A sympathetic halt

 

The soul of forest goddess

trapped in the charred ruins

of a burnt forest,

Her body ravaged by

the human pride, vanity, greed, lust.

 

O thou lone journeyman,

Don't just go nonchalantly

through her yowling waves of pain,

Even if you can’t do much,

sit among the ashes in silence,

Because even your unvoiced, kindly presence

with someone crying in pain

is a contributing factor to her healing,

Be there as a witness

to the night’s gentle dewy kiss

on the ashes that were once lovely petals,

Just by doing so

you help and encourage the Phoenix spirit.

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.