Being in the womb of non-being

Aha that solitude's brace
with full grace
on one's hassled self!

The fragrance of silence

away from the mind's violence,

Smell it,

Enjoy to the last bit,

But never forget 

the scent of humanity,

It has its own beauty,

The sweet-sour smell of attrition

of life against testing odds,

Of pleasure, pain, sighs, moan,

The soft brace of a flower

and the divine shower

of smiles and tears 

also bears

the stamp of the unwritten laws,

Nothing'd exist without humane flaws,

The heavenly bliss

and peaceful kiss

prevailing in the vales

won't have any meaning without

the strife and humanity's travails,

Silent whispers in a forest

and the noisy outpours in a bazaar

share deep roots,

Life is impregnated in deep chambers

of silence and solitude

and the mystical beatitude

somewhere far away,

It's then let loose

to seek a higher meaning

in the congested, overbrimming,

cacophonic, struggling bazaar,

Life comes out of a deep cave

to brave 

all that blood, sweat, smile,

tears, love, guile

and hate

that berate

we humans,

We have to pass the test

and be our best

in the crowd

and then wear the shroud

of the eternal sleep

as undisturbed silence motherly creep

to take us deep 

again into the silent womb. 

Among the mountains

 Away from all guile,
where the stones smile,
And silence sings a song
to mountain wind's gong,

With disarming translucency the sunrays

seep into the stones' heart cold,

The eagle flying so bold,

A new reality hitherto untold,

Morose and weary,

and the soul all teary,

I walk on the stony path

with needle sharp memories

frozen in the mind,

like the glacial ice behind,

With a cunning discretion

they slowly creep

by inches over the years,

jarring the stones,

rubbing boulders and crags,

I want to escape

from all that breeds pain

for some soul's gain,

And the stony solitude

seems to feel my estrangement and platitude,

It embraces me,

Bares its secrets for me to see,

Furtively slide a few pebbles,

Dead grass breaks its drowsiness,

It sways

and prays,

With a resounding laughter,

the wind runs after

the stony peaks,

Bubbling and gurgling

a little stream from a glacier,

A huge boulder greets,

stifling a yawn,

in its clumsy, gruffy voice,

I just stand there,

My soul ready to bare

all pains and listlessness,

And looks at the icy summit

standing there like a peaceful hermit,

For comfort, solace and guidance.

A little bouquet of soft treasures

A little child's soft touch
is healing much,
Almost an atonement for all grown-ups' sins.

An old person's smile,

innocence beyond all youthful guile

is fresh, honeyed and young.

The gentle touch of a kind heart

is a mightier support

than the rock-solid calculations

in a scheming mind.

Simplicity a far better

ornament than any cosmetic make-up.

Truth is the best representative of God

than any rituals and customs.

Joy is soul's most suitable food

and happiness best food for the body.

Broken forever

It has been a slow burn
and a painful churn
going in the innards of my being,

The blades of those memories

now spin, whir and buzz,

unleashing a tornado in the soul,

The sharp blades cut

and firmly shut

the door to any new bloom

in the heart's gloom,

They cut any new image,

They make noise

to outshout any fresh song's poise,

They unleash winds

to wipe away any new footmarks

of a walk with someone new,

They lick the dew

before a new smile

might grace the suffering pile

and admire and embrace

with grace.

You walked away

with a painful sway

away, away

to be happy and gay

with another heart's new ray

and here I lay,

alone, forlorn and at bay

from all that might give a new day,

Because the rotating sharp blades

whirring in the soul's glades

shake me from inside,

I laugh and smile outside

and cry inside,

I should have known 

that flowers come with thorny bemoan,

The petals and smiles are windblown,

But the thorns remain

as hooks

and nightmarish crooks,

piercing your heart

with a poisonous dart,

Keeping you anchored

in a breached, stormed lagoon,

Shines where the broken moon,

You want to escape from it,

but cannot move even a bit,

You have loved so much

and broken to extent such

that now you can't love anymore,

You just love being tossed away from safe shore,

In love you have given your all

that you love only your fall,

Now you take your pain

as a gain,

You walk in the rain

secretly holding your pain

and pass your tears

as a smile that the raindrop bears,

You are drenched with sorrow and pain

and they think it's just rain,

You are trying to manage the pain inside,

The tortuous heave of the tide,

But they think

you are roiling in joyful pink,

That you are laughing

with the soul happily surfing,

You struggle to pull out the thorn,

while your soul and spirit mourn,

The thorn hooked in your heart

which doesn't allow you to part

from the times gone,

Your soul and spirit bemoan

the dreams broken to pieces,

The hook so firmly embedded,

gone so deep

and going still deeper with a bloody creep,

The hook almost a living entity with roots

and offshoots,

It grows to be a dark forest

without any ray,

Its dark nights hold all hopes at bay,

The long dreary nights

with lonely fights,

Its shadows loom so large

as to barge

into your days

chucking out their rays,

Yoru days are eaten

and smile thoroughly beaten,

You are afraid of a lovely smile

and take it as another guile,

You run away

from any new cuddling sway,

You know you are broken within,

And now you can hardly be a mender

of some lovely heart

seeking your company for a new start,

Looking up to you for solace,

love and peace.

 

 

On an icy mountain

Away from all guile,
where the stones smile,
And silence sings a song
to the mountain wind's gong,
With disarming translucency the sunrays
seep into the stones' heart cold,
The eagle flying so bold,
Smiles a new reality hitherto untold.
Morose and weary
and my soul teary,
I walk on the stony path
with painful memories 
frozen in the mind,
like the glacial ice behind,
With a cunning discretion
they creep slowly,
by inches over the years,
jarring the stones,
painfully rubbing the boulders.
I want to escape
from all that breeds pain
for some soul's gain,
And the stony solitude
feels my estrangement
and embraces me,
Bares its secrets for me to see,
Furtively slide a few pebbles,
Dead grass breaks its drowsiness
and sways
prays,
With a resounding laughter
the wind rams into the pointed peaks,
Bubbling and gurgling 
emerges a stream from a glacier,
A huge boulder greets,
stifling a yawn,
in its clumsy, gruffy voice,
I just stand there,
My soul ready to bare
all pains and listlessness,
and look at the icy summits looming large,
Peace sparks its mystique charge,
I open the portals of my confined being,
and allow the non-being
to enter my little egoistic hut,
the marks of the customized rut,
The untamed force charges in,
and douses the individualistic din,
It's all there to feel and see
and just be, just be. 

Ashes

When all the wars will be over
and nothing left to fight for,
The few remaining people
will seek each other,
looking for the long-lost human love,
and humanity's touch and smell
which long ago fell
into the dust
lost in civilizational rust,
They'd recall words kind
inhumanly left behind
in the mad race
to acquire a superhuman face,
Stories they'd share
and go for a solacing soul's bare,
They'd seek music in some bird still alive,
They'd hunt for beauty in some lone flower's thrive,
They would sit under a still intact tree
to spend some moments free
from wars and hate,
and try to rewrite their fate,
They'd drink water from some little stream,
and would dream
of all that the mankind lost,
which mother nature had given 
for free as a kind host,
They'd then sow,
after that typical humans' row,
faith, trust, brotherhood and love
in the barren burnt wastes 
to savior again the long dead tastes,
They'd drop the seeds of love
among the ashes of war,
And nourish the saplings 
with their repentant tears,
They'd hope that the ash bears
some saplings of humanity,
They'd till their little field
with an affectionate shield,
They'd celebrate fistfuls of yield,
It'd be a very small world again,
A tiny flicker of life
among death, destruction and strife,
They'd share the stories
how they unmade
all that had'n made
under a lone tree's shade.  

The question

These questions are yours all,
And the answers that somehow fall
in your knowledge zone
are also your own explanatory moan,
The questions go out
with a seeking shout,
The answers that come home,
These're your own queries reshaped after a roam,
Your query is your mind's eye
wandering with a searching sigh,
It goes on a prowl
carrying its reaping scythe for a meaningful sprawl,
And after many an argumentative brawl,
Comes it home
after a restless roam,
Transformed now
after debates and discussions
ending in an agreeing bow,
It now fills up the space
left out when it went out to embrace
an iota of meaning for you,
The same vapors now turned dew
carrying a solacing hue,
The question was all yours,
The answer too is all yours,
Just some medium carried it on,
And simply a medium took it home,
Yours it was,
Yours it's now,
Just a subtle change,--
The puzzling cloud turns crystal clear dew,
Just a shape new,
Receive it as your own,
The missing child that was once gone,
Hold it,
Cherish it
and smile
for it has travelled many a mile.