TWENTY-EIGHT
SOUL OF BEAUTY
See her not with eyes, see her by insight,
Eyes are dull to pierce her form,
Eyes are weak to catch her fragrant soul;
She is too deep for the shallow little eyes,
Cup after cup, eyes measure her form,
An infinite spring of charm, she is.
See her not with eyes shut too,
Open both eyes and drink her contours,
Those form, charm, shapes and slopes,
Those face, grace, poise and peace;
Feast the eyes to trust it all,
Feast the eyes to trust it all;
Miss not a piece of the masterly craft,
Miss not the soul of the exquisite art;
Each stroke of her shape, unequalled in joy;
Each sweep of her form, a divine sway;
Only soulful eyes feel the gentle charm,
Dissolve in the form and dwell in the frame.
See her by insight with open eyes,
Grab her inside with eyes and insight;
A jewel of beauty in the nature's treasure,
A precious piece of immortal pleasure,
Divinity, devolved on the earth, she is;
Seek her soul with all your soul,
Inhaust her whole to reach your soul,
See every form in her sweet frame;
Beauty, she is wherever you meet,
Joy, she is, wherever you reach;
Open your senses, keep open your heart,
She enters the soul like an incony gentle bride.
What subtle contours make her graceful soul?
What magic juice flows in her veins
And makes her rare splendour, what it is?
What is that sweet fluid grace
That streams out of her delightful moves?
What concinnous soft organic orchestra
Creates this wonder in the name of soul?
She is not just beauty, the soul of beauty;
She is charm in human frame
That devolved on the earth to make all happy;
Divine, her beauty, divine, she is,
A soulful music, a fragrance from the graceful heavan.
TWENTY-NINE
LOVE AND LIFE
Love and life pull the poetic cart
To the inner gates of the dreamer's hearts;
Breeze of life with the fragrance of love
Makes dreamland a gardener's paradise
Where tiddy seedlings and tiddy saplings,
Plants and trees and long creepers,
Some with fruits, some with lovely flowers
Of myriad hues and eyeful colours
Enchant hearts and awaken souls
To the lush real world of love and life.
Drummers of life and flautists of love
Blend their tunes to soulful music;
Rhythms of life, gentle rhymes of love,
Deep silence of grief, sweet whispers of joy,
Sublimes of epics, light creeps of lyrics
Weave a fabric of unworldly wonders,
Where heat of realities meet the cool of thoughts
To spawn a warm world of creative charm;
Life is sweet melody, love is deep stir,
Thay together make poems of sweet endearments.
Love and life in rhythmic words
Fly on fancy like little birds;
New visions appear, new imageries arise
To create a heaven more divine that full-moon;
Love is alive and life is loveable while
Poetic soft flight touches in all sides
And indistinct goes the real world;
It is a hive of sweet love and life,
It is a hive of sweet love and life,
Fresh honey there drips if gently flipped.
Bones of life and flesh of love.
Sprout what a grace of feminine charm!
Stones of life and mortars of love.
Edges of life and corners of love,
Create what wonders of architectural designs!
Warps, of life and woofs of love
Texture what designs of artistic pleasures!
In dance of words, in rhythms of pregnant words
In shades, hues and nuances of words,
Worlds are built of fragrance and music.
THIRTY
THE NATURE
Beauty is the nature's natural name,
The nature is poet's soulful game;
Her moods, rhythms and colours frame
Heaven on the earth in poet's dream.
Picturesque orchestra of the nature's rhyme
Stirs subtle sweet passion's flame;
The nature sings in silence for all souls,
Dawns new feel of devotional whole.
Blue in the sky and green all round
How change in mood with the passing time!
Cool of breeze and warmth of sunshine
How weave rare joy in the nature's womb!
Musics of streams and chirpings of birds
Rise like hymns from the nature's trove,
Clouds afloat and smiling sweet flowers
Swing in wind to greet all souls.
Air is thick with relaxed mood,
What a thrill, what an inspiring stir
Hangs in air like the heaven's benison
And blends onlookers with the nature's soul!
The grace of god as heavenly light
Diffracts as kaleidoscopic spectrum,
A spell everywhere, arcane vibrations,
The nature's music catches like fire.
What a sweet soft madness inside,
What a sweet soft madness inside
In the nature's calm rise and fall,
In the still quietude, in the quiet simple mood!
Those simple forms, those gentle hues,
Those quiet moves, those silent songs,
Those magic spells of sweet fragrance,
What a blend, what a shocking grace!
The nature, not the nature, a cradle of beauty,
A ladder for all divine gifts,
An open keek to the streaks of heaven
In untouched lively virgin form.
The nature is a clean mirror of the soul
Where the soul itself reflects for real,
Bright like the sun, yet soft like the moon
And refreshingly pure like the morning dews.
THIRTY-ONE
THE FULL-MOON DAY
The moon rose on the vast twilight stage
Like a bride walking-in for the first night tryst;
Twilight in the east caught the jasmine-white riot
Around the huge glow of the giant cosmic lamp;
Divinity flowed all over the earth's crust
And trickled on the world through ethereal layers;
It carried numb dreams, soothed tired souls
While the heavenly milky flow soaked every human mind
With desires for joy and enduring soft warmth.
The golden queen in the stride of royal grace
Ascended heaven with gold dusts splayed
On the fading silk-carpet of the thin sunshine;
As night fell, the nature lit the heavenly lamp
And the world went abright with joy afloat in air;
Cool breeze whispered warmth, night carried a new world,
Bright winnocks of heaven let-out divine light;
The queen of numb joy, strode along the night sky
With poppied sloth, left all over the milky path
And the world was awash with pure glow of joy.
Hills and buildings broke out through darkness
'Neath the thick layers of fleeting silver clouds;
Trees and lakes, wet with soft white light
Raised a new world from the nocturnal old world,
Where no more is fiery night, but bright soft delight,
No more is dread, but transpicious transcendent vision
Of what is beauty, what is peace and bliss;
The night is full with beauty's sweet contrasts
Of peace and passions, stillness and motions
With shades and twilights of sensuous quietude!
The moon with full bloom of her bright smiles
Feasted the world with sweet magic all round;
Cool brought warmth and warmth brought cool
While the world was wrapped in full-moon light;
Whirls of sweet madness whispered in air,
Sweet pain of pining was carried from horizons
And the intense joyous brooding hung mind in stillness;
A total joy it was, the nature's road to god
That made the dull earth, a beauty's holy temple,
Once every month from the long lost ages.
THIRTY-TWO
FLOWERS
Gentle, fragrant flowers, we are,
In delightful, vast garden of the heaven;
We , rhythmic colours, swinging in cool breeze,
Create moods and shape our world;
We bask in sunshine, dip in cold night,
We breathe fresh air, dwell in smoke and dust,
We wither and blossom to the nature's dictates;
Yet, sweet always, soft, fragrant algate,
Like the tunes of sweet songs and the joy of love;
We are the nature's art, the creation's rare craft.
All is rare creation in the nature's treasures,
We are each distinct creation's pleasures;
Each paves own road to walk his path,
Sweeps his path and removes road-blocks,
Settles dust and fog and lays welcome arch;
The lanes we lay through the joys of heaven
To lead to the posts where we happen to be we,
In dreams, thoughts, hearts and acts,
Is as smooth as fur that brings lush warmth,
Where a walk is a joy, an absorbing sweet game.
We swing with breeze and throb with colours,
Breathe fragrance that wraps our world;
We change our shapes to conform to needs,
To dreams, desires and noble goals;
Bright like dawn's light, fresh like morning breeze,
We enthuse live spirit, everywhere, always;
Soft and warm, we are, tough and firm in core,
We build bridges to the hearts we need;
We, the soft paintings, the sad musics,
Live like lyrics in the rhythms of life.
No dream is unreal, no goal, impossible,
If right door is found and pathway is sound;
We live to the brim of the highest vision
And bind loose ends of inside and outside
To have this there and that brought here
And bind all threads to a consummate whole;
The stride to be gentle with eyes on the ground
While the heart in far land of peace and joy
And the mind in open sky in search of horizons
Where soul may smile with fuller contentment.
No moisture wets, no weight holds down,
But the moisture and weight add to our grace;
No heat ever sears, no strain ever tears,
But the heat and strain add to inner richness;
In cloud, sunshine, in smoke, limelight,
We find our time to act and rest, lie low and rise,
As unforeseen force contrives to fix;
We sail with wind and move with waves,
But, we, algate we, with all the joy of rise and fall
And seek to keep us in joyous move.
THIRTY-THREE
SUPREME JOY
Several steps I climbed, some more to climb
Along the course of the timeless time,
Doors are open to lead in blind blinkers
Through the jigsaw-paths of the dreary future;
Deadly vipers and beasts infest the wilderness,
Thorns tear, creepers shear the resigned sojourn,
Heart bleeds, soul weeps while limbs labour
While mind gropes for the refuge of light;
Weather is stormy, grimy, darkness everywhere,
Where lightening breaks like seld windfalls.
Esurient eyes stare at the wrap of the blankness,
For the rare flashes of the momentary profulgence
That dissolves to far dreams as soon as it comes;
Eyes are tired, for, very dark is this night,
No streaks of light, anywhere on the horizons
And gloom frosts in mind and heart and soul;
I know not where I go upward or downward,
Or go round and round in unending roundures
For the motion's sake in savage blinkers
Till the heart sears and the soul withers.
More I climb, less I see my root,
Less calm, less warm, less peaceful I become,
Less contentment with the past and life;
Grit glissades, grip loosens with the thickening night
And vultures in the sky hover for prey;
What bolts may fall from what part of the world,
What shocks are in store while I breakout from the smoke,
How long to climb, for what ultimate goal,
The eyes miss in the maelstrom of the survival's flight
And I disclimb while climb, to the despair's pit.
All is not lost yet, in the cool and still night,
Stars aplenty sparkle as specks in heaven;
Each is a distant dream, a new world to be won
If sight is right and heart is of right zeal;
They follow me, they guide all along the path,
They sprinkle bright lights on the frozen dark night;
I raise tired eyes from the womb of dark hell
And search each twinkle with an unknown hope;
Lo, a thousand suns flash from each of the star,
A flood of supreme joy dissolves me to life.
THIRTY-FOUR
THE PATH OF LIFE
The road is indeed endless
Though runs straight and indefinite,
Where I must walk all my life;
All is not well along the path,
Yet, the sojourn must pass unperturbed
Day and night, in rain and heat;
Narrow lanes, inroads, sudden turns,
Rises and falls are the twists of the tryst;
Mud roads, road-blocks and hard surfaces
Come and go along the path;
Why curse the course, why berate fate
For distinct characters that mould the world?
A path is a means to traverse with time,
An accessible means that carries to a goal;
Till limbs are in hold and will sticks still,
" I" only matters and 'distance' matters
Though the vagaries of path do bring some mirth
And spur to haste and run sometimes.
Nothing stunt sojourn , nothing block smooth ride,
Nor shorten nor lengthen the path of goal,
Nor build within, nor crackle confidence,
Nor refresh the life, nor bring new light;
Why dawdle away days on immament features ?
Why weep while fall, why laugh while climb ?
Why twist in discomfort of rain and heat ?
Walk insulated from outside with trust in self,
‘Tis the path for contented walk.
Whatever may come, whatever may go,
Whatever on the path is in store as fate,
I must walk as always I am;
Proud of self and diligent of walk,
I tread the path that comes in front;
Whatever at back, bears my print,
Whatever in front, conforms to inner strength.
No fog flags, no road-blocks sag
Calm and contented steady stride;
Dust and sweat may cover my form,
Rain and heat may weather the frame,
But calm confidence forever zooms,
Pride and courage, larger loom
In soul, while I walk all alone
In own strength, on own road,
Where I am the king on own right,
Where I am right on own thought;
A dear little devil in evil world,
A rare little angel in free world,
I grow not without commitment
To grow in peaceful compromise.
No hops, no shakes, no dazzles and winds
Weaken roots deep ‘neath the ground,
No hopes, no plaudits, no spurs for smooth sail
Do or fordo the stoic balance,
For, I know my path and know my goal
And ride in steady stride to my tryst.
A humble walk in simple tread
Meets its tryst in pride indeed;
A prompted march to race ahead
Meets its Waterloo in shattered mind.
THIRTY-FIVE
POETRY
On what can I invoke your muse,
On life or the nature, on self or stray creatures,
On love or passion, on joy or woe?
On what can I build wordy dreams,
On beauty or valour, on past or future,
On strife or pelf, on angel or devil?
The ocean of mind springs myriad waves,
Each rises like a hill and recedes to its hole
In unending succession, all the time;
What can I hold to impale you in words,
What can I wind with arcane hues
To unwind your charms with the shocks of joy?
You wait on the side-stage to dance to tunes
To enter centre-stage, to create new realms
While I choose right backdrop on the stage for you,
Whatever be the scene for you,
Sad or glad, concrete or abstract
Or bare truths of all life and self.
Whatever I catch, slips like live fish,
Whatever I snatch, alas, thins in air
And raises its head at miles' distance;
All is there, yet nothing anywhere;
All runs like a mirage, ahead of me
Till you delve on it with flutters of muse.
You, the gentle queen on inspiration's throne
In splendours of words, rhythms, colours,
Musics and passions in unending layers;
Come, sit on heart, build bridges to the mind,
Bring light to the eyes to choose a carriage
To carry your muse to gentle souls.
Each thing is subtle, each game inveigles,
Each move is new, each whim has a rhyme
While inner sight spurs to warm up with muse;
Torn rags reveal cosmic game's feat,
Dried leaves reveal evolution's secrets
To eyes those pierce dull mechanical sheath.
You pour live words of myriad hues
In forms and shapes and rhythms and depths
That bind each to create a new world;
Thoughts dance to passion's sweet tunes
And rise to life in distinct words;
Lo, poetry surfaces from discontented soul.
The outside world in the inner cauldron
Sublimates to hot soothing vapour
That lingers in soul like poetic notes;
Trivials of the world, while churned in self,
Coagulate soft and sweet precipitates
That raise this world to enlightenment.
THIRTY-SIX
POET'S PRIDE
Oh, it is a quiet harmless pride
Of simple and innocent poet's heart;
It is the heat inside a hearth
That is cool and calm outward.
It can bum and engulf the steel,
Dissolve the earth to fluid dreams
While sits upright on the golden throne
Of the poet's safe candescent heart.
The poet's pride is on a tripped ride
While exposed on an open road,
Like a patient from a mental ward
With inward versus outward fight.
While expanding to far off horizons,
Poet's pride is light like birds;
While grim like clouds,
It cools and pours confidence around.
It is a strange candescence inside
That exposes nuances of the self;
It is a strange candescence inside
That seizes shams from its shades.
Poet's pride is frozen enlightenment,
Pure and thick fog of innocence;
Poet's pride is a cleansing holy fire
That melts gold to give it shine.
Warm like a dear darling's hug,
Cold like Antarctic ice-shelf,
Soft like gold and hard like steel,
The poet's pride is humility in disguise.
It creeps like cool breeze
Or sweeps like a tempest;
It spreads sweet fragrance
Or leaves back sad wreck.
A rare grace of imbalance is pride
In the deepest caves of a poet's mind,
The eerie smoke of the poetic brood
Fills the air with a soothing indolence.
Poet's pride soars like a kite in the sky
While calm reflections delve to the self;
Poet's pride dips deep when hurt
While the sham world ignores his worth.
Pride is a wall that blocks path
Of easy virtues for a speedy flourish,
A riddle of likes and dislikes is pride,
Where walks a poet with royal grace.
The poet's pride, his strength and worth,
A protective sheath that absorbs shocks;
The poet's pride, his being's depth,
Whence uprises his poetic breadth.
THIRTY-SEVEN
BUDDHA
Like the milky glow of Buddha Poornima,
He soaked darkness with soft light
Of knowledge, reason and experience;
Buddha scattered clouds, spread the life's truths
From the infinite depths of the spiritual light.
Compassion moved his sensitive soul,
Decays and despairs unsettled his whole,
Illusions and ignorance soured his heart
To reach upward and know the world
To liberate life from the shackles of pain.
He wove with reason an exquisite fabric
From the warps and woofs of ancient thoughts;
He rose from the ruins of vedic rituals
Like a glorious rose in an unkempt garden
With the fragrance of the joy of deliverance.
The pain of transience and the despair of decay
Begged Siddhartha for light and peace;
Illumination came thro' dedicated meditation,
Wisdom dawned in solitude's calm
And dharma chakra opened horizons.
He tore the skin of complacence
To dip into human experience;
He probed sufferings and fleeting joy
Thro' the rare world of contemplations
And illumed human mind with the pure light of sacred knowledge.
He renounced cravings and affectations
In pursuit of peace and permanence
And stumbled on ultimate deliverance,
In overcoming flux by eight-fold path
That brings soul nearer to eternal goal.
He left his wife, he left his child,
He left palace and love and ease;
For, he loved them all, he loved the world,
He loved comforts, peace and ease,
Free from transcience, for all human race.
Tathagatha, the pith of truth and discipline,
The brimful bowl of sacred wisdom,
The fount of all liberated arhattas,
Strung Indian thoughts to a compact diamond strand
To still the struggle of spirit and mind.
His concerted thought, his detached spirit
Pierced grim subtleties of the cosmic order;
In clear doctrines, in suspended judgements,
Buddha illumed the dark secrets of life
And laid the path of liberation.
He dug sufferings, found decay and change,
Billows of change and yawning death;
He dug transience, found causation,
The wheel of law and fatalistic life;
And shed the light of spiritual dawn.
The lamp of soul is a chain of little sparkles,
The self, like a sea, is a succession of waves,
Life is a stream of endless becoming
From birth to death with the miseries of flux
In cycles of causation that hold us in leash.
Living and nonliving, life and being,
Mind and the nature and time and space
Evolve to new forms in continual flux;
Nothing is constant, nothing is permanent,
Change is what the cosmos is all about.
Buddha encountered the sad dance of void
'Neath the sheath of complacent ignorance;
Nothing is real, nothing is forever,
All is fleeting impressions like midnight dreams,
Like a sea, we fancy the fleeting waves.
Buddha sought to withstand the gust of flux,
He saw himself in the middle of a gulf
That caused the present to surface a chain of futures
In succession of sorrows and pains of decay;
He cried for a halt of the kindless wheel.
For the cessation of the ceaseless chain of change,
In nirvana, he found, the supreme tool;
He attained awareness, he sought all his life;
Gouthama, the sakyamuni, found abstinence,
The cure for all the pain and sorrow.
He suffered for all, sacrificed all,
To find the path of deliverance;
He sought and lit the spiritual light
That illumed and liberated self and world
And cast gentle rays on the human race.
THIRTY-EIGHT
BANGLADESH CYCLONE
Tall walls of water
In the fierce night of the screaming winds
Broke into god-forsaken Bangladesh;
The destructive dance of the killer gales,
The sweep and roll of the mountainous water
In unending roar of the nature's fury
Struck the land
Like the death's wanton game,
With bloated carcasses of men and cattle,
Of hapless babies and shattered mothers,
Scattered in heaps
Like plague-infested rats
In fields, streets, rubbles and gutters.
Blown-off roofs,
Collapsed walls,
Upturned trees and ruined crops,
Not a life that could save itself !
Not a structure that stood itself !
All blown and rolled in watery mass
That still groped like esurient death,
Still blood-thirsty,
Still, for more lives;
Death, misery, fear,
Disease and hunger
Filled the air,
A hope for future
And instinct to survive
Fought on the ground, a losing battle.
No warmth anywhere,
No smile anywhere,
No love and hate,
No pride or kindness;
Common sorrow flattened all,
Like the fall of night on a desert tract,
Like the fall of bomb on Hiroshima;
The human mass of Bangladesh
Like hapless cold pebbles of hell,
Lo, plead the world to save their souls
From the cruel nature's unabated gruel.
How hapless is man in face of the nature!
A mere human mass like any other creature !
What a struggle, somehow to survive !
What a fight to save near and dears !
What a courage in the face of odds !
To withstand a demoniac force !
Lo, mothers with babies in upraised hands,
Carried by floods to the death's holes;
Fathers huddled with kins on roof-tops
Collapsed with walls to watery graves;
Young loves braved oncoming giant waves
With passionate clasps
Around each other
To drown together in the gaping certain death.
Wind and water sped everywhere there
In death's ferocious hunger;
There, death rode on the wild tidal waves,
Destruction blew with fatal cyclones
And grappled Chittagong and Cox Bazar,
Big and tiddy country-sides,
In a quiet night of restful sleep
With untold knocks of the death's foul tools;
Nowhere could they go to save their lives,
No friends be of help, no elders could help;
Nowhere they could go to save their lives,
But, shut their eyes and pray the almighty.
Water there rained, like dirty hell,
Water rushed from all the sides,
Winds blew,
The watery world is in watery turmoil;
No soul is safe,
No glimmer of hope;
Virtual darkness in day itself
With demoniac clouds
Yet hurrying in the sky ;
The flares of hunger
In painful chill,
The fear of life
In helplessness
Brought unseen hell down on the earth.
The nature showed her invincible strength,
The nature revealed her suppressed anger
And proved to the world who is the master,
The ultimate winner in the historical struggle
Of the man to control the nature's powers ;
No science rescued man
In the worst disastar
While lakhs died and crores, helpless,
While crores wept for the life's sake,
While they went mad with fear and disease,
With loss, grief and hunger's stabs
And doomed to nought in a few hours.
What a tragic disaster in human life!
A reminder that none in this world is safe;
All is right now, what next, who knows?
What brings what, when, why and how,
No stars predict, no scientists derive;
Disasters in mad flares of the discontented nature
Shoot in mysterious forms and vibrations
With panic on toes and deaths on heels
And havoc at the back like the satan's shadows
That fall on the earth to squeeze life out.
Old sun is there,
Old moon and stars are there,
The unending sky is also there,
But, how changed the world overnight!
The babies who smiled a day back
Rot as corpse in deep waters!
Sons, daughters, fathers and mothers,
Alive then,
Forlorn or dead now!
Busy streets,
Today, watery graves!
Living quarters,
Dreary watery holes!
No street-lining shops,
No age-old giant trees,
No schools, mosques, markets, hospitals,
But, water, water, water all round;
Black clouds in the sky,
Deep water on the land,
Unending gust of cyclone all round;
God-forsaken man sits in the middle
And knows not whether he is dead or alive.
THIRTY-NINE
HUMANITY
Why make this world
A graveyard
Of dust, smoke and dying fires,
Of hunger and oppressive sufferings ?
All is aplenty to feed all here;
Then, why this greed to apportion all
And bum alive in the pain of living,
The unfortunate souls:
Brothers, sisters, babies and neighbours,
Who too have blood as thick as all.
A farthing hole can sink a gigantic ship,
A spark can set a house on fire ;
The pain and grief of a hapless soul
Can wash this earth with a sea of blood.
Open your heart, open your eyes,
An innocent child in cadaverous frame
Cries for food on the roadside :
A hapless mother
Offers her to greed
To save her child from the hunger's death ;
No roof to hide, no cloth to cover,
No fire in heart to save honour ;
Dirt and filth, sickness everywhere,
Dirt and filth, sickness everywhere,
Night is cold, day is hot,
All pain is suppressed in cheap liquors ;
No job to work, no food to eat
While earful cries of hungry lads
In dirty shreds of torn rags
Shake the souls;
No future ahead,
But unending hunger and failing hopes;
Why this curse on some of us?
Why this farce on humanity?
Demons eat the mankind
By rich and poor's cruel divide,
Satan enthrones on the divided earth
And rains the fires of hunger and death.
Gloom of pain pervades somewhere,
Sunshine of joy filters otherwhere,
How to build a bridge between?
Pain is pain for rich and poor,
Hunger burns inside all,
Comfort and ease are needs all seek ;
Why one, in north and the other, in south?
Why both never meet and share all they have?
Awaken conscience,
Feel the lifeless life of numberless souls
That tear the peace of sensitive hearts
And revolt against the unjust god.
Let all live without pain,
Let a new peaceful age dawn,
No hunger, grief, unfulfilled needs,
Nor sickening pelf may ever it reach.
FORTY
TERRORISTS
They surface from roadside pot-holes,
From cracks of walls and street corners,
From mysterious creeks
With fire-spewing guns in hand
And fire-spitting zeal in heart
To set the land on fire
Of strife and fear.
Terrorists know no territories,
No religion and compassion ;
They strike for a case,
They borrowed as ‘a cause'.
They strike like a devil
To serve a borrowed cause,
Indistinct in confusion, though;
They reach not roots,
In search of a tool
Of ultimate deliverance;
Like wild fire, they spread
and ingulf the peace
To reduce all to strife and terror.
They lay down life for their dreams,
They lay themselves as stray bricks
To build a bridge to their dreams
Whereon, they hope to walk someday.
They live in past, they live for future,
But know not how to live for the present;
They disown the present
To soothe the fire that seethes in hearts;
They live for a vision, they die for a vision,
But know not how to work for a vision ;
They live in terms with instant death
In struggle for a vision;
They live for a vision
That carries them across
To a world of fulfilment.
The legion of violence
Seizes peace and shears confidence,
Shakes senses with jolts of shocks
And spreads the virus of terror ;
Their merciless strikes
On the carefree and defenceless world
Make them beasts that prey on each.
The agents of death and destruction
Force a change by threat and terror
And bleed the world for a new order.
Terrorists' is a parallel world,
Terrorists are their own laws;
They live to die and die to destroy,
But, never live life as life to be lived.
FORTY-ONE
STAMP OF LIFE
All come and go like actors
And do bits in own sectors
On the huge stage of the life's play
And stamp themselves on time's clay.
Some inscribe by the life's thick milk
And drape their names in soft silk,
While many write by gory blood
And stamp wrath and hatred in red.
Confused scenes and acts make life '
Of love, hate, friendship and strife,
Confused moves, emotions and intellects
Weave plots of abstract novel crafts.
Thrills, horrors, upheavals and tragedies,
Deep Passions, romance and comedies
Play side by side on the live stage
With play within play in unending maze.
Bonds are made, bonds are unmade,
Histrionics are in-between played
In blinding glare of the artificial light
While backstage is dark, still and silent.
Today he is king, tomorrow, plays villain,
Next day, he may play the role of a demon;
He is, simple he, while goes to side-wings,
And sheds false complexes of his role-plays.
All are almost the same inside,
All are almost the same inside,
But for the skill of playing a part,
While all go as per script and dim goes light.
This or that, or big or small,
They are all, unknown fate 's call,
Whatever is there, take on that role,
What meets on road, act that all well.
Not what is played, but how it is played,
Marks the stamp of distinction;
Not how long is played, but how intense, played
Makes dints on the long histories of men.
While on the stage, all is bright and loud,
Talks, fights, actions and songs,
Ceaseless haste, nerve-wrecking sound,
All go dunny when curtain down wrings.
Some play their part, ignore all the rest,
Some follow story-line till the very end;
Role-play makes man, what part he played;
In pedetentous moves, it forms his mould.
Nothing loses on the open stage,
Nothing misses from the nature's gaze;
Everything is there at all the times
And adds to the endless evolution 's boom.
Bonds of heart and the bridges of soul,
The feel of love's umblical chord,
Survive the open stage to the pitch-dark hole
Where roles are recast and plots are made.
An unseen bond binds time and place,
An unseen hand coordinates all;
It is not an unbound mad race,
But a mysterious game of who knows all.
It is how is human drama,
It is what makes human drama
Where backstage and front-stage, intermingled,
One out of sight, one, open on the ground.
FORTY-TWO
OPEN WORLD
Why build walls around you,
Why this love to live in tall towers
While open air is fresh and warm?
Why tie down the life to four little walls,
Why hide from warm sunshine outside
And breathe still air in self-centred cell?
Open your eyes and pull outside,
Open your heart to varied gust of passions,
To streams and seas of dazzling colours;
Crack walls and break-out thro' barriers
To reach the open sky of thousand stars
Where every breath brings a new world of joy.
Wipe out stillness and remove cobwebs,
Shed old sloth and come out of fear
And light inside the cosmic lamp,
Wherefore you belong to all
And all belong to your joy
And you reap all the riches, the world offers.
The still air inside the four walls
Gives space to refreshing breeze
When you fledge wings to reach far horizons;
The nature's bounty
And fresh tides of sweet schemes
Cross your path and meet your course.
The world is vast, rise above rat-holes,
The world is sweet, come out and taste,
Eager hands, there, wait, welcome and hug;
Choose your taste from the infinite lot,
Be one with the world that opens her all,
For, nothing is like the joy of free world.
Break barriers and reach outside,
Feel the rare joy of relief and release
And the refreshing warmth of the mother nature;
No fences stop, no ropes pull back,
No doors shut, no trenches to cross,
And you reach anywhere in absolute sunshine.
No walls ever make you safe and secure,
No mental barrier makes happier you;
Fences obstruct sight, tie down the limbs to space,
Barriers fog the mind with unknown strange fears;
It dulls wit and clouds intellect
And breeds foul stings of doubts and hatred.
Add your some, take back more from
And be one with the nature's infinite charm,
There is your root, life and end;
Hide not from the world, calling you to open arms,
Yet, lose not roots in the inviting open world
And lose not yourself like flowers in wilderness.
Keep open and wait, all come to door;
Smile and invite, all sneak inside
And fill your soul with smile and joy;
All colours, yours all musics, yours,
Twinkles of eyes and glows of smiles,
Loves and warm touches, all yours.
Cold or hot outside is warm,
Pain or pleasure, outside brings joy,
Ups and downs bring strength to life;
It be rise or fall, rest or toil,
Peace of turbulence, soft or hard,
The world outside is infinite joy.
FORTY-THREE
SHACKLES
Man is in shackles everywhere,
Within, without, near and afar;
Man is in strife and constant fear
Of own, of men, of the present and future.
He is a lonely fly
Caught in an intricate web;
He forces his pace,
Wings shut,
Will whittled,
With doom in perpetual wait
At left, right, up and down;
In mysterious zigzag puzzles,
In crossroads
With no signboards anywhere,
But wrong signals
Of frailties and deceptions;
He pursues his path
Of rise and fall
In blinkers.
No choice but to follow, what all must,
Smell chances and pursue instinct
In disguised bondage of the unknown fate,
What makes man unliberated and mute.
Fences, walls and trenches outside
Stunt and shock the quietude of the walk;
Ropes, smokes and darkness inside
Halt the spurs to run ariot to miles;
The war is afoot
To straff and kill free instinct,
The field is riven with smoke screens
That make indistinct inner sight.
The world is wide, but nowhere to go,
Roads are many, but barricades, everywhere;
The nature is bountiful, but little is to choose,
Man is free like a bird, yet, unsure how to fly.
Men create barriers,
Men fight each other;
They raise dust-storms
That blind the world
And leave back disorder,
Where freedom is swept away
And all is in bad shackles
Of fear, jealous, anger and hate,
Of greed, arrogance and indifference;
Each is a shackle
And the world is a bundle of bad shackles,
Where each is against all,
And all, against each.
This is how we live in the world!
This is how we safeguard us!
Each makes this world less free for all,
To make the world more free for him.
FORTY-FOUR
BEYOND COMMON REACH
Inbuilt height, depth and breadth inside,
Light the rare fire of self-confidence;
Deep and calm warmth of trust in self,
Raises lonely soul from the trifles of the world;
One who nestles in own concrete cell
Of warmth and rare impassable treasures,
Least envy the worlds of rise and fall,
Of strife, struggle, rat race and deceit;
He shines on own like the sun in the sky
And subdues nether world with his dazzling light.
The sun has care for all hills, moles and dales,
For the vast deserts and sylvan green lanes
At his great height and endless dazzling prowess;
He is an all-levelling fierce source of might;
He is a self-luminous life-bestower for all;
He touches all the world with no passion stirred
As it reaches him in the nature's patient cycle;
Nothing shakes his world of the rarest rare treasures,
Nothing swells the pride of his luxurious golden shine,
For, he lives on his riches, beyond common reach.
No prism can resolve his candent pure glow,
No chameleonic shifts strain his face;
His lamp streams light in overpowering voltage
That blinds weak eyes to grope for light;
His sack is full with rare magical tools,
His bag is heavy with bright precious stones,
All, in compact pack, inside his golden cage,
Where none have a peek except himself,
Where none have a peek except himself;
He sits in confidence, within, in carefree joy.
The courage of weight that warms inside
Paves the smooth path of calm confidence
Through the gulfs of hell and the heights of paradise;
Strides of grace in dignified pace
Roll the carriage in undisturbed course
To unknown horizons where it sets its goal
While the nether world indulges in internecine fight;
He moves on own like a celestial giant
In measured even pace of own inner force
Till reaches distant goal for all times to come.
Why wait for small gifts while riches sit within?
Why fight for a foot-hold while lord over an imperium?
How shallow dents can move a mammoth imperious giant?
How tiny wavelets can hold a sea's fierce course?
He is a vast ocean, an imperious mountain,
He is an imperium of inexhaustible riches,
He is too tall, vast, deep and bright
To be held in the farthings of an earthly container;
He lives on own, in infinite bright light
And knows the shady world and knows his proud course.
FORTY-FIVE
ALLOY
Soft and sweet fmit lures insects,
Hard and sour stuff is safe in distaste;
Smile and kind heart shares sufferings,
But, fails to build a safe and sturdy fence.
Have fire in heart to match cool and decisive mind
And incinerate shams in inner cauldron;
Have forts built and trenches dug
To trip the inflow of intruders.
Have a gentle core in a hard thick shell,
To suffer the access of playful lazy bugs;
Disguise noble strains in a handy little pill,
For worthy souls to distil and imbibe.
Shine like the sun with a hot corona,
To stall space-flights at safe distance;
Look for signs with an incisive open mind
To previse and prepare for unwanted intrusions.
Defenceless treasure is a looters' paradise;
An, innocent young girl, left on the open street,
Dissolves in misuse of the immoral greedy world;
For, the world is made to strike easy marks.
Bind conscience in a steel-rimmed frame
Till ripe time comes for conscience to stand up;
Mount your heart on untamed savage horse
Until you find right place to dismount from it.
Mix noble gold with baser mean copper,
Fix gentle charm with ruthless stick of power
To make noble strains hard, gentle and firm
And hard while noble and firm while gentle.
Like a water spring on a rocky terrain,
Let warm clear soul spring sudden pleasures
To illume the dour world with lasting streams of joy
Thro' the hard and firm facade of sweat and tears.
Build walls, post guards round the clock,
Screen strangers for honest motives;
Brief right men and lead right inside,
Where the spectre of god sits in faint divine light.
FORTY-SIX
RHYTHMS OF LIFE
Wherever be imbalance,
There is nature's dance
Of emotions, evolution and emergence
Of new heights and new horizons.
Wherever be cravings,
There are strivings
To reach higher and wider
And reap nature's fuller subtleties.
Perfection is stillness,
Distance brings motion
That strains strength to pleasant fatigue
With sweet hopes of fresh blooms.
Contentment is quietus,
Discontent is life
That draws being out of shell
To drown in nature's limitless treasures.
Disturbance is sunrise,
Calm peace is sunset;
While one leads to brightness,
The other broods to quite sleep.
Fullness is open sky,
Reachless and characterless;
No shape and shade to stir,
No cloud, no warm breeze to stir.
Spotless white and straight?
It is tasteless twilight;
No warmth, no chill, no smile, no wrath,
No hooks, no crooks, no lively twists.
No urge, no thrust,
No relief of release?
Life is dull, heavy, painful tedium,
A repeat run on a forfairn course.
Nothing it holds?
Nothing it moulds;
Like a layer of sand on a seabed,
It lives itself for existence's sake.
Contentment's thick hide
Hides inner world
From the joys of tumultuous growth
And uncertainties that brighten the life.
The rhythms of life,
The musics of nature,
Shut to the shell of dunny self
That dwells itself in perfectitude.
No dim and dip,
No shocks of sparks,
No maddening dance, no joyous whirls,
But a constant glimmer of dull twilight.
It is neither left,
Nor ever be right;
But algate straight on its path
In a saturnine lightless brood.
Give it some strains,
Bring some features;
Break the white brood of perfectitude,
Drive a hole to let some light inside.
Give twists to straight lines
To create new shapes; .
Guide life through the joy of shocks
Of the nature's strange fitful dance.
Stir the inner pendulum
To pace with time
Along the infinite cosmic clock
With shocks and thrills all along.
Rise and fall is joy,
Light and shade is beauty,
Uncertainties bring hope,
Change infuses health and strength.
Perfection is imperfect,
Imperfection, perfect;
This is how the world is trapped,
This is how life is warped.
Curvatures deviate algate,
It move and meet somewhere,
While in ceaseless isolation run
The lines, straight and featureless.
Incompleteness invites,
Completeness withdraws;
Incompleteness attracts
While completeness cools all warmth.
Imbalance brings beauty,
Imbalance brings taste;
Imbalance gives life strength and form,
Imbalance moves algate to a goal.
It be music or dance,
The nature or an artists piece,
Imbalance always sits in womb
To stir passions to artistic mood.
Craving is beauty,
Striving is art;
No beauty or joy lies in fullness,
No dream ever stir in completeness.
No day, without night;
No dream, without desires;
Life is an urge of upward surge,
No rise, if no dip to imperfectitude.
Uncertainty is god,
Uncertainty is youth,
Certainty brings cold old age,
The plateau that falls to desuetude.
FORTY-SEVEN
COMPROMISE
Pay the price of pride
To rise high to dizzy heights,
To reap riches and joy;
Unwind conscience
To compromise with of life
And win the life's game.
Self-imposed fences
Of right and wrong and good and bad
Bind to a blind fulcrum;
No caged bird
Flies in sky and in freedom
To catch and eat worms.
Man loses to gain,
Falls to rise and bends to standup,
For, the world is made so;
His blind moves
In tandem with only what heart dictates
End in loss, fall and final break.
Man is a prisoner
Of the time and space that spawned him
And obeys its rules always;
None can hope to outlive
And rise to timeless and spaceless milieu,
And yet have a smooth passage.
FORTY-EIGHT
THE NATURE'S RICHES
Beauty is here, and now,
If you have insight to engage;
Pleasure is in every move,
If you have eager heart, to seize.
Every warp and woof
In the nature, an enthralling wonder;
Every rise and fall,
Here, a heavenly splendour.
Wherever fall the eager eyes,
There is beauty, joy and riches;
Wherever passion stirs action,
There are hundred roads open.
The nature is an open world,
Where valiant seekers can pick anything;
Nothing there is beyond human reach,
Only if one pay the right earnest.
Have the right taste and zeal in heart,
Everything then falls in line;
Keep both eyes open, shun not interaction
And see the nature's treasures surface and shine.
The nature seeks the flames of zeal,
She adores her treasure's ardent seekers;
She lies scattered, all exposed,
To rouse interests and stir passions.
Have courage to reach,
To meet, rip and pierce within;
Lo, flows she from all sides
Like the early glow of the refreshing dawn.
Her every inch is a subtle charm,
It be sky, the earth, a hill or a dale,
A man, a woman, a bird or a tree,
It be love, labour, hate or rest.
Open your eyes to the tempting charms,
Open up the soul to the natures fragrance ;
Open up to the riches of her touches
And open the self to the heaven of her music.
Keep open yourself,
The nature willingly bares herself ;
Shut not the heart
While she seeks you in all her splendour.
Love the nature for all her worth,
Love the men and women around you ;
The little acts and mischiefs they do,
Bare the riches of the nature's charm.
All joy, riches and rare charm,
For those who seek and act;
Blame not the nature, blame yourself,
If you find no water in an ocean trough.
Riches are scattered around you,
Choose and pick what you desire ;
Train eyes and sharpen ears,
Run and work the hands to grab.
All are there for each of us,
To meet each man's individual needs;
Listen inside and then you decide
And eat from her inexhaustible treasure.
Be honest in desire,
No shy or fear let bewilder you ;
The riches, joy and all the beauty,
All day and night, just wait for you.
Have glow in eyes
To find the worth of all you meet;
Have fire in heart
To win and bear all you want.
Cravings aye deepen cravings
To deepen the subtle pleasures within,
Cravings aye meet cravings
To bring in the nature, fulfilment.
Yield to cravings
To rip and reap the joy aheap ;
You waste not the nature's rare blessings,
But, show her how precious she is.
Though live in the dazzle,
Why you look so dull and gloomy?
Yours all, go, grab and hug,
None stop, if you rise to the occasion.
Dig the earth and have water,
Rip the sheath and have the soft core ;
Fight your path to meet your post,
For, the valiant alone deserves rare fare.
Play and please the playful nature,
Play hide and seek and have her all;
When she comes, she comes in full
In all her hues, in all her beauty.
When you win the nature,
You win this life, you win this world;
All charm and joy lie on your feet,
Come and have her, all for you.
The nature is there, always there,
She must reach you some day ;
You build a soft passion's bridge
To meet and drink all her charm.
It be here or there or somewhere,
The nature craves as you for her;
Reach for her and melt with her
And feel the nature's joy stream in you.
FORTY-NINE
WHERE ARE WE HEADING?
Where are we heading with this crazy run?
To a new world or an imminent end ?
Or is this an endless run for the running's sake ?
No signboards anywhere
For speeds, turns and distance ahead,
Nor anybody knows the starling-line
From where it all once began.
Twilight spreads on the path of the run
And passionate colours lit the sky,
Long shadows fall ahead of the run;
Is this dawn or dusk, none of us know;
Hollow within, breaks to loud clamours,
Dust and sweat sit on tired faces,
No lights within,
This is an impatient blind run.
Miles and miles we cover a day
And leave behind long-winding roads;
Is this labour worth our sweat,
Does this take us anywhere at all?
Directions are uncertain,destination, uncertain,
Of terminal confusion.
Does this run take back or forth,
Or keep in mad rounds around the self,
Or mark-time on a constant spot?
Endless run weathers freshness,
Cracks endurance and tires sprite;
Miles of roads do wait us ahead,
But, does this run take us anywhere?
Is this evolution's natural cradle?
Do the cracks in our tired souls
Show sudden jumps in the evolution's scale?
None have an answer, none know an answer,
Nor we need to know the celestial secret,
Nor it concerns us for ages to come;
But, we must run, run like all,
As condemned to run from birth to death
As the sports of the grand universal scheme
Which always does what always is right;
Let us run as we must,
With lights within and eyes open
And ears held close to hearts
And souls intact;
Only then we win the evolution's race.
FIFTY
POETIC INSPIRATION
She pours in spasms
Like sunshine through the patches of clouds,
She pours uncalled
In majestic cascades,
Sometimes, just refuses to show up
And bides to her own feminine mood;
The lady charm loves her hide and seek
Like a proud and pretty damsel;
She hides while sought
And seeks while you hide
To tune your world to her deeper treasures;
While you need her most,
She thins in air and teases your cool;
While you resign to her spells
In leisurely lull of lush slumber,
She lurks through the soul;
She shoots from mind in graceful words
And strikes the soul with a bright glow
And rolls down in wonders of new shapes
To rock the mood and shock the soul;
She blows like wind and purs like rain
And soaks the heart to sprout poems;
She flows from self like silk bits of cocoon
And weaves pretty bits in warps and woofs.
She is molten self
And streams from the inner fount
'Neath thick pack of pains and pleasures,
'Neath the weight of strain and stresses
That heat red-hot and mould the soul;
She cracks reason and shatters prejudices
And kicks through the walls of sensibilities womb
To be born in the poet's world
In fluid words with passion's wings
To spread rhythms of peace in passion's riots
While all is calm and strangely still;
She is her own, like her feminine mood,
Unpredictable, unsure. Yet, calm and wet.
FIFTY-ONE
LIFE AND COSMOS
Life is a speck of light
In the womb of infinite darkness,
Life is a chance movement
In the ocean of ceaseless stillness.
Life is a celestial pinhole,
Where matter rocks in endless cycle,
In and out of consciousness
In isolation of cosmic stillness.
A breach in still darkness is life,
A winnock to the depths of the unknown cosmos;
Life is matter's animated form,
The stage, where played all cosmic games.
Life is a great white-hole
That expells all matters as bright light,
Life is a weightless mole
That unravels secrets of the cosmic womb.
A lonely island of wonders is life
In monotonous expanse of still matter;
Life is green in dull blue mass,
The tip of evolution in the celestial process.
Life is an accident of space,
A cosmic chance eruption in infinity,
A self-sustaining glow of spirit
That comes from and dissolves to endless mass.
The subtle rhythms of life
That rises and dips in endless space
Thro' the layers of still dark matter,
A creative dance of the restless cosmos.
Like a lonely little star
On a newmoon rainy sky,
Life twinkles in lonely splendour
In ever-expanding heath of darkness.
Life is a bright relief
Where cosmos breathes end and means ,
Where breeds time and space
And sprouts fresh thoughts in eternal continuum.
Life is the cosmic nerve-centre,
Though a minute pack of illumination ;
It casts invisible subtle light
Through the length and breadth of the cosmos .
FIFTY-TWO
COSMIC GAME
All is an uncertain changing phase
In the endless stream of cosmic game ;
All are ignorant, mute swimmers
In the endless tides of cosmic rhythm .
People and places come and go
In strange frames of time ;
Events rise in unknown sequence
And sink then back as it has come.
New worlds rise in place of old
To grow as old themselves ;
The unending flux in the cosmic womb
Yields to imperceptible evolution.
Who created cosmos, for what purpose ,
The creator himself knows not;
Where had it begun and where it heads ,
The creator himself knows not.
Who authored evolution , how and why ?
Why this, now, here and that, then, there
Though in cosmic symmetry indeed,
How invented by what infinite mind ?
How purposes surface from endless mess ?
How order springs from purposeless heap ?
Who decides sequence and cause and effect
And sinks to naught as never exist ?
Nothing is plain as good or bad,
Nothing is distinct like black and white ;
All are gray like evening light
And frowned or praised at time's dictates.
No patch of cloud can reach the heaven,
No matter encroaches on the cosmic will;
Can the tides in sea change the sun's course ?
Can the ripples in well shake the seven seas?
All are piggybacks on the cosmic plot,
The plain missiles of the cosmic plosion;
Yet, an unknown thrust and order rules
All rise and fall and jump and swing.
We partake in a mysterious game,
We partake in a mysterious game,
Where as mere tools, we play the game,
Though inside it, nowhere belong.
FIFTY-THREE
COSMIC DANCE
Nataraja,
The lord of fierce cosmic dance
In all consuming celestial rhythms
Of infinite and nought,
Of life and death,
Sprouts from the shell of void
With the profound deep bang of Om
In suppressed implosion
That throws endless bright flames
All over the ceaseless space
In impossible speed.
Motions in rhythms,
Rhythms in deafening Om
Cradle new forms,
Cradle new lives,
All along the fierce dance ;
Cold and dark heaven,
The celestial stage,
Rocks in warmth of blinding light
With rhythmic fireballs
In run to infinite horizons.
Stillness stirs,
Silence whispers,
Void occupies
With extending cosmic dance ;
Death comes to life, life, to death,
A complex cycle catches all;
Dark heaven illumes,
Life warms up
And the cosmos, like the newmoon sky,
Sparkles with myriad bright specks.
It is fierce spasms of heavenly bodies ,
It is cosmic force in celestial dance.
Wild flames of wrath
Bums elements to fluid motion
To deafening bangs
In gracious symmetry
That springs new worlds
Of breathing life and subtle mind
From the restless feet
Of immortal nataraja
In destructive dance,
That engulfs evils
In creative dance,
That evolves new order;
Each gesture is a passion,
Each motion, an emotion,
Each vibration, a divine song
In the furious exposition.
The restless dance goes on and on
Till finite force fills infinite horizon,
Till the booming bang of the lifeful Om
Reaches back its creative womb.
FIFTY-FOUR
INSIDE
You have what you deserve,
You save what you preserve,
Blame not fate or unknown hand,
Know yourself, you know all world.
All are born like all others;
Some breakup, a few why rise?
No sweat or brain, not even wealth,
No push or tie explain it ever.
What you deserve is deep inside,
What you deserve is deep inside,
That manifests in real life
As true measure of real strength.
You are white-hot, keek inside,
Trace the flame of divine light
That burns, consumes and thrusts forward,
There, somewhere, where algate you belong.
It knows when and how to click,
It plots its time and place to work;
No prompting or art, no drugs or trick
Ever breached the plot of the inner craft.
It streams wisdom and right approach,
It inspires work and right conduct,
It weaves rare webs of time and place
That lead you for a deserving climb.
You cook by the fire, you have in the oven,
You beget what you deserve deep within;
For everything; there is a befitting end,
Whether you desire or have it in design.
No wisdom alone takes you anywhere
While inside is in suppressed wait;
No ties, no toil or power or grit
Ever awakens you from deep slumber.
If you rise far high you deserve it all;
If you fail and fall you deserve only it
In spite of false wordy long claims;
The world is simple as plain as this.
Inside is not what you make for show,
Inside is not what you have in shreds;
Deep inside, the silent inside
Sinks in soul as an integrated whole.
FIFTY-FIVE
FREE WORLD
Untie leashes, set free to fly,
Rise at will to the limitless sky;
Unbound is space, none fence the path,
Shed barriers, spread to length and breadth;
Where you set feet, there is your world,
Where you set heart, there is free world,
As long as eyes stretch, limitless is bright hope;
Grow fast wings, fly wherever you want,
Look not back and spoil not sport;
Unconstructed is future, design own world
In unbound freedom that waits your call.
Why build tall walls and surround yourself?
Why live in towers and miss fresh air ?
Why hide in caves and lose sunshine?
Spread your wings, rise on warm wind,
Swim like fish in deep waters of sea,
New things are ahead, new worlds are ahead,
Unseen wonders, yet to be discovered,
Move on the spur, unchained anywhere;
Open your mind and sweep like wind;
No post to devolve, no fulcrum to revolve;
Have restraintless move in transparent air.
No walls ever made life safe and rich,
No stones round the neck ever brought any weight;
Walls that, stop the tides of life-force,
Breach and tear delicate wings;
Let life always stream on own free course
As inside inspires and freewill leads ahead;
No fear or swither, no doubts may hold you back,
Let no backyard fence, tie down where you are;
Barriers do rise here, there and somewhere,
You rise high and high and fly above all,
You will see how free and lovely all round.
You swim ahead, turn left or right
Or turn backward or rise or fall
To the beats of heart and listen inward,
That is your world, that is free world;
Look outside and you open inside,
You are born free in an open world;
Why bind in leash and build walls around
A square feet of space in fear of unknown?
Fledge feathers, preen wings to reach all place
And spread on will every inch around you,
You find free world, a heaven on the Earth.
Free in will is the ultimate joy,
Beauty, truth, strength and life itself;
Life in free world, a feel of deliverance,
A deep existence, a divine experience;
No wealth, no strength, equal free inside,
No name, no comfort, worth a mean bondage;
Free life is true life, joyous pure life,
A deep absorption to the nature's subtle core,
A living deep, intense like the white-hot sun;
Yield to no bondage, sit within no fence,
Listen to whispers inside and ride with the tide.
FIFTY-SIX
A STORY
He is a regal horse,
They wished, he drag their jatkabandi;
New to the job,
He refused to stoop,
He raised head high in regal portance
And neighed aloud in leonine arrogance.
They pulled his reins to tie to a cart,
The cart was low for his impossible height;
They knew not how to use this breed.
They knew no strains of a regal horse;
How to breed and ride a good horse,
How to rein in and win its wits,
They had no clues;
They groped in dark to figure his pride,
But found no light;
Different it is from the common breed,
But high or low,
They could not figure ever.
Birds of the same feather flock together,
They came in haste to stick together;
Birds of the same feather flock together,
But, could not figure how to handle the fare.
Kala was then the chief of them,
He had old passion for the young regal-horse;
How the tall horse would win bread and I've long
If laboured not a cart all its life.
Kala wailed aloud in large kind heart;
He wished, the regal-horse reduced its height
So he could tie a cart to its lowered back;
He wished, the regal-horse go dumb as an ass,
So none ever fear to mount its regal back;
He knew not how to help the regal horse,
So, he devised a cruel home-made craft;
He caught it in a trench and tied with ropes,
He bet with rods and made it run
Till fell the exhausted-horse with bleeding open wounds;
His heart too bled for the innocent dying horse
And tended gaping wounds with love and care
Till the horse gained strength and stood erect alive;
He began again the savage torture
To make the regal-horse, a cart-pulling ass;
He broke its legs,
Flogged skin and bathed in blood
For all the passion, he had for the horse,
To make the regal-horse a cart-pulling ass;
He allowed it not to die
Nor allowed the horse to live as a normal-horse
Till he languished to drop and disappear somewhere.
Is it love or hate,
Is he a friend or foe,
Is it a grace or curse,
Know not he nor that horse.
The graceful horse licked blood,
Withstood the ordeals for good
With its broken legs
And rose as ever from strength to strength
Of its rare breed;
Taller it grew with each of its struggle,
Proved its breed and proved its blood,
It proved that rare timbre of a noble breed;
It showed subtle strains, unseen till then;
But never never stooped to jatka-breed,
Never assumed an ass' guise,
While bore the brunt with valour and resign
And stood upright
Like god itself.
Baser creatures do have several heads,
Each is a guise to meet weakness inside;
Baser creatures do have several heads
While a noble soul has one, held high skyward.
FIFTY-SEVEN
KNOW YOURSELF
While you know yourself and know your road,
Why balk in fear of unknown hands?
While clear is sight and inside is bright,
Why look for ghosts of doubts and fate?
Road may fall or rise, turn left or right,
But, you are you, a brilliant glow
And traverse gulfs and cross hills:
Not where you walk, but what you are,
Make you, you, the ultimate you;
Cross-roads do come, you choose your route,
Let not illusions oft mislead you;
Inopinate turns may end-up somewhere
Where you reach the brink of the ultimate end;
But, what makes you, you, saves you from all
If you know yourself and know your road.
Lay your step with sound confidence,
Know where feet fall, how deep it mires;
Knowledge is light that flees all fears,
Knowledge is insight that stills all doubts;
While inside is hale with uncontaminated sight,
No diffractions ever reach and touch confidence;
No rise ever raises, nor fall lets down,
For, you are ever you in unresolved glory;
You may reach hill-tops, end up in dales,
Or lose your path in thick dark wilds
And find in midst of savage beasts,
Or lose your head in nebulous cloud,
Or sink in drains or lose in winds;
While you hold rein and know yourself,
You come through unscathed like glitterand gold.
What all you have, none rob you from;
Trust inside and build on that;
An ocean inside waits to burst outside,
Shut your eyes and listen to the roar,
What depth it has, what breadth and length;
What a treasure hides 'neath the human sheath;
A white-hot sun is burning within
That lights thousand worlds if brought outside;
So rich you are, why feel forlorn?
Rise inside, face outside with resolve,
Live from within, with, without as a game
Of intangible world that surrounds us all,
Where we all live in bits, caught in cosmic wind;
Path is infinite, so is the endless time,
Traverse all the worlds with trust inside.
FIFTY-EIGHT
MOTHER INDIA
0 mother land,
0 dear dear mother,
Our mother India,
Our beloved India,
For all your charm and ancient wisdom,
For all the rich past and spiritual cast,
For rare forbearance and variegated forms,
How, mother, you are caught in a sorry state now
Of crave, craze, ignorance and cowardice,
Of filth, hunger, degradation and violence?
What a sad gap'tween now and then!
What a vast gulf 'twixt your own children!
A seat of wise sages is a den of self-seekers
Who thrive and flourish on the poverty's sufferance
And pain and hunger of myriad brothers;
Open your eyes, 0 dear dear mother,
See how a few smart ones grow to fatty bad giants
While most cry hoarse for a morsel every day,
Though each is your child,
Though you give, all you have.
You know not perchance whom you mother,
Whom you feed with the best of love,
With the best of food, home, joy and comfort
With all your riches, power and name-ruffians
Scoundrels, worst models of rogues,
Cheats, worst crooks, gangsters and criminals;
Mother, see otherwhere, gentle children, you breed,
In unending fight to keep the both ends meet,
No joy, no peace, no comfort or support,
They go on knees, 'neath the weight of crime world.
You better be barren, our dear mother land
Than breed cruel criminals in your sacred womb
That bore rare jewels of the mankind once;
You better be invalid, our mother land
Than feed bands of gangsters with your gentle hands
And throttle good lives of gentle innocent babes;
Why nectarlike milk of your kind breasts
Turn godlike infants to rude blood-hounds?
Why your gentle hands strangle innocence,
Breed dark ignorance and spread violence?
We love you, dear mother, for your noble past,
For giving us life and means of livelihood;
We hate you, our mother, for what you are now,
For giving us life in this mean hell of land
Where cheats go rich and killers rule the land,
Where violence gives power and crimes ease life;
Where savagery is adored by indifferent ignorant mass,
Where oppression is elected by ignorant cowardice,
Where satanic shadows dim the angelic gentle light
And everything bad thrives and everything good fails.
Why this eclipse of the pristine charm?
Why this disgrace to an ancient land?
Where has gone the deep passions for value?
Where is time-valued sense of just cause?
All is gone like sunshine in dusk,
Like an aircraft that crashes in mid-air;
Burnt fragments of the past do appear, scattered
In brooding mood of the foregone ages
Like faded youth of an aged woman;
Aye, India is dying a slow disgraceful death.
FIFTY-NINE
THOSE CAREFREE DAYS
Those carefree days,
No bonds whatsoever, though in leashes,
Where I could move round the fulcrum
In gay abandonment
Like happy birds in the sky;
I could walk, run and jump,
Even fly
In weightless freedom;
No cares to pindown,
No dark spots, no concern,
All gay and bright like a child's smile;
No thoughts to bother,
No fears of future
And actions met thoughts in perfection;
No deadlines to meet,
No pressures to resist,
But meet all tides as it visit
In perfect leisure.
I felt like sitting on the top of the earth,
1 felt like walking through white clouds in heaven,
I felt light wings raising me to the moon
Where 1 could dream all and attain all that.
No barriers around me,
No fences to any,
No classes to conform,
No standards to measure;
I could see and walk anywhere
Like a pet rabbit;
The world was a huge playground then,
All playful games,
No strains anywhere, no competitions,
But, trust and love filled my world;
I laughed at will,
I shouted mouthful,
I talked and talked to all;
No masters and servants,
No classes bothered me;
I sought sparkles in eyes
To build my bridges
And innocence in smiles
To meet friendship;
I said what I thought
And thought what I said,
I did what I said
And said what I did
In open heart;
I lived like a king,
All my own,
Where none could intrude.
I saw all equal, as they came to the earth,
I saw the world simple, as it always is.
I spoke my heart as simple truth
In all its passions and emotions;
No do's and no donot's
No shames and fears;
No age or sex or state to consider,
Where I stood above all
With my own simple, clear judgements,
which none could dare to contradict;
No heat or rain restrained me,
No knowledge of pain refrained me,
In meeting what I want;
I flew from east to west and north to south
In the same gay mood,
From star to star, I jumped
In playful abandonment;
I laughed a day and wept next day
In full blast to the pressures of heart,
With no cause or reason behind
And no pressures to account.
The carefree days did light my spirit
To candescent glow of pure morning rays;
The carefree days did raise my spirit
To formless deep pleasure of clam enlightenment.
SIXTY
AN INVINCIBLESPIRIT
Like a tall peepal tree, he stands
Above thorny cactus bush,
Like the polar star, he sits
Among twinkles of little stars;
A giant mountain of wave, he is,
That sweeps unkempt thousand wavelets;
Like a rock, he rules a secular land
In the center of an oily desert
Where American rats and British cats
Have Arab slaves in tight leashes;
No Japanese might, no European threat
Touch his hair,
Soviet protests, the UNO's quests
In the black sea lost;
He, as firm as a rocky fort
That no CIA can ever breach,
Stood up in lonely mighty splendour
To the world's double moral standards.
He stood like a man in face of odds
In contempt of vested cunning mights
In show of inner strength
In stilled silence in face of world clamours;
Success or no success,
War or no war,
He defied self-assumed leadership
Of American arrogant military might
Over the weak and meek sovereigns
That went on knees on submission
To the rich nation's superior will.
In military strength or statesmanship,
He subdued the best;
In running the land or oil politics,
He stood up to the world;
A king of kings in Arab world,
Of lion's heart in camel's desert,
He showed to the world what pride is about.
While oil burns in Arab lands,
He sits on flames like unbroken confidence;
While the oily greed of mighty nations,
Built a wall of starvings around him,
He bore assaults like a warrior king;
No reprisals of haste, not an inch compromise,
A giant in might, a genius on own right,
He drove mighty lands to a hopeless strait
Of painful war or loss of credit.
Panama is a sovereign where aliens took its chief;
It is a sin as many more there to count,
Yet, why only one at a sinner's behest,
More of sin for the seize of the world?
How reasons are drugged in the east and the west
On the might's vile political will?
He bore the torch, all alone,
While big and small lined like lies
To dim his light and dull his might
In obeisance to the self-assumed world command;
He accepted new role
To challenge vested groups,
As an uncrowned mighty world leader.
Of steely resolve and rocky courage
As none the world has seen before,
Immoral in war, he is like all,
Yet, just in immoral to make a point to the world
Unlike weak and unjust wanton immorals,
Who vanquished smaller states and captured presidents
To test military strengths;
But, all shrink to nought before the giant invincible spirit.
SIXTY-ONE
TULU NADU
A land of valour and truth, Tulu Nadu
Where Sathya, Dharma and Sankalpa, blend to a strange broth
Of pride, courage and openness,
Where love for rectitude and selfless devotion
Warp to a fierce way of life,
Where flames of pride and courageous resolve
Meet to raise an energetic land,
That sits besides his queen, the Arabian sea,
Whose waves wash and caress his feet all day,
Where no trusts ever breach, no ties ever break,
No words ever die, no promises ever reneged,
Where helpless calls see the life and death defence.
Tuluvas, a class apart in imperious state,
Tigers in all splendours of invincible might
In the jungle of pigs, donkeys and sheeps;
There are a rare rugged island of spartan folks
In the ocean of shams and deceptions,
And look around in righteous indignation;
As Billavas, Bunts, Saraswats, and Christians
As Brahmins, Muslims, Bestas or as Jains,
The threads of Tulu, Konkan, Kannada and Malayalam too,
Bind them all as Tuluva soldiers,
Who breed on Tulu earth and feed in Tulu strengths
And spread by Tulu winds to far away worlds.
When Tuluva touches a stone, a temple is born,
When a Tuluva touches tool, an industry is born;
He rises from earth and spreads to sky like a tower
To the shocks of lesser suffering lots;
The heat and sweat that warms his heart,
The rain and green that enriche his soul,
Break false sheaths to extract his true self
In dazzling fresh shine for all the world to see,
In Kolas, Yakshaganas and age-old cockfights
In Nemas, Paddhanas and Bhootharadhanas;
The fish and toddy and boiled rice in veins
Unwind his spirit for back-breaking work.
A land of distinct moods, thoughts and nature
Of distinct life, values, goals and culture,
With sea and ghats and Konkan and Malabar
On guard to fend from contaminations,
Where mothers rule, Aliya Santhana prevails,
Where years roll on solar movements,
Whose warm breeze, washed by the Arabian sea waves,
Whose rare earth, soaked with rich Tuluva soft ways,
Sprout proud great men and spawn pretty girls
And spread fields and forests, full of rich greens;
Tulu Nadu, the shield of great Indian virtues
Stands across ghats like gaint gomata statues.
The rugged Tuluvas are gentle and upright,
Who shed blood for ancestors' self-respect,
Who raise not heads and offer ready obeisance
In front of elders and noble deeds;
They seek perfection, they take greatness
And accept nothing but the topmost slot;
They fight like tigers and win or die,
But, come not down to meet in the middle;
Forces may seize them, but never caputre,
Strengths may break them, but never bend;
For, they breathe Tulu air and live on Tulu earth
And Tulu warmth and passions stream in their veins.
SIXTV-TWO
AGE IN RUINS
Here, everything is everywhere,
Yet, nothing is anywhere;
Where, all, in front, yet, out of reach.
Nothing come to hands, nothing come to mouth
Though everything is in everybody's range;
All are lost like birds overhead
In blue sky, far distant from rugged rich world;
No pains and pleasures, no passions stir;
All are dry leaves, caught in a whirlpool;
All are sooty smokes of tall black chimney;
All run on hire like a carriage-horse
Whose eyes are bound for straight tiresome sight;
No weight to sink, no wings to fly,
Only strong legs to flee from odds;
Thick colours sit on tasteful light hues;
All are sweat and dirts, spread in hasty heaps,
No freshness anywhere, no leisurely pleasure,
All are fragmented hopes on top of a dazzling world.
Weak heart stills endless desires,
Shineless eyes meet flashes of distant wildfire
That exists only in muddles of tired mind;
All are directionless, uncertain in self,
While all doors are wide open without signboards;
Sunshines, no more warm, full-moon, not cool
From the cage of unfamiliar horizons;
All are tall trees with shallow roots
Whom strong wind can uproot at will.
This is an age of breadth and height,
But no depth, no strength, no inner light.
Smiles brood like a withered flower
And laughs wither like shrieks of a dying man,
While painful moans, like hissing noise of steams,
And joys in short spasms, jump across man's reach
In the inert world where no sparks ignite.
Everything here is disturbingly calm, Everything here is unexciting game;
None move, but like a wound spring
Eject the leaks of frustrations.
All cracking bones, mere skeletons;
No flesh, no streams of life anywhere,
No bridges, no sparks, no prompt responses;
All are dwarfs, retarded minds,
Who know not how to steer through their worlds
Or vent feelings or tide over their thoughts.
Here, the life is a zigzag puzzle
With random exits and random entries;
Here, the life is a snake and ladder game
Where fall and rise are sheer chance.
Like sand-bed on the side of a roaring sea,
The modem age is dry 'neath wet wind;
The sparkling seashore is plain like white clouds,
No pains, no pleasures, but unending boredom;
Nothing sprouts, nothing penetrates,
All crumbles in shapeless hold;
Visions blur
While smokes hang from disturbed sky
And all live step to step and day to day
In desperate world;
It is a world shattered inside and outside
And no harmony anywhere;
It is sad, still, black, sad ruins
Of a long forgotten rich age
That disheartens in contrast
Where though everything was there, nothing anywhere now.
Man lives in cages everywhere in this age
In dreaded isolation from within and without.
SIXTY-THREE
THUGS
The rag gang of legal thugs,
Boisterous bed-bugs,
Alas, as police,
Creep on the clean world as vice,
Of all, to roll the rule of law,
For all, but them!
For all, but them,
Who, from outer space,
In vacuum of insight's sunshine or good fence
Or pride or reasons' hold,
Sweep the good old world,
Like mad mafia dons
Whack innocence all round
For the sake of bad belly.
The shady owls shun sun-lights,
The blind bats hang like ghosts
On barren branches of waste human fossils;
For, they fear light in any form,
For, they hear threats from inner light
That tinds rare fire
In the hearth of conscience
That resolves to gray ash of repentance,
The witless past and spineless presence;
They live in ignorant holes of complacence
Like rotten rats,
Oblivious of heights or depths outside
And strengths of sprite;
But, ready to shun sunshine anywhere.
The dirk packs of life bounce
With vile spikes of intrigues and pounce
On rare, proud liberated souls
That come out of sickly choky holes
To force to conform to infirmity;
For, instinct to mass crass survival
Binds in force all police ranks;
They wait and wag like dogs
Or bark and bite like dogs
On merits of leash you hold,
Or the bits of bread loaves in hand,
But, treat not a man like man,
Nor a law as law,
Nor heart nor cerebrum concern them;
Lo, an intruder!
They flock like hungry wolves,
Tear him apart and gorge to nought.
They are stupid sand bags,
Drained of wet emotions inside,
No dints, heavy weight, waste bulks;
They act in violent rattles of spasms
Like a broken diesel engine;
They rifle through crime world
To squeeze out benefits from lawless land;
Yet, not all so bad,
Gold dusts do hide in wads of earth
As rare isolated sparkles;
Wherefore the straw-ball rolls yet
Along the woof 'neath the net
Of a credible force.
