Love

Sometimes you dump a person 
even though she/he still has a bright smile, 
twinkle in eyes and lovely fragrant words on lips. 
Well, that's simply the sunset of love.
Sometimes you lovingly embrace a person 
despite the frown, caustic remarks 
and tightly pursed lips shut over bad odor even. 
Well, that's simply the sunrise of love.
Love is simply a day 
-- or usually days at random -- 
in people's lives.
And that makes it so ordinary, so natural, so normal.
Let it remain such.
Why make it otherworldly?

The creator

 At a given moment, 
there is no absolute reality 
or truth or existence 
beyond one's set of beliefs, knowledge, 
information, set of conventions and collective mindset, 
and the respective set of contradictions of all the previous categories. 
In our endeavours to find the absolute, 
we simply shift to a different set of all these categories. 
We simply create a new plain of reality. 
We keep pushing our truth 
to cover more space 
and adjust our ever-expanding desires and fears. 
There is nothing to discover, 
There is everything to create--
first in ideas, imagination, emotions, insecurity, expectations and fears; 
secondly, its manifestation in physical reality 
in the domains of art, science, social conventions, economic models, 
everything.

The teachers

Sometimes the things 
that would have come naturally to you 
as a human being 
acquire a difficult shape 
because they try 
to make you learn these by force, 
fearing you won't be of any use without them. 
In your natural state you could have been useful, 
at least like a plant that just grows, 
giving its little share of oxygen, 
shade and a little starter to some hungry goat. 
But the attempt surely leaves you useless -- 
to them at least. 

The door divine

 

Thus speaks the river with its windy roar
and its ripply divinity all pure:

There is a hole in my heart 
that I offer you 
as a passage 
to move on your journey!

The Chief Butler

Caught in our kisses and love-loops,
The ecstatic time pays salutes!

Holy passage

 There is a hole in my heart 
that I offer you as a passage
to move on your journey!

Lotus

 

A discards and junk pile,--

a heap of things having run their last mile;

lying at home,

Rust and dust winning over chrome,

I take it to a dump site,

Fly there scavenging black kite,

A foul-smelling hill

giving a repulsive, obnoxious chill;

strikes you with a stunning sense shrill,

A reverse pit

for our consumerist soul’s shit,

Hanky on the nose

avoid we hellish dose,

The stinking heap,--

excreta born of our growth and leap,

My junk I throw

with breath paused and tensioned brow,

Then I see him work

amid all this squalor and murk,

He works with poise and ease,

Scavenging consumer shit for meager lease,

This is the junk worker’s

office, factory, firm and field

welcoming him with its tiny yield,

He looks at me with a smile,

A flower in odor vile,

He isn’t ashamed or apologetic about his job

where scavenging rodents throb,

He sorts the squalor with ease

unbothered about the dirty, repugnant squeeze,

This is the dirty pit of his karma holy,

Absorbed he is without complex and folly,

His gentle toil

in the mucking soil,

He squeezes the muck

for some survival buck,

His bearing shows he honors it,

Doesn’t cringe and complain a bit

unconcerned about all this shit,

As I dump the waste,

He welcomes me with a smile chaste,

I forget my running haste,

Looking at his smile and honor to his task

without any frowning mask,

I feel at ease

and make him tease,

‘My junk won’t have much,

it's worthless such,’

No problem, he says

with a smile as if he prays,

From my pile takes a little cardboard box,

smiles like a pleased clever fox

and says thank you

with a bright, clear, clean soul’s hue.