The naked hole

 

There is a hole in my heart

hanging like an ornate amulet,

And when sadness is groping

along the deepening twilight shadows,

it gets transfigured into a hook,

It sadistically pierces and

dredges the mud of memories,--

a perpetrator of pain,

It opens a gateway for

blatant intrusion of grief.

 

There is a craft of living,

To live is to look

hodge-podge normal on the surface,

So I express my grief and pain

through a laugh,

a casual remark and silly talk,

a smile, a joke,

a set of plain mundanities

which help those around

in holding onto their concept of life.

 

The seasons change

But the springs and summers fail

to melt and thaw

the frozen heart

with its icy hole

leading to a cave

emanates from which a silent scream.

 

I know that

one has to learn

to forget to live

and engage with petty, chattering festivities

that sum up as

individual and collective life,

But the hole’s hook is anchored deep

to keep the ship of my life

stranded in the betraying bay,

while the open seas beckon

with its waves and tides of freedom.

 

Look at love!

Its circuitous, meticulous forays,

It loops, tangles, untangles,

unites, breaks and finally shatters

the stones that were once pearls,

It has its gifts and allowances for the kids

playing to its script and direction:

some trace of truth in a lie;

some grain of lie in truth.

 

Slowly you get attuned to

this hole in you,

Still seeking love

you fall in love

with this missing chunk in you,

You hold the memories in the pit of your soul

and with the fire of your agony

and pressure of your grief

you crystallize them to diamonds,

Then you hold your self-mined treasure

and sadly muse over it as the mystical emblem

of all that you missed, lost and grieve over,

You give it a precious title;

like we did with the golden earth

and named it as gold.

 

You get satiated,

You gloat and float

with air in you

that rushes through your hole,

You bob on the chance waves,

Your emptiness feeling like fullness,

You feel it has been worth it,

You stand like a gentleman

and proudly brace the left pocket on your chest,

You put your hand on it,

You think you are looking decorated, victorious,

praiseworthy and well clad,

But in reality

you are simply

covering that naked hole in you.

Twilight

The celestial lovemaking 

of light and dark 

as the twilights hark,

'Stop, pause and rest

after the day's busy fest.

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!