The birth of a poem...

The essence of very tiny detail, like a carefully placed comma, or an invisible sigh of admiration, distilled into dewdrops sliding over the long green leaves that protect tulips from overexposure, redeeming the beautiful bold color and adding a dimension of its own.

Then letting it go into thin air, like a weightless particle,arriving in far-away places, like a carefully thought-out idea, a blissful singular event, a flash of infinitesimal brightness, arriving at noon, completely negating shadows and at the same time completely absolving them.

The reign of calm arrived with these words and it is here to stay...



Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Believed to be true

When you stand behind the pulpit 
What do you preach?
Who is your culprit:
Love, all-inclusive,
Or hate within reach?

When you kneel at the altar
Who's the little lamb?
Do you say a prayer
Or do you sigh in relief?
What is your belief?

Down on the praying mat
Lost in contemplation
Incense burning, chapters churning
Old prophets tales
Believed to be nothing
And everything there is.

Is that how it feels?
To be a scapegoat
Unaware of the greater scheme.
In the myth of creation
Who chose you to choose who lives?
Who gave you the arbitrary power of indignation
With limited senses and mind half asleep?

Crescents and stars and symbols
At cross purposes.
The word begins.
There is a self-contained prime mover behind it.
If you believe.
Now laugh.
That is all there is.

Monday, December 29, 2014

Words and Meanings

I can’t. I mustn't . I won’t.

Words walking out of the house
Slamming the door demonstratively
Words, leaving home, uprooted from
Their natural habitat
Transplanted forcibly on foreign soul
But thriving.
Words abandoning shadows and nuances
Forgetting and being forgotten
Meaningless, scattered sounds in the hum
Of the celestial acoustic
Miscellaneous collection.

Being, living, dreaming, waiting;

Electrons firing impulses through synapses
Inky mushrooms blooming through a system of veins
Unstoppable. Telling stories of yore, of how it was before
In the fairy tales and other hidden meanings.
Seeds huddled in the hollow of the garden wall
Biding their time. Life capsuled, coded, released
With a whisper.
Shooting through the ground, like a glimmer of hope
And returning to the ground, like a discarded shell
Rusks bearing no hope.

And no hope was ever given.

Friday, November 28, 2014

Xanadu, in a nutshell



Deliberately distorted reality.
No external enhancements.  Just proving a point.
A spanner in the works of a well-oiled society.
Giggling monkeys in a monochrome garden.
Stars and crescents falling on ivory tusks.
Tonic water spreading in a pool. Needs must.
Can the quinine quench hidden thirst?
Barking up the wrong tree.
A cocktail stick pretending to be a dagger
Swivels in exhilaration.
Something of an eye-opener for me.
The nutritional value of the lotus flower
Is clearly indicated on the outer petals.
The new Tennyson scale of sensory impact.
Recommended daily intake, whatever the soul
Can process. A damsel in distress need not bother.
We go round and round, safe and sound
Princesses on mattresses and lipstick marks on
Bubbling cauldrons. Witches delight. Out of sight.
Mind over matter and then some light.
Word igniting motion. To that effect.
In the clear. End of story.
Trumpet calling last post.
At a very high cost.
It’s going to be alright.
Good morning, good evening, good night

And none of that shanti business.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

The Peninsula

Three sides celebrating the freedom of the open seas
One side tugged forcefully to the mainland
Yearning to be an island, adrift, yet always incomplete
Projecting the anguish of this uncertainty
Into mountains, valleys, gorges, rivers and lakes
All that nature calls its beauty
All that a human face
Would absorb as a sign of aging fatigue
A deep furrowed brow
Bitter sweet tears
Lines in a frozen clenched mouth
Cursing the blood on the lip where the
Bite of silent suffering left an indelible mark
If you could trace it back to the heart
You would find a dusty, cobwebbed cave
You could find a few rusty keys that could have ended wars
And then plenty of trunks of treasure
Warmth resembling the one donated by the sun
And plenty of sweetness, recalling the honey of the bees
Swarming around the old trees

Reconciling the useful and the wilderness.