You scribbled with the Quill on my Life,
Filled empty pages with the touch of feathers
Till I realized my Life is no
Book but a Bird with
Feathered Wings
Posted on behalf of Wanderer
Filed under: Poetry
January 31, 2008 • 12:09 pm 0
Wanderer, a bird
• 11:32 am 0
What the creator is to an idea, Wanderer is to Chimera
Chimera to Wanderer: I need you to create a world with the debris that I give you here:
When you smiled
behind the curtains of my eyes
hope lurked
Meditating
on the strings of your words-
I’m sentenced to life
Wanderer to Chimera:
“I caught a glint of Hope in
Your smile behind the curtains of my eyes;
Yet–
I’m sentenced to Life to
Meditate on the strings of your Words.”
Wanderer to Chimera: You are the inspiration!
You carry the Drop,
Nurse it in the Womb of your Being
Give it Birth
I am Born–
Life.
Filed under: Poetry
January 29, 2008 • 3:59 pm 2
My small little world…
The light oozing from the bedside lamp radiates my small world every evening. My world looks square when I close the only door that opens it to the world outside. I offload here my junk thoughts, hopes, expectations like one takes off clothes stained with weather and sweat.
The more I take refuge in the faint light, the more distant the world outside becomes. The wall between me and the external world grows taller each moment. The gap widens with every breath.
I love the faint light in my room; it creates a world for me, which the entire world couldn’t.
Filed under: Life
January 27, 2008 • 4:21 pm 2
Mindful chattering on a love-ly Sunday!
I danced in the field of my mind like a sufi, incapable of discriminating joys from sorrows, I housed both in the same seat.
Love is a seedless plant; it’s neither grown nor cut. No big bang can explain the beginning of love, or its end. It has no lifespan.
Love lives in each speck of the universe and that’s why we can’t separate it to look at its form.
No sect can compartmentalize it, because love doesn’t follow laws outside of those that the nature designed.
Love is a reality without past or future. It simply is. There is no-thing like love was or love will be. There is no possibility either: Love can be. No it can’t be. The moment you say I was in love but now I’m not, and that I can love or I will, you simply portray the image that you’ve created in your mind about love. Creating or destroying something is a result of thoughts. Thoughts are strategies that we strategists create. We thrive on these strategies, but misery takes over when the temporary colors fade with which we painted our illusionary love.
Love doesn’t wait for us to envision it. It exists independent of any fantasies. It’s not created through any actions. What is created is something else…not love.
Some moments in life fill you with insurmountable energy. These angelic moments come without ringing bells of joy. Nevertheless, the joy consumes you before you realize what happened. This joy is love. This love has no past or future. It lives in the moment in which you experience it. The moment you try to transport it to future, it dies and you become miserable.
The sun filled the grass, leaves and trunks of trees with light. The park benches looked silver in the sun’s warmth. Its golden rays caressed each quark in the existence around me.
The sun showered on me its affection in the cold winder noon. I ran from one corner of the little garden to another to test my stamina. I lost it bit by bit with every breath, but with each breath I became happier. Under an unexplained amnesia, I forgot my past and didn’t worry about my future.
The light then gave me this mantra, “I give love to each and every quark of myself.” The moment I hummed it, I felt loved. I patted a tree to share with it my love. I wanted to hug the tree, but I was conscious—conscious of being noticed or judged.
The sun continued to shine and kept me warm. Someone special asked me for something, and my worth was exhalted right away. The realization that relative joy has a short life was washed away with the fluid of delight.
Filed under: Life
January 24, 2008 • 4:23 am 1
Same old journey from anger to love
How long I can blame biological factors and those outside me for the irritation and impatience of which I’m an obedient slave? The theory of past lives has become another crutch to support my enslavement and all negativities that my aura emits. Or I’m as unjust with myself as I am with my close ones? This negativity is part of my existence-everybody’s existence. Maybe I should stop trying to kill it. I’m trying to destroy the immortal. I’m trying to destroy the stuff of which this universe is made. I’m trying to destroy what created us.
Perhaps the bone of contention is the wrong channeling of the fire-the heat. I should channel this fire toward the right cause. I should use it to leash that which tries to enslave me.
Filed under: Life
January 23, 2008 • 4:51 am 1
From “Wanderer” to Chimera
The walls have Ears, my Dear
And Eyes that detect Darkness;
Every glance is entered in the Lexicon
Every whisper broadcast
In Silence and Certainty.
***
The lone Palm that stops furious traffic,
The reclusive lighthouse that guides, stops the ships,
Cannot match the Power
Of your solitary drop of Tear.
Filed under: Poetry
January 22, 2008 • 9:31 am 0
They bite me like mosquitoes. They spit on me like people spit chewed beetle leaves all over the road, and scar my ego. Sometimes they hum over my ears like flies and I go mad. They become clouds and stop the sun of wisdom from shining. They do anything for a piece (peace) of my mind. The only way to manage them is to entice them in words. For me, that’s the only way to channel thoughts.
Words–whether somebody else’s or mine–are my meditation. Words that I borrow from others make me a slave to their reason and perception. I start living in the reality of the characters that those words paint. I encroach in their realms and yearn to unearth the mystery weaved by the borrowed words. I become a part of their reality, and they take on mine.
The suffocation that I cause to my thoughts makes them rebellious. Sooner or later they start confronting me. I try to pacify them. I try to create a home, a container to shape them. Like water takes the shape of container in which it is poured, my thoughts get an ego massage if I shape them; conclude them. Leaving them to wander is to invite trouble. But what do I do? My expression is constipated. It needs a laxative without side affects.
Filed under: Life
January 11, 2008 • 7:16 am 2
My neverending journey to a state I call Love
I discovered several years ago what I had mistaken for Love during my teens. It’s basically the search for what I have never found; seen, or experienced. It’s the thirst for something. What that something is I don’t know. Maybe I do, but that knowledge is only of intellectual value. It’s skin deep. It’s not experiential, in other words.
The journey that led me to this discovery is quite like that of Columbus. He reached India on his way to discovering America (or it was the other way round?). I discovered thirst for something while I was trying to experience Love. The process of my discovery has been painfully simple, repetitive, and hurtful. In the course of this unintentional discovery, I’ve longed to be with some people. Subconsciously, I made them the road as well as the destination.
I’ve succeeded many times in traversing those roads and reaching those destinations. Every time I did so, a feeling of hollowness overcame me. I used to be with those people; talk to them, but they were rarely there. They were with me and I was with them, but still we were not what we should have been. I wanted something else! What? Something that mind and body cannot experience. There is a beginning; a start when a mind communicates with another mind or a body converses with another body, and every beginning has an end. Therefore, after every end, there is a desire of a new beginning. It’s a never-ending cycle-the vicious circle as many call it.
The cycle still continues. There have been several beginnings and endings in my life. I look for some people, but I don’t find them when I’m with them. I know that I don’t look for them. I know that I look for what is beyond them, because I know that which is beyond them–but it is still them–is what will complete me, and not those I yearn for.
Filed under: Life
January 10, 2008 • 7:04 am 3
Haiku
negativities
fertile mind’s cynosure–
weed out to the root
Filed under: Poetry
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