Holy nupitals

 

Life is reaching up to

the sun and sky,

Death is seeking rest

on the bed of mother earth,

Being is settling into

the rhythms of non-being,

While non-being strives to

get the sparkling smile of stars.  

Merry ghosts

 

The undying fire of memories alive inside,

Smoldering with suffocating smoke,

Sometimes it flares up suddenly,

Throwing pale, flickering light,

Showing moving figures

and shifting shapes creeping like

secretive nocturnal lovers,

All lanced by love,

happily melting into the folds of night

full of rolling mass of pain.

The magic wand

 

Love in her eyes very obvious,

Overpowering love trampling fears,

His words tingling her heart

to leave it fluttering

with a rainbow of emotions,

His touch unleashing

a galactic storm of passion

across the pores of her skin,

His embrace gathering her

and rooting her into sweet belongingness,

His walk with her

setting a course for a lovely destination,

His look at her

blooming a smile on her lips,

His presence enabling her to flow

into the emptiness in him

and acquire a shape

that fulfills his own form.

Blooming

 

Whenever we

misbehave with someone,

we are merely trying to

squelch our bitterness,

Whenever we

pour hate on someone,

we are just throwing sand

on the fire of self-loath,

But when we love someone,

we are uncovering ourselves;

opening a window into our being

for the sunlight to barge in

and flood us with joy and healing,

We open up and receive the grace,

just like a bud opens to be a flower

to be kissed by sunlight and bees.

Rebellion

 

My feelings molded by social rules,

I dived pretty deep

but still missed her full depth,

Tamed by social trimmings,

my young self represented the old,

But I’d revolt sometime

and the old would represent the young,

A sirasashna for the spirit it would be.

The pirates of love

 

Everyone thinks

love is for him or her,

But it is not,

It isn’t for everyone,

To most of us,

its fake, pirated copy would fit,--

a poor quality imitation;

just enough to give us

a false sense of comfort and security.

 

Real love is intense,

It’s a storm,

I don’t think most of us

can bear its naked authenticity,

It burns, singes, hurts, peels,

robs us of the fake sense of comfort,

plunders hypocrisies,

strips us naked to face our frailties,

It has very sharp edges

in its original version,

No wonder

the majority buys the fake copy,

Just like essence of honey

mixed in a drum of plain sugar.

The aggrieved owner

 

The flames of her passion

trying to lick guilt and shame

from my face,

Screaming out her love,

Pouring out her entire essence

from her lovely soul.

 

Whose fault it was?

Did I simply allow her

to slip out of my grasp?

Did I simply let her drift away?

Did I put enough effort to retain her?

 

Maybe I failed,

Probably I’d have still failed

had I given all

and she would’ve succeeded,

For love can never be forced,

It drops like a ripe fruit

after a time,

I know this,

Still I mourn the loss of that kiss,

For it’s human to feel the pain

born of losing the things

that we suppose we own.

Rebirth

 

Facing the wildfires of life,

Walking through the soot,

leaving black footprints on the ashen floor,

Darkness swelling inside

widening the gulf between

dreams and reality,

Weariness pouring out of eyes,

Carrying the look and feel

of a wounded animal,

Billowing black-blue waves of pain

dragging their sharp prongs

through the heart to dredge

sorrows perfumed with sweetness.

 

Blackened snowflakes

slicing

through the softest parts.

 

Don’t wither completely, I tell myself,

Fragment thyself, make chambers,

So that even if you die in one part,

you may start growing in some other,

where anger will soften into acceptance,

leaving you hopeful enough

to see the miracle of sunshine

on a freezing, stormy day.  

Evolution

 

Rewiring myself to see

the beauty of wild flowers,

acknowledge the gentle welcome of trees,

hear the friendly whisper of breeze,

enjoy the songs of birds,

listen the holy whispers of love

cutting through unholy noise.

Overhauling my material existence

to make it sublime and pure like soul,

To serve as a link between earth and sky,

Bending towards light

with a promise of love.   

Truth, the enemy

 

Truth covered under nice manners,

polite gestures, benevolent expressions,

fine clothing, intellectual task,

shiny eyes and attractive smiles,--

the worldly tools

covering a grave vulgarity: naked truth.

 

For all our varnished hypocrisies

and polished make-believe demeanor,

truth must be uncouth, raw, even vulgar

in its original, pure form,

That’s why it’s repressed, condemned,

martyred, bled to death,

It’s after all

the common enemy of the

collective falsehood and fakery.