Reminder

I know you see me live

And ask of me all that I can give

But I’ve always wondered why

We don’t see each other die

Things often taken a turn

When the last remains burn

So easily we let go

Of all unworthy sorrow

And see clearly through moist eyes

That death  claims us…

 

Long before we actually die.

The Elite

I live in a mental asylum

With shadows for company

So powerful are my shadow-friends

That they’ve erected the walls

Of my asylum

For their existence

 

In its confinement

I yearn for friendship and company

Even if it is of the Unreal

The shadows beckon me to listen

Their amorphous forms speak in booming voices

That echo and resonate.

 

Their thoughts agree with my thoughts

That’s why we are friends…

We jog together in 10000-word dissertations

Or tickle each other with 140-character tweets

And I feel accomplished

That I now have friends in high places…

 

I now speak their slang

And their concerns

Are my concerns

Their outrage is my outrage

Happiness lies in the camaraderie

Between one bubble and another.

 

When you burst my bubble

I stand vacant

Alone in my madness…

And with this painful awareness

That I can’t see, or hear, or feel anyone

Outside of the thick walls

Of my mental asylum.

 

I have been shut in

To be protected from any contact with the breathing…

My walls are thick, impenetrable and safe

My shadow-friends erected them so that they could play

And oh yes, my walls have names

Please meet: Ideology. Fear. Pain. Self-loathing.

Desire’s Destiny

Within me

So many have lived

and scripted my story

 

Some have stayed

for decades

for years

 

Pined

 

Agonized

 

Washed away

by floods of tears.

 

Some come visiting

a month, a week

and leave soon after

they find their seek

 

Coveted guests

who appear

for a minute or two

Rejuvenate

Refresh and

Renew.

 

A residue of wisdom

on ways to cope

They leave behind

magical wings of hope.

 

My nothingness defined

by their very being

They’ve challenged what I know

of my seeing.

 

They’ve come to me

inhabited my space

They’ve shown their artistry

their canvas- my face.

 

Desires in search

for room, for chest

They’ve come to me

to manifest.

 

It’s in rare moments like these

I stand face to face

Watching in silence

 

My nothingness

 

My space.

 

I know now

I can clearly see

My space is nothing

But desire’s destiny.

 

 

Money

Money is that bone of contention that has created some of the world’s broadest divisions: the haves and the have-nots; the materialists and the spiritualists; the pragmatists and the philosophers. These divisions, however, are absolute only in theory and most of us find ourselves sitting on the fence- in between the two extremes of the money debate.  We understand the need to be astute about money but fear its corrupting influence. We’re glad we have enough, but would like just a little bit more. We want to help those in need but want to be convinced beyond reasonable doubt that they truly need it. How come we give so freely of our advice but tighten up in cautious knots in when expected to give of our money? How do we develop the right perspective on money? How do we measure its correct importance in our lives? Most of us have developed a socially polite attitude towards money, which is more often than not, at variance with how we internally feel about it.

Although it started as a simple instrument of exchange, it has become that very thing of value that we, wittingly or unwittingly trade our every thing for. It seems to have become the value of all values. We trade our time, our skills, our youth, our family relationships (sometimes) and our health in its pursuit. It has been the basis of many a friendship as also the basis of many a break-up. We see it as compensation, reward, power; as oxygen to our way of life, as a license to behave indulgently, as a marker of social status, as an expression of love and in the very least- albeit fundamentally- as a currency of trade.

The topic of ‘Money’ interestingly brings to the surface all possible themes of thought such as: ideas about right and wrong, just and unjust, beautiful and ugly, the sublime and the vulgar, moral and immoral, the astute and the naïve and the pragmatic and the philosophical. This only goes to show that money has penetrated deeply into all aspects of our lives. Money tends to cleave our perception. Through its prospect, our world stands divided into two halves, which are forever in conflict and tireless debate with each other.  And we find ourselves on a pendulum course swaying from one side of the debate to the other. Why is it that a simple instrument of exchange fosters in our minds such a perpetual restlessness?

With the exponential growth of industry and commerce, we’re all inevitably money-minded. In today’s world everything we wish for, for a comfortable existence, can be acquired- for a price.  The effect of such money-mindedness is that we’re always sizing things up; measuring their worth; pronouncing them desirable or undesirable and feverishly seeking profit over loss. Our economic system has permeated every other aspect of our being and has now also become our philosophical system. Everything we have, we believe is worthy of trade. In fact in a strange travesty of thought, we consider only those things about us valuable that we can trade in a market place. Money- in our lives- has overstepped its boundaries and today, it seems, everything has a price.

… But then, is such an occurrence or such a circumstance, unnatural? Is it really an indication of man’s sin and his deviation from his spirituality? Is the business of living at odds with man’s spiritual existence? Or is the entire business of living- with all its trials and tribulations- the mere working of an indifferent natural law? Is it possible at all- one wonders- to be misguided, even in matters of money and blind ambition? It almost seems- on close examination- that the law naturally corrects all excesses and that its ultimate aim is to arrive to a state of equilibrium and balance.

Money- as it always ultimately reveals itself – doesn’t have any attribute, worth or power of its own. It is we who give it its reputation. Some of us fear it; some of us worship it, some serve it, some vehemently deny it importance and some others master it. It’s very apparent that money behaves exactly as our mind prompts it to behave. If you prompt it to lord over you, it will. Money itself comes with its price and as such will extract that price. Sometimes we pay with our health, sometimes we trade our relationships and mostly we pay with our time.  Like the Merchant of Venice, money will try and extract its pound of flesh.

Yet, money it seems, is an instrument of trade on more than one level. Through its temptation and false promises and then through its inevitable betrayal, man is left to himself- at first lost in its pursuit and then heroically redeemed.

So why is it that everything must be paid for?  Why must man pay to discover himself? Every bright new day has to wait for the end of a long, lingering night. The transactions of money in our lives only reflect the working of another, higher natural law. Existence is never even. All highs are followed by lows; abundance by paucity; day by night and inhalation by exhalation. All that comes must go. And for all that comes, something else must go. Nature seeks balance; a repose in nothingness. Nature favors neither the rich nor the poor. She simply ensures and sustains the co-existence of both. There cannot be one without the other. The presence of riches in one area of your life is always balanced by an equal poverty in another. The problem really with the human mind is that the rich are blind to their poverty and the poor are blind to their wealth. Like a famous wit has said: ‘Success has made failures of so many men.’ When our self-esteem is derived from the weight of our wallets, it shows a dangerous dependence over money and a great poverty of spirit. Money is only a shadow. And gigantic as it may seem in a certain light, chasing it amounts to nothing more than chasing a shadow. The real work that we do, in fact, is in the least rewarded by money. Its higher reward comes in the form of greater self-reliance and a gradual independence from all things external.

In the final analysis, whichever way you look at it, the balance sheet of life always ends in a perfect tally. We’re all poor to only that extent that we’re rich.

Appearances

Even though it was clear-

She was dressed to impress

And to re-write more authoritatively

The tattered script

And the battered role

That was her story,

 

I remember not

How she looked;

Or how she felt;

Or what she said

Or what in essence

Was her sartorial sensibility

 

I remember only

An abstract arrest…

A loss of contact…

After touching upon

Her pathetic and desperate need

To impress and redress.

It’s In The Getting to know

Yes…

I would’ve liked better teacups

But here you are

Nevertheless

Forsaken or gifted

Standing before me every morning

 

And so…

Despite a petulant will

Everyday I grow to love you

And everyday

I get acquainted

With your unexpected beauty

 

Love and Beauty

You’ve taught me

Are not mere affections

 

They are the gifts of our attention

Joys that we receive

Not in our hours of need or merit

But in the generosity of our receptiveness

 

They’re never destinations

But journeys of long, slow acquaintance

Of discovering

And getting to know.

The Destiny of Thought

Another day in the life of thought

Sieving

Separating

What is

What is not

And as thought thinks

That INTELLIGENCE must have a form, a purpose, a design

Its own purpose

Is to structure my mind

Thought knows not what it can’t apprehend

It understands the finite

And not things that have no end

Discontent with accepting things just as they are

It looks over the near, in search of the far

And so as thought must

So thought does

Structuring my life with lofty bricks of beliefs and values

It fates its own end

By empowering my acumen to choose

And finally

When all that is something

Will eventually wither away

Infinite INTELLIGENCE will come my way.

A Person of Few Words

Screaming silences

The thoughts in my mind

I can feel their angst

But words are hard to find

 

I struggle with words

They forever evade me

Messiahs of my thoughts

They forever fail me

 

Them thoughts pound my head

Demanding release

“We need to be said

Let us out, please!”

 

Their expression, their release

Is my reason to be

For if not my thoughts

What is my legacy?

 

So don’t dismiss me in a hurry

As someone with little to say

It’s a matter of time

Before my thoughts have their day

 

For now they stay imprisoned

A lack of choice

Locked in my mind

For want of a voice

 

That’s all they need

Just the wealth of words

But till they are freed

I am as you know me

 

A person of few words.

 

 

 

A Good Night

When the lights go out

So do all differentiations

Everything gets absorbed

In a rich velvety darkness

 

The night is a great leveler

It swallows up all distinctions

The day’s convictions dissolve in the night’s cabernet

And everything that was something loses its grip

 

The expectation of the night is total surrender

It claims from you your all

All the sparkling acquisitions of your day

Stand shrouded by an austere night

 

And it doesn’t seem to care

About all the things that decorate your existence

As it falls like an ink blot

On the script of your life

 

So while the day adds to your life

Things for the mind and things that matter

The night subtracts

Reducing your prized possessions to mere amusements.

 

I stand in the darkness of the night

Strangely redeemed…

As light exits and things lose their ‘edge’

I find that ‘I’- am still there…

 

In and through the absences, I prevail…

My only gain… my total loss

My only strength… my vulnerability

My only society… my solitude

Unanswered

You asked me why I ask

So many questions

When the answers are so few

 

What purpose could it serve

Asking so many questions

And will new answers

Stop me from asking

The same old questions?!?!

 

Why can’t I accept

The answers already given (or perhaps hidden)

For centuries…for eons…since eternity…

 

Aren’t willful ignorance

and elusive enlightenment

riding on the same adventure?

 

I don’t know…

 

I guess I find no silence, no repose

In the posers

you call answers

 

For the same twisted reason

 

 

You get so disturbed, so diverted

By the posers

that are my questions.

 

So there we are

All gesture paused

By an exasperated silence

 

Thought defeated, we now just are…

Sitting vis-à-vis

Sailing together, I realize,

In the same clichéd boat

To a destination known only to silent destiny.