fear and guilt , we humans probably will be out of control. But then , I think it is better we remove these fears created by our imagination and present to our kind the real threats – without proper cooperation and coordination our race might bring about its own end; Earthquakes, tsunamis , floods, drought etc .

If we care enough for the living – this is not just about  ‘healing the world’ , it is about saving ourselves. The world can take care of itself. Earth as a planet will go on for millions and billions of years. And anyway whatever you do , will affect the entire universe . And no it is not caring for the smaller things – it caring for the most important thing – the ‘I’ .

Kill religion? I don’t think so. We need to kill our inhibitions, which stops us from understanding.

Is killing justifiable?  Can you face yourself ?

P.S;- Thanks Indi for helping me in edit this 🙂

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Krishna nee begane – Colonial Cousins

The other day I went to a drama called chocolate Krishna by ‘Crazy’ Mohan ( his troupe is one of the most famous here) . And in the drama , a snippet of this song was played . And bingo like any good old 21st century city kid , came back and youtubed the song . I know we had this song cassette when I was about 6 or 7 as I remember losing it in the tourist taxi while returning from Thirupati after my upanayanam(the sacred thread ceremony , the name is right , right?) ..

So now that I am out of my lazy phase(ya too laxy to copy and paste a link) here is the song..

 

 

All I can say is that people realize that it is not worth fighting . 

 

P.S:- check out this post on Paulo’s blog .

Ego and divinity

Upon a peaceful ocean ,
A thought did rise . 
That thought did move
Within the worlds , as a screw
Would into a wooden hollow . 

As judgements were passed , 
And prejudices concluded ,
To all but a few the truth
Eluded . Virtues and vices
Are relatives at war , 
Divided by a single wall . 
On either of that does lie
A way – somewhere , infinity
They do meet and there 
Contradictions nay exist . 
Yet till that point there does
Seem , a world at a brawl ,
Within itself always ready 
To start a fire at the scent of smoke .

Forces greater than the container
Are contained , by the sheer inept
Of those contained to recognize
A frail misnomer . The forces so contained
Do pray to the within to discover
A better lens to notice the
Venomous drops , the poison .

And once the mind does locate
Where it seems the simple twist
Of fate seems to be placed ,
It does try to frame a case
Of revolution , an air of arrogance ,
The charm of ego and deliberation.

The ego is a way to feel the abyss
And not that which we pit against those
As wise . The ego is a virtue to protect
And feel all those below earthly morality .
The ego is to break the walls of discrimination .
And that ego is a screen drawn  not to
Close love but to open the eyes of justice.

The only justice is poetic
And as each action churns a reaction ,
The world watches with concentration
And tries to balance with a fervor , a penchant
Soaked in a universal beauty ,
The song of which brings a deja vu
And belonging becomes de rigueur
For every creature .

At such a stark moment , the ego
Becomes a wall upon which you do
Stand and observe the obsessed world .
As a prophet to the mortal , the immortal
Sires the world and becomes the inner star ,
Set at a spot , showing direction ,
The venerated divine , the harbinger
To the future , the holder of the keys
To completion of an ultimatum .

With such a serene posture ,
The hand and the paper become
One . As one weaves through the other ,
That which is drawn breaks the beauty
Of stillness and the mesmerizing silence
Only to carve a beatitude beyond
The revealed rites of revered veneration –
The ode to world through perception.

And on such paper and as the hand
Becomes the mouth that disturbs the air ,
The thoughts on the ocean form
A known citation , seen within
And calm the diligent ego to mere strength .

As towers upon an unseen base ,
You do stand and watch the height
Of the sea , knowing that written
On the shore sand is temporary .
Yet that penned into memory ,
Is the message , to be visited
Again and again , in time’s rein ,
To establish the threads ,
To relight the blown fire
And rekindle the presence .

Everything is an illusion .
And so let the world be .
yet within each sketched ,
Does lie a world , the creativity
Of another illusion – reality
Mounted idealism , The final
curve to the straight column ,
The finesse of mind’s design .
And as the illusion’s illusion ,
Takes strength from its perceiver ,
The creator , it does add a tantamount
Code to the encore of the world .

Yet a while it does take
For another to conquer
The imagination and rise
The almost moribund ,
A final twitch before disappearance
And cause agitation in
The being’s bosom .

At such a moment ,
The negations seem to add up ,
All in whole and almost real
And thought aware ,
Such is the nature
That the being allows
Th virus to infect ,
If only not to let the world
Be poisoned.

And such and such is called divine
By plenty and worth a merry hail
But they do fail , they fail,
To see that it is not scarifies
And the ego’s penance ,
But that it is a discovery
To thrall the abyss by
The sheer resistance of life –
The strength of the wall
We do sit upon , the power
Of that which sits on the wall
And the stars whose lights do connect
The world by illuminating the world .

If not for anti , the ego has no existence .
If not for fear and guilt ,
The world would not be built
As it is but would have been formed
By the hands of creation –
The procreation of thoughts upon
Thoughts , the pro evolution
Of mud into bricks , of dusk
Into a dawn , memoir
Of man’s visage when he
Did see that he was free
To contemplate the way to the stars
And to carve a transient image on the shore
And letting the ocean the one to hide
That which is at the other side of sky’s brink .

The soul of life is divinity .
The beauty of movements ,
The culture of souls to choose ,
The ability to be alive .
Divinity is the way we feel ,
Divinity is the veracity .
And that truth which it represents ,
Is a means to an end .

At a solvent moment ,
The ego dissolves .
The viruses are none .
The illusions float below
And the world is a calm proposition.
Life seems to be drenched
In itself. The containers break ,
The Pandora box is overridden
As the world feels the hands’
Alacrity to be itself .

Life is life .
The world is alive .
Everything is an illusion
And we live in our perception .
Veracity and its integrity
Are the natural scales which we adhere
And as the notes of a song
Whatever pitch we breath
And ours heart’s beat
The love we feel
Will set us free .
For revolution is action
Where we reveal to ourselves
What we are , the action
Which frees us from the ordinary
And makes us to be the divinity .

Love is a essence ,
The flavour to let out the strings
And understand the world .
Love is the soul’s delight ,
For it is the fire of the fight .

As the world comes back alive
And the waves do eat the sketch
And reality is set alight ,
We do feel we belong ,
To this , that which is a metaphor
To our life , that which hides
From our sight , that we seek
For lending a meaning to life .

The joy of ego less superiority ,
The joy of divinity .
The God you are is what you will be ,
The God the world is ,
What you want it to be .
The God ultimately ,
Is the God that has to be .

Truth is not the end
But the means to an end.

 

The light shines the brightest

The essence

Sense,
Essence,
At a certain distance,
Connected through reverence or vengeance.
For a few a revelation,
Others a illegitimate menace.

Far away from the visceral planes,
Where one notorious thought reins,
In a dream of a certain refrain,
The colours of freedom seem strained.

Through the senses-scintillations,
Through the emotions-vibrations,
The balance of  past and future,
Deliberately hang on the vision,
Of a mortal and bound scion.

Words may pass wisdom,
Actions may give martyrdom,
But neither can provoke, freedom,
Unless within the creature arises
A stroke (almost a epiphany,
Yet one of time’s boundless nature)
On the verge of breaching space,
Yet binds the universe,
Into the cramped room of a head.
And there it fills the thoughts,
The emotions and something shines,
A rudimentary essence,
The grit of our race’s existence.
Origin unknown,
Yet never visceral,
It is the knowledge of many an incidental,
carved into the nerves -the child
Of verses of unknown depths
And the knows worlds’ heavens.

And as such a realization dawns upon,
In those glorious hours,which life is called upon,
Everything tries to belong and then in a strung call,
Falls upon and arranges as if bound by a song,
To show the exactitude-the answer to the puzzle
Of living. Yet by the time the strains resurface,
Negligence reverberates and confiscates,
The essence through illusions.

At that,petty decorations need harnessing-
Water needs colour,
For the solvent cannot solve,
The lack of opaque it possesses,
For it is deemed unclean without spillage
For a bearded man said that was its visage.

And while the forces seem violent-
The wind torrential in its wisdom
And the seas tumultuous in action,
Humans throng and try to belong through religion.
The docile are then fermented
With ideas that man is tormented
By the virtues used
To bind him and rule.

Albeit that does come purity,
But then named
Heretic ,by some capricious decree,
Only later , understood to be,
What is really seen;
But veracity needed fire
And so it was lit
With a match upon a soulless hay
With chants of hail for the gist of the display.
Such are binds which curtail the hands
Of values and refined sands.

They call him the devil,
And he does roam among humans.
he has no eight tails waging
Or thirteen a table set,
All he has is a gullible mind
And he does exploit with haste
And then spreads like a plague
From man to man,
Until everyone seems wan
And prone to the entourage
Of a abyss and its flaming reaches,
Illusions bent from the malleable,but
Mind,that oh! if used properly is divine!

Finally as all seem corrupt
And thought dead and shut up,
Struck a ray through the condescending grey,
Creation was set alive again,a rebirth ,
Now life doesn’t seem vain.
And that abrupt force was all hailed,
And his words proclaimed
As wisdom, his actions martyrdom,
But fail did everything to grasp its freedom.

Then the devil did descend in full,
Dressed in white,peace he would bring,
No one would sing,the mantras
Of old and sally no more would
The undercurrent wisdom
(Relight by nature with
A little bit of nurture)
As the mirror reflects
The myriad darkness
And in it man would see
Nothing , for an eye
Is as good as its lens,
Mind is as good as its exponent.

But the devil was faced,
He could not rebate
Nor could he reinstate
His hold. The keepers
Were three,wisdom was set free,
Though humans have a hand on
The devil’s vehemence,
Another does hold the benevolence,
Of the spirit of creation.

The sevens and nines
Will never die,
Unless new numbers are sworn by,
And so will never the life
Be left astray,
For there is a final way,
The path which all do face
And on a gloom filled morning comes
To the surface,there they do
See the light from the negation,
It is the mere lack of contradiction
Which sets the world into a revolution.

The light shines the brightest

The Angel Of God by Jyothi Menon – Book review

Picture from the Author’s site(link at the end).

 

A pretty ‘warm’ book and a lovely story. Something about it makes you feel comfortable,maybe becuase we Indians already have heard about people,whom she has created . This book would have welcomed more superlative appraisal from me, if not for a few places where the ‘ HR ‘ sticks out.

The story has three main characters , the first one being a  underworld  don called Moosa . The character is someone who you would like to encounter in real life,in fact you do wonder where are such good , kind hearted people, but then you realize that something is not right and well he is ‘ bastardised by the circumstances’ – his childhood in the world famous Dharawi and the various illegal things he gets into make him into a black sheep,but a sheep never the less.

The second is a character called Bhaskaran who is from an ancient family in Kerala. He grows in a place a close to Dharawi where he happens to meet Moosa during a row. He later goes on to achieve ,thanks to Moosa Bhai’s help.

The third is a orphan called Abubacker,in Khozikode,who , with the help of Moosa become a ‘Muthalali’. The book has vivid descriptions of the illegal businesses both in Kerala and Mumbai. Moosa helps in the making of two men,both different- one educated in MIT(Bhaskaran) and the other educated by experience in the underworld. The book also moves a lot – Kerala,Chennai,Mumbai, Libya,Middle East ,Nagpur etc.

As I said,the book seemed to have bit too much of the HR angel. This being fiction, every paragraph helps in molding the story and the reader being a person who picks up this book from the best seller stand,is bound be at loss,when he is faced with description of running a business,it catches you out ,when at about 1 0r 2 in the morning between a nice story someone talks about business.Also if it were so simple,then everyone would be a entrepenuer . But maybe that is the cynic in me,rather maybe it is a reaction to the fact that a particular part towards the end , seemed to add a certain degree of reality to it and rob it of the ‘cho cho sweet why can’t this be a feel good movie/ wah wah a fairy tale at last’.

I never like to reveal the story,except maybe the main characters,because my belief is that,reading a detailed review,takes away a bit of the charm of reading a book. I would say,read this book,if you want a something light and feel good(there are a few bits of harsh reality,which seeing other stories now days,would make into a fairy tale anyway) .It also gives you an insight into a few places and ways of living(ya well I guess it is better than travel and living).  Though I just criticised the HR part,there are a few messages which have been put in with a bit of euphamism which we all can use,when we deal with people( Okay, I am not know for my patience when dealing with certain type of people,so yes,maybe I should learn). I might be over rating this book,but anyway..

 

Rating – 8/10. Makes a nice little quick read.

Author’s page.

The puddle and the sea

At a puddle they threw a stone,
And my bearings did spill over,
At my plight they did take pride;
The stones kept coming,
But so did the showers and my belief
In life; As time swam through its
Pristine verses,I did evolve,in spite
Of those stones and with a prayer to myself,
I did evoke a sense of belonging
And evolved into a ocean.
 
I crushed the stones into the sand-
On them they thread ,upon their
Very words,the hypocrites
Try to act dignified even as they
Gape with awe at my size and life.
Their stones,now are no means
to hurt,they are lost in my own gait
And if any were harsh I do return them,
At their feet and they do wonder
Why they sink in so right-
Ignorant,they fail to realize,
That in the mirror they do see
Themselves and not another,
They worship their gullible darkness,
But nor can that eat an infinite begin
For though I have shores,
I move upon a strong ground,
Intricate-we are one and the same,
The world is a passage and the sea,
Me, an observer,a prophet
I do try to warn,thee humans,
But you still are blind
And throw waste with tremendous haste,
And avoid my message with false chaste. 
 
While it does worry me,
And tears do fill me,
My God does allow me,
To watch the world and all the while love
Myself and the ulterior Goddess;
The stars do twinkle,
I know what they are,
They maybe far,
But within we do know,
That we are moving with a flow,
Ultimately we would meet,
If today at creativity’s peak,
Tomorrow at life’s peace.
Dare listen to us,
You might then seek life,
Otherwise oh! human,
You are no more seen.
Animals are born to survive
And man is born to live,
So seek the truth,
Truth is not an end
but a means to an end,
Listen oh! listen,
Or you will become 
Humanity’s stone,
Unknown and long forgone.
 
Listen oh! listen,
And think oh! think!
I am the sea,
Dare to see and hear me,
You will know you are free!
Once they did throw a stone,
I did crush it and now spread
It ashore see and learn,
Yearn and listen! 

The light shines the brightest!

Peace of sound

Peace of sound,
Sense of belonging,
A Romanticism within,
A prosperous zenith,
An excess of emotions,
A blur of vision,
Clarity in that disruption.

Animals are born to survive,
Man is born to live,
Earth is a place of haunt
And to create it and lend life,penchant
Of all things alive-
An euphoric sense of divine;
The magic brush which speaks-
Of fantasies and gross truth-
A parade,a tribute,
To the power,which dares not to be mute.

The war within,
The war in the world around,
Faceless and dangerous,
An adventurer within ,
A daredevil about,
The verses of an invention
Hoarse to a few,
Alive and divine to the rest.

In the virgin gaps between the sound,
A belonging-the world is alive,
More so in the silence,
Than the condescending virtue.
In thought there is a superiority,
In life there is an affinity,
A negation to the moment,
An anti to the passion,
A verve to the mundane,
A candour to the bane,
That which seeks home,
When insults are thrown.

The peace of sound,
Shakes and bares the ground.
Releasing those who are bound
Within the pride of human crowd,
They thrall the arbitrary
And lend form and break immunity.
Pecuniary of the universe,
The adage of the moral serf.

And yet they give life,
And beauty they abide,
Within they strike,
The chords and chime the life,
And make humans forget their blight;
And in love,move high,
Towards their aptitude and divinitude.

Peace of sound,
Sense of belonging,
A romanticism within,
A prosperous zenith,
An excess of emotions,
A blur of vision,
Clarity in that disruption.

The light shines the brightest

A metaphor called God

A blanket above,
A world below,
As dreams fill sleep,
Angles oblique and steep,
Fill grotesque hours with
Inert worth of days, betwixt.

The day scumbs to night,
The hours hang alive,by minutes,
Postulates to the sense of being alive.
Attachments call,to feel,
To be,to sense victory,of something
Which is an image of something greater.

A metaphor called God,
Revives a sense of an all
Engraved hour-into one,
Of an acclaimed need,in a few
Verses,which relight the sight,
To the touch of a greater proportion,
The value of life-the pinnacle of salvation.

To err is human,yet to err is not human.
A cell of nature,an atom of a final being,
Circular waves of creation and destruction,
Flow within,thus making a final preposition-
That balance is within and around,
Freedom senseible and yet bound.
The liberty to move,
The capricious constants,
Which grow and grew,
Thanks to winds of east and west,
Some ultimate zest,a locus at every point,
So cunningly mystic,
that to not dream is drastic.

In the being,a sense lives.
Of what?Of whom? Of where?
Is something which few dare,
To raise and even fewer to chase.
And to one whose moral is low,
How to put across,how to show,
That beyond everything there is a gap,
And that which dares not to show up,
Is the one which we need to find,
For a known foe is better than an unknown fiend.

God,a superlative common,
To all.Yet one which we deem to be stoned
Or ubiquitous yet made to be borne.
But nay,the circumstances,
The thee breaths free-as free
As any human born into the world,
A product of nature and essentially
Of something greater,a wall against to run,
To constantly compare and raise to,
From birth to death through.

The God is of a greatness,which within
We strive to evolve,to push the being,
As God is one,and all is one,termed
Or understood to be God.If not for
Man’s intellect how would a word,
Be thrown about,stud to every language,
Common to everyone alive? how a concept
Be so profound and left to interpret
And yet be starved with glorious neglect
Of a few? From where or when arose
This force or concept such,
That its value be so little yet so lush?

When can a mind,be so alive,
That is sees life? When can pain
Be so alive,that living is a sense?
What worth is this world,
When one dreams? And what of
God,does is it mean?
A mode through which we know?
Or a clear and stark iridescent show?
A spark of light?
Or the setting sigh of a twilight?

What integrity does everything propose
To,that we have a value to set aside
And compare and abide? The way of God?
If so,then a balance and not goodness to all
Can be seen,how can a universe be,
Set to a better tune,when the impact
Is seen as the one to reach and not the
Beauty and vivacity of each string and sound?
Is this a way to be bound? Ignorance
Seems to chaff life of a greater benevolence.
Yet something keeps alive.
Something tells you,you are right.

One in all,
All in one,
Justice, poetic,
Illusions mystic.
Movements,songs,
Verses,Prayers,
Sounds,sight,
visions and thoughts
All within and around a circle,
Yet what tangent should we find,
To take a new path and understand
The nature of light?
If life be a force,
If earth be or not be more than a rock,
What is the master plot?

God,A feeling,a sense,
To be seen within,that which
Prompts and pulls and moves,
The being from within,
That which strives to give
Sense to all.If life was just
A being with thought and sense
And the ability to feel,
God is that which makes
All of it real and a sense of superior,
Which motivates the being to move,
And then search its value.

If God is the truth,then it means
To search it,means an means to an end.
If God be life,then it means a calm
To overcome phases of death.
If God means everything,
Then it is a negation of nothing.
And so God be everything,
That which is everything we know
Moves,which prompts us to move,
So that it too,can grow through
And intend its virtue to a few more,
Of cosmic worlds unknown and unseen.

God is a metaphor,
The name,the forms given to the blur,
Which we all see.
The force which makes us think,
The force that makes us seek.
Instinct and knowledge,
Worlds and Wisdom,
Virtue and venerated.

Without a gap,
Without a constant arising
From all,what curve can be right?
Might and brutish strength,
Achievements through veiled plagues,
Yet justice served is infinite
And so it is poetic.
God at a poet’s heart,
Seems to sketch,something,
Consistent and thoughtful
Yet a play with misery and beauty,
Every tone to its worth.

But what can draw,all this?
Unless one explodes at a point
In time,that which forces a rime,
To be made alive and burst
alive ,forces forced to move,
Gravity of it all,new.
Unseen but felt,
We can value it,relative
To our life and what we sell.

Thus all in all God,
Is that which we be
That which causes and
Is the virtue of causation,
Whose effects infuse a
Sense and make us seek
The beginning as the end,
And again the end,
All the while seeking a tangent
To move to a different sense,
Where in elevation is gained by
Meeting another circle and another
Way out,in and out of life and
Virtual into a mental idea and stride
All the while in a world of real illusions.

The God is a metaphor,
Of superior sight,
Of the innate we abide.
Truth is not the end
But means to an end.

mortality is lost when
sense of reality is found.
Man’s work is to break inability
To achieve it or not destiny.

The light shines the brightest

Self belief

A wish,a wish,
just say I will.

Even as the clouds gather
and the sky turns darker,
a sense of belonging,
a pride in living,
creates a prayer.

As a flower blooms on a Monday,
in December,it will never see May,
yet all it has is to hope,
for it is possible for it’s will to elope
the chains,the times’ ropes.

In the song of the world,
every note,is in order,
and the larger picture,
has a balance,
on so gallant and dynamic,
that it ushers everything
from the beyond to the twig,
to its place,in an illusion
of catacombs and many a maze.

And when a note is struck
or when something goes muck,
the song does not die,
but resides down a while-it lies
at the level of each,
as per the need and reach.

At a pace,each of its own it seems,
yet whose hand can paint the tree
or heat the sun,one violent and
the other so piquant a green?

But within each of us,is a note,
in the song of the world,
it is the same spirit,
which makes us the same
as different from others.
And by the strength of being a note,
which together we all wrote
and will write,there is a need
to move,to keep upright
and walk past,those,
who spend their life,
in demeaning the value of the light.

Forgives is not the coveted fruit,
as it is not right to be mute.
Yet squeezed not be too,
as the inner will is greater
than that urge to kill-
except in an bit to protect
the truth from the mystic.

In the tales ever so fond told,
there is always a hero and a lady-
between the mundane there is truth,
which is too stuck,that it seems to escape,
those who either forgave or gape.

As the night takes over the skies,
we known this is a passing.
And even if the world be dark,
there is light in the park,
the azure is always lit,
for even if we were to turn around
a while,the true belief will always
be there alive.

In a question of survival and to live,
it is not possible to keep things still.
And so as the world moves,
in circles,we too run around
the bushes and make and create
and destroy walls ,
which satisfy our inner call.

yet all that matters is you
and life is truly lived by the few,
who know,though the earth
seems a trap,that they may
be bound a while,
if they sing as they should
into the night,
the world will revive,
their highs and thus
they can fly high
and far away from the sonorous
melee of earth and the myopic kind.

So be ready to be lit,
and see your self,where you fit.
The true strength of life-the grit
to walk the last mile,
the trust in your self,
that you are right,
comes from the voice,
so sing aloud,
you are not one in the crowd.

To everyone,each is special
and things seem all too well,
until,illusions take over
and turn the voices into
something which shoves,
and make them the harbinger
of a brutish drawl.Yet that too
is nature and once we see it,
we can make it better-
by searching the right tune,
by making us immune,
to the ways of the infidel,
who has no belief,
not in God or other such,
but in himself.

Truth is not the end,
but means to an end.
Illusion hurt-
the world may seem curt,
yet what matters,
is yourself
and what you do and
where you dwell.
So forget,not forgive,
those folly handed
fools,who claim
that something else rules.
The world is of lazies faire,
and forces might dare,
but as long as you care,
don’t let them mar
your life,you kind,
which is the way of divine.

the light shines the brightest

I live on forever.

Note:-The first stanza is inspired by the poem “the brook“.

And people may come 
and people may go,
but in my eyes,
i live on forever.

For the world is nothing
but what i perceive
and a coloured chart
which has my blood
and my thoughts
as the hues which
lend it,its meaning.
Nothing is bigger than what i see
and nothing is smaller than what i see,
all are as free as i see them free.
Everything to me revolves around me
and imagination is a world where in
everything has its own capable need.
from nowhere descends thoughts,
except by instinct
and in it i will dwell till i go extinct.
Words are mere forms of expression
thinking the base to factual actualization.
Yet behind art lives a thought
which captivates and helps cultivate
a sense of belonging to fulfill
the aesthetic longing.
In a world of azure skies
and pretty ornaments
who skid along the vast screen-
as if my thoughts from somewhere
wanted to know the way to heaven’s street,
walk across me-the belief that though
tangential might be the senses hold,
it is what helps us tell and be told.
At that point we see and try to be
and belong to this nether land
under the sky which holds the universe
and so the horizon dream.

History in yards and yards of cloth
and palm and paper and what not,
yet nothing can be learned
unless within them they have a yearn.
Tomorrow’s life is today’s dream
and yet today we see ourselves
the harbinger of our doom tomorrow.
Every step we take
and every action we commit and help make,
we induce and refuse the forces
within which act as the futures prefaces.
In grandeur and beauty we might fall,
yet their magic lasts as long as we a part.
And when the haze disperses,
we find in our mind’s purses
that we have been spell bound
by something that was built with a pound
of flesh and ounce of blood
and beyond that the thoughts on which
the lusty past fed.
Yet in pitiable reverence we seek to praise
those who moved the stones
and covered a scar with a tattoo
instead of the thinker who
decided that it shall be made beautiful.

Want is creed essential
as belonging is vesper real.
for if not a faith be there
and if not a God to, we plead,
the only want which shall live
is that to live alone
and not the wish of some
glittering crown
nor the heart of rustic brown.
And to live we shall think
for survival is the base
and life the face,
and that face shall be clean
and serene just like
it should be-not with a hung
heart and a formless love,
but one which goes higher than the clouds.

Misery is not what your friend has
and you don’t,but what you have
and that your friend doesn’t.
Yet for the one who truly owes
there is no misery
as he is enough profound
to know what is the right sound
and in what he is bound.
Happiness is a spark
of madness ,where in the touch,
if sustained leads to joy-
wet paint
that can either portray a beggar,a saint
or a maid or a triad or natures marvelous
mysteries and life’s magnanimity.

And in joy lies my eye
past misery and history
beyond the forest of trees
and gardens of vegetables and weeds,
where all that i see,
is a sensation which transforms
into me and my hands speak for me.
For never can the eye or hand lie,
the one who is controlled self
is all but his given his soul for theft.
Freedom is not buying wings
nor is it living in poverty
but seeking the pinnacle
which within you,you see.
And for humans and life, life
will flow on and things
might never end from here on
and since my life is all
but worth a vociferous bubble’s
being,it is delight to be alive
albeit the grey illusions
that make neither day nor night.
There is only one fight
that is surely not for might is right.
Forever from the edge of a ocean
within me i travel with devotion-
to me and my proposition.

And people may come
and people may go
but in my eyes
i live on forever.

the light shines the brightest