Rainy season

It surely is good to be alive to see the rain beating the roofs and streets furiously forcing all shapes and sizes of people to take shelter, waiting in submission and reverance for the sky to clear up. It's wet muddy monsoon-time; people always become one under the power of mother nature.

Anger

Things to do when I get anger attacks

1. Kiss my toes.
2. Drink iced tea
3. Sing a nursery rhyme
4. Look up for 10 minutes without blinking
5. Stand on one feet with both hands stretched upward.
6. Wear my lucky pants and dance.
7.
8.

Poetry heals

Let Love

(Laden with anxiety and disbelief,
you seem to have lost all hope
of finding comfort and relief.
you wonder if you can cope.

And I must let you know
you can still sail through this
if you did not know.
You are much better than this.

Do not whine or beg but...)


Let love come to you
like a sudden storm in the night.
Let it soak you
to the bones with wonder;
let it drench your heart
with laughter.
Let it come naturally
like flashes of lightning in the dark.

Let Love show you
the colors of life:
the glory of every sunrise
the warmth of friendship
and splashes of happiness
on the canvas of bliss.
Let it paint you
with smiles and promises
of trust and faith
and visions untold.

Let Love come to you
with open arms
vibrant and passionate,
like lilies in bloom
waltzing with the wind;
let it envelope you
with its fragrance
of abundance and joy.
Let it come naturally
like sun-kissed petals in spring-time.

Let Love take you
to a higher plane
of fulfillment and peace;
a spiritual journey
of unconditional loving.
Let it soar with you
above the clouds of doubt
gliding in freedom and hope.

Let love whisper to you
the secrets of life:
the power of belief,
the pleasure of giving,
and the beauty of togetherness.
Let Love grow with you
like a river
flowing endlessly,
into the ocean
of eternity.

Trapped in Time

There is no beginning, no end. I am here.
In the distance float dreams inside bubbles
down from ages drifting but cannot be here;
vision of “then”, fictitious and bleak, hobbles.

History and its waves of delusion, aged and unending,
conjuring up what is not: mirages for tomorrow;
disgruntled ripples of yesterday, loud and fuming,
rushing past what is; the body is drowned in sorrow.

Buried and bruised under heaps of foaming fear
brought by streams of screams—unheard noises,
deafening echoes of time—and madness, can’t you hear?
A Soul caught by rumbling dissonance of million voices.

Squashed between boulders of past and future, Mind rules
obsessed with maniacal speed--machines cannot care.
Drugged in deep slumber of mechanical dreams, time fools.
Body trapped in an illusion, lightless, can one dare?

From nothing to nothing—space to space—
to wake up to no beginning and no end, in space,
untangling the mesh of Time’s mess.
Here. Now. This Is. Timeless.

Life uninspired?

I feel totally dead today.

I wonder how it feels like to die?!

**************************************

This dead night

Those lights remain static;
Bold stripes on stiff mufflers look unappealing--
Red dominating white.

Shut inside ice-cold cosmetic,
Those nerves wait immobile and freezing--
Ravenous for light.

Their minds spin frantic--
Eyeballs rolling 360 degrees unending--
Chasing better insight.

An escape route tactic;
From wretchedness labyrinth limping
Hounding liberty delight.

Yet, all, a drama so nonsensical;
Not a thing can create designs alluring.
This dead night.

(19th Sept 2006)

Indian streets

Building Palaces

Beads of sweat and dirt
glittering in the mid-day sun
on your tanned body hung
like heavy gold necklaces.

Your cheap anklets jingle
like tunes from bollywood songs,
as you balance your basket of bricks
and sand on your turbaned head.

Bare-footed heroine in a crumpled sari
performing a complex dance sequence
among yellow cranes and iron rods
building glass palaces for a day's plate.

Your infants, covered with soot
and eyes unopened, crawl out
from huts of sun-baked aluminum
to watch and learn your trade soon.

Your body toned and chiseled with
years of load and sweat and childbirth
knows not what is pain, anymore.
Do you question or accept what is?

Your aspirations, fears and fantasy,
I wonder if you speak of them
to your husband, children and friends.
Or are they drowned in noises of machines?

Flowers, gardens and peace and quiet,
do you ever dream of? Fairytales and
stories, would you not like to read
to your children every evening, every day?

While we ask, despite the angry monsoon sky,
your cracked heels in the mud still move
diligently, you know that this day will not wait,
and everybody knows that.

The Distance

The Distance


Measure
the distance between
the stars
in the night sky
and me.
You will find
and feel
that so much is
the bittersweet joy
that fills
the space between
us.



Measure
the distance between
two souls,
the earth
and the sky.
One they cannot be
but cannot do
without the other.
The space between--
the very essence
of their existence.
The harmony.



We are like
the ever-teasing clouds'
softness
and the earth's resolute
firmness--
different forms,
one we cannot be.
Yet the earth
evolved from clouds
and the clouds to
rocks of ice
on earth.



Invisibleness
of a life greater
we could discover
shrouded by clouds
of the visible.
Like heavenly bodies
that hide by day
and shine by night.
Our truest form
like ancient stars,
we do not see
by day.



Souls of old
they say
become constellations,
among dust
of eternity
they stay--
studs of immortality
on the bosom
of heaven
they become.
Those souls
we could be.


But on earth
we are.
And we shall be
the leaf
and the breeze, for now,
one against the other--
different forms,
one purpose--together,
season after season
creating and executing
life, dying and living,
again and again.



Measure
the distance between;
you and I;
see and feel
the depth in
the space between.
Could we live
without this vastness
to feel the breeze
and flutter the leaves?
Let the space be.
Different, together, we.