What is a poem
if not a reflection
of the mystery of my being…
How can I claim authorship
or even meaningful intent
When my own existence
is as momentary
as a drawing in still waters.
What is a poem
if not a reflection
of the mystery of my being…
How can I claim authorship
or even meaningful intent
When my own existence
is as momentary
as a drawing in still waters.
I breathe who breathes
I am one, I am all
In the span of one breath
I rise and I fall.
There’s nothing I am
There’s nothing I’m not
I come into being
From the womb of your thought.
In your heart I exist
As longing, as pain
For every loss of illusion
I stand as your gain.
When clouded by darkness
Having lost sight of trust and love
Keep your feet on the ground
And your gaze above.
For something to be this
there’s got to be that
For all that is good
there’s got to be bad
The more you try to hide
the more you show
In order to have
you’ve got to let go
Seemingly far away
when measured from what’s near
Strength only emerges
in the face of fear
For everything I’ll know
there are two things I won’t
So the more I know
the more I don’t.
I could not have written
All that I seem to have written
Considering
I understand more fully
‘my own thoughts’
Long after
The pen has traced
Their smooth moonwalk.
When so many of my beliefs died
Did anybody mourn their passing?
There were no condolences; no warm compassionate hug
Were they worthy of only an indifferent shrug?
Why then am I programmed to grieve
The decay of mortal flesh and bone?
What belief is that
Which brings me back to your graveyard stone?
And what will happen
When that belief too shall pass away?
Will I mourn your death
Or shrug it away?
He stabbed her repeatedly
in the chest
with daggered words
sharp
honed with hate and spite…
Love can be a lethal cocktail
Dangerously acidic
He threw it in her face
repeatedly
Stunned by his outrage
She sat there and silently wept;
now empty, beggared and bereft
of all guard, ammunition and daggered words…
“I just don’t have the words,” she said
“He stole them from me.”
Life as we know it, expresses itself through change and activity. Life is dynamic, consistently changing and forever modifying its many forms. Nothing is constant in life. And yet, the life force itself is eternal- lying outside of the bounds of time and space. Life, in order to be perpetual, must constantly die to be reborn. In other words, change is the very nature of the permanent. It is the ephemeral that sustains eternity. The movement from existence to birth, to growth and maturity and then to eventual decay and death- of just about anything available to our experience- is an undeniable and verifiable truth. Yet we, despite our experiences with impermanence, seek a life- in the midst of all the props that constitute our lives- of uninterrupted and everlasting joy! We superimpose our personal stories on the impersonal and universal currents of life. And then we try with futility, to arrest change to fulfill personal desires and if that’s not possible, to order it according to our will.
Change, especially hard-hitting, unpleasant change frightens us. We seek to protect ourselves from it. We acquire, collect, own and form alliances in a bid to stonewall change, to prolong pleasant experiences and to defer death. It is not the enduring occurrences of change, impermanence and death that are the cause of our sorrow: it is in our misconception of life that our sorrows grow like weeds. It is in our apathy and indifference to the laws of life and a disinterest in our own cultural development, that our sorrows take root. The only way out of suffering is to simply ‘choose’ not to suffer.
Choice is our most potent gift. And every moment of our lives as human beings, we are called to choose. An empowered life is one where choices are asserted. But before they’re asserted, we must be aware that we have a choice. One of our most fundamental mistakes is to believe that the availability of choice is dependent on our circumstances. Our circumstances have no bearing on our capacity to choose. On the contrary, it is our ‘capacity to choose’ that can defeat even the most debilitating circumstances. We may not be able to escape sorrow and change and loss, but we have a choice in whether or not we suffer!
This ability to choose our response is available to all- rich or poor, strong or weak, literate or illiterate. It is in this unique ability that all men stand equal. Yet we don’t recognize this. We strive hard to improve our circumstances, and also seek an improvement in life conditions for all, thinking that therein lays the key to universal happiness. We’ve even tried to order nature; and we’ve seen the many harmful repercussions of that! Like the old lady in a Sufi parable who spent all day looking for her sewing needle in a haystack outside her house with a couple of villagers who had joined in to help her search. Exasperated, one of them finally asked the old lady, ”Where did you drop the needle!” “Inside the house,” she replied. “Then why are you looking for it here!” asked the perplexed villagers. To this the old lady with smiling, twinkling eyes asked of them: “Why is it that when God is within you, you search for Him outside?”
In the same vein, the key to enduring happiness doesn’t lie in a set of perfect circumstances outside of us; it lies within. It exists in our capacity to choose. We disempower ourselves when we do not exercise choice. Choosing is essential to freedom. Choice is that secret door through which our souls can walk in and walk out at will. Without awareness of ‘this door’ in our abodes, we live our lives as prisoners trapped and enslaved by life and its whimsical twists and turns.
The culture of human beings rests on this hope that man can remain noble and undeterred through any changing circumstance; that the test of our maturity lies in our unaffected demeanor through either abundance or adversity. Loss and sorrow are inevitable experiences in the course of our lives. No one is spared. And yet, we’re given the final word- you’re not defeated till you ‘think’ you’re defeated; you don’t ‘have’ to suffer the loss of wealth, reputation or a loved one; you can choose to harness these experiences for self-discovery and growth. Ultimately, to be or not to be- the choice is ours.
Contemplation is my shrine, my sanctuary
Therein lies my peace, my solace and my freedom
It is in this space that I give of myself and receive
It is this that is my essential nature
And all that I have is offered
In obeisance, in worship and in sacrifice
For its flame to be eternally kindled
And I protect it
As one would protect something dear
I share it with the listeners
Or with those who ask of my thoughts
Or with those in need
And all of this happens naturally
With effortlessness and in eternal wisdom
There is no conflict
No division of myself
The giver and receiver
Are not two but one
There is no higher or lower self here
And no question of prudence
There is just this
Complete in itself
Independent of my ‘knowing’
And now it feeds me with this thought
Offers unto its own flame
Must there necessarily be a way to God
Or is it not that God is the Way?
As in the silence of a prayer
I sit facing a blank page
White. Clean.
Spotless. Silent.
It’s only now
When a thought enters my mind
That ink inscribes
These words on this page
And now that I understand
That what was
In the absence of thought
The presence of absolutely nothing
I wonder
What thought was that
That carved before me
The relief of your face and features
And placed at distances
Near and far
Spaces that I visit
And spaces that await me
What thought was it
That placed me
Just here, just now
In silent communion with an empty page.
What happened last night?
We made an uncomfortable threesome
You, me and Fear
I’m not even sure of the name…
Was it Fear?
Or Desire?
Anger?
Or Bruised Ego?
Does it even matter?
Maybe all that matters
Was the uninvited
Uncalled for
Presence of a third
I couldn’t reach out to you
And you wouldn’t reach out to me
My helplessness dissolved into the oceans of my heart
That welled up and drowned most of my mindscape
I feel almost nothing now
Nothing…
Not helplessness
Not fear
Not anger
Not resentment
I feel naked
But am at peace with my nakedness
I feel hollow and light
Dead, unburdened and strangely alive
Which was how
Today amidst doing my daily chores
I who had died
Buried the dead.