Fresh winds enlivened the spirit,
Cut through timidity
with the knife of loving familiarity
and friendliness,--
a growing closeness
embracing with a kiss.
Is it bodily attraction,
or pleasant feeling of proximity,
or being relaxed in presence,
or synchronization of thoughts,
or sweet melding of emotions,
or vibes on the same frequency?
God is like the warden
whom we try to bribe
to get into the prison cells
to meet our acquaintances,
family and friends,--
money, power, health, prestige, name, fame.
And our fears are the priests,
the lesser gods
manning the doors and wired fences,
We have to placate them too
with obeisance, offerings and rituals.
Passing through the darkness
of the long corridor
smelling of past memories,
Feeling destiny’s roughly hewn walls,
Eyes speaking of pain,
there I walk
with my once golden self turned crumbling chalk.
The gently sculpted folds of your love
turned to sharp, cutting edges;
the lovely embroidery and beadwork
turned a rough, barren terrain,
Taking a long drag of smoky memories
from the flaming cigarette of the past,
I cough
and realize
love is rarely enough.
Bright, unrealistic colors of love,
Childish, whimsical, even idiosyncratic,
Painting an alternate reality;
a different dimension of life
on the plain, routine canvas,
We use cheap paints and crude brushes
to shape something
to go along our dreams,--
a concrete solidified dream
in an ephemeral world,
Drawing the outlines of hope, safety, light.
Then you realize,
it doesn’t meet your expectations,
So you pick up a soapy mop
to erase the once lovely painting,
which turned into a comic-tragic graffiti,
You become a cleaner
from an artist that you were before.
From fine lines to sloppy mop,
Flop!
Why?
Because we have needs in different compartments,
One picture centered around one object
doesn't go into different chambers:
emotions, thoughts, dreams, desires, lust, needs.
The brush of love
temporarily appears to wade through
all these different needs,
We believe it’s giving all that we need,
Soon we realize it doesn’t,
The picture disappoints us,
We then just stay with each other,
Trying to believe that
we have happily been together.
There is a type of darkness
that feels one with fear;
of something of the visible manmade threats,
actions born of hate, greed
and our own fears.
Then there is another darkness
that envelops you with friendly embrace,
An invisible representative of all that
which makes you feel good in life.
Through darkness I walk by choice,
outweighing the former by the latter,
Darkness is a sieve,
It allows you to segregate good from bad,
I try to cast away the little stones
left above the wire mesh
and let in the fine sand of joy and goodness
trickle into the bowl of my heart.
Don’t underestimate darkness,
If you learn to hold
all that which makes you feel good
then it enables you to see
even clearer than the daylight.
The trees are very kind,
Soak their kindness,
Accept the sweetness of fruits,
the scent of flowers,
the freshness of air,
the beauty of bright dewy mornings,
We are here
to fulfill mother nature’s purpose
by being loving, kind and receptive
to all her smiles and charms,
We do that by
welcoming and feeling that happiness
that oozes form her in pristine forests,
That’s what mother nature wants from us,
And a bit of furthering the same
from our end if we shall.
So much darkness
under the sunny façade of a bright noon,
So many vulgarities
hidden beneath polished etiquettes,
So much pain and suffering
stocked under confident, smiling faces,
So much hate hidden in seemingly kind hearts,
Funeral songs lurking below gay festivities,
So much pain swallowed by bright eyes,
A kind of grey darkness from inside
flushing something to the surface
that we call good, hope, joy, happiness, lawful
and natural as it should be.
