An explaination

I thought long and hard about what to say
Its hard to convey some of which is enmeshed in my soul
When few can understand it.
And fewer whom I care so deep about
To want to give some of my soul to them
My soul so precious, my very own
To the sun who wants everything revolve around it
I fear will lose things one by one
The sun whose very essence is to burn
Will burn things in its orbit
And cause unbearable regret and pain, too late realized.
I fear for the sun and for myself
For I see the sun burn me up too
And it causes me to move away
As it will only create shackles and bind me
I see myself as a bird
I once was trapped, then I was free,
but I cannot let myself
be trapped again
I see myself, a tune unrestrained,
One which cannot be held shut inside a musical box
Its the very thing which kept me away for so long
I sensed them then too but now the signs are clear
And they do not disappear like I hoped they would
I wish I was like Sita, but I am not her, yet.
To be like her is my struggle and my sorrow
My pain and my happiness.
But, till then I tread forward holding
The invisible hand of providence.
I will get to a place where I break down
The fences which aptly containing my yearning
It will set me free
All I seek is the Shiva in me.
One day, I will be with him forever.

Welcome to the universe

One of the nicest and the most unfortunate things about life is that you always get the unexpected. Reality hardly matches with your expectations about people, places, experiences, life. It never matches with your carefully considered way to get to where you want -the easy and safe path that takes you there, strewn with the obstacles you can scale easily, where you emerge shining as the the overall hero and champion of the story.

Why is it unpleasant? Coz its something which unwraps itself differently from the neatly wrapped present you pictured in your head. The present you you made with thoughts of endless scope and possibility. Of blazing change and burning from within which takes you to higher places never seen before. Comforting thoughts of how you can overcome any kind of resistance. How you will always douse the fire which eats you from inside and stroke than fire which merrily burns on. All given lesser meaning as the slow unwinding of something which was once so wound up takes place.

Even the most hardcore, adventure-loving, risk-taking person wouldn't jump into it all at once and accept things they way they are. With a lil space given to the possibility of the existence of such a brand of super-people, nobody is calm when chaos plays its part in producing the questions and blurring the answers to issues which arise when grappling with questions of whoami and whereami. I think these two questions live with people more often than people seem to care or realize. They seem to care and look for the answers even less.

Why is it nice again? Coz it pulls you beyond the suffocation of the 'idiot box' you are idiotically tricked into seeing because of the hedonistic ideals which are so ingrained in us, we hardly know they exist. To be comfortably wrapped in the illusionary cocoon of a place where you have everything you ever wanted.That's just the best feeling in the world, yea? Experience has led me to believe that it makes you feel really lousy when you get too comfortable. Although you don't wanna admit it when its in motion and your swimming against the tide, its probably better this way. At least this holds good for those among us who love to be challenged as much as we hate to be challenged.

Obviously, these which float on swishy, water-pools over my head are fresh on the realization that its been exactly a month since I've landed in London. The point by now is clear is to not elaborate on the wonderful-ness or the trashy-ness of life here.

Time flows like a river and you can't quite catch up with it. It frustrates you when you can't put every moment to good use. Sometimes, it sweeps you off your feet and you are knocked down and sit hard on the ground remembering that it once mattered to you at some point but you don't know when and why it did. And then you refuse to get up coz you wonder if the effort is worth it. The space between sitting and the getting up, thats the effort whose lack is gonna make us all extinct one fine day. It's also the very same which presents us a chance to make the unexpected evolve into something much more meaningful than an ordinary word like 'nice.' It's what makes everything worth it. The unexpected.

I wish

I wish I was strong enough.
I wanna be.
I am.

The lamp and the light

The light that shines in the darkest night
Is the one that is brightest thus
For it give light to the holder of the lamp, and comfort
When the darkness pierces and blinds.

The others see the lamp from afar
A mere distant twinkling
The joy it gives onself, many not know
They realize not what the lamp can bring

The holder of the lamp feels the burn within
A might force when all go wrong
Holds the lamp, holds it close
To nurture self, heal, protect and warm

There comes a time when the light requires
The burning lamp to move away
A chance to make itself burn brighter
To dispel light in other lands of grey

The holder of the lamp, torn asunder
His stubborn will to make the lamp burn strong
The fear of giving his lamp away
Comes with the fear of losing its warmth

He does not yet realize the eternal secret of the past ages
That the light can never be doused, in the face of strong
To rise outside its lantern home, to nurture the spark of other lamps alike
Is what which keeps the light blazing within, for long.

The lamp and light, one they will be
And dance in glory for eternity.

Redemption Song

She wanders restlessly, like the creeping mist. Fly-away curls lilt around like wisps of air around her face. Eyes which dance like bubbles of joy, out of reach from children. A half-smile rests on her face, a prelude to the rising of the sun. Yet, there is a touch of sorrow in her being. She, a wandering gypsy, caught between the silken curtains of time. She bursts into a silent song of beauty, unrestrained in its yearning.

"I seek God in man on earth. I search for a human form of God and not one of idols. A real God who can see and touch and feel what I do. I am the reason why people grope in the dark and make idols of simple men. Why else did the divine fragrance of holy men like Buddha and Jesus spread to all corners of the earth? How do I give myself away in love and ask for nothing in return? How do I channel devotion so powerful that its intensity can drown and strengthen alike. How do I gather myself in offering without fear or cowardice. What I want most is to break the selfishness that wraps the core of my heart; to uncover the bliss of solitude that lies within."

The wind rustled in the leaves. Its greenness shimmered like emeralds on fire. The leaves spoke in whispers, which bore the truth of all of eternity. "God resides in the hearts of all men, but he is not man himself. God speaks through the mouths of men, but man's words are not a statement of truth itself. You shall repeatedly be touched by the grace of God through man, but believe not that a man's acts of grace are of his own making alone."

The breeze made paper boats appear on the water, flowing. It gathered its breath into a freedom song. "You will neither be able to satisfy the selfish hearts of men. Nor, will they satisfy yours fully. If you want to give love away, do it not unto men but through men. When you see God in man, you will not be afraid to give anymore."

The endless river, blue and winding, carries the paper boats ahead and babbled thus. "Do not weep when men do not see your giving or acknowledge your love. The smallness of men's hearts creates shackles which only love can free."

Next was the grunt of a mighty banyan tree whose place of steady rest had seen through the seasons of change. "A man who gives without needing nothing in return is rare. These are the desires of men turned holy. It is not for those who lack inner strength and the weak-hearted. It asks for courage and freedom from mental slavery. I often see such desires, but not the discipline or the power of will to sustain the entire way. Master your self and come to me, I will show you what it means to be happy."

A songbird perched upon a tree, called from beyond. It broke into a melody, which carried on, far and wide. "Freedom lies in giving yourself away, for you choose to rise beyond your own need. It is an expansion of self which does not need constant assurance."

An old man, wearing a robe of silver held her gaze. He spoke thus: "Man and God. An infinite abyss exists between the two. Yet, there is a sacred union which every man possesses, waiting to be discovered. Men contain the essence of the God you seek. But, let not their inadequacies hurt you for they are weak and stumble. You have been bestowed with a special gift- the desire to love. So, use it wisely and well and in every step, you shall truly know what it means to be loved by the Maker."

So saying, the man and the songbird, the tree and the river, the breeze and the leaves disappeared into the thinness of air into the dark night and traveled a great way to give comfort to the trials of another wandering gypsy.

Runaway train

I sit here in my familiar room with the familiar smell of unpacked piles of clothes and books. My picture pastiche from a different time stuck jaded on the wall.Old photos with smiling faces and teenage high-school novels peer at me from a corner, drawing me back to the past. The air smells of confinement, yet of freedom.

I used to lock my room a lot while growing up. My mom used to squeal incessantly about why I don't roam in the garden instead, like other kids my age. I don't lock my room anymore. My mom still peeps in curiously, trying to gather as many pieces of me before I leave to London for study.

I give away snatches of thoughts to distinct people in my past who have helped craft me into who I am right now. I remember soft-brown eyes, toothy grins, tendrils of black hair, arched eyebrows, gurgling laughter and soft voices. I remember the words they said, the comfortable silences, plates of food brought-up, the care taken to make a cup of tea and the distant shouts of a thousand animated conversations. I remember wisps of smoke, the cold smell of winter just set-in and the sound of endless babble under the sheets through the night.

I hear the soft, consistent whistle of the train I'm on which plays in the background but does little to shake me from my reverie. It chugs on slowly and deliberately. I look out at the rain-soaked green and melancholic blue of the sky. I press my chin against the wet window rail and stare at the dull-red brick walls. Scene after scene unfold before my eyes, like an utopian world shot in black and white. I cannot tear my eyes away. The train has left the station some time back. And, I'm still looking back.

Freedom says to freedom

I felt a pang for the you in you
But not for the you in the infinite
The shades of colour you painted me
You just needed a paintbrush of a different size for company
They are fragile as a butterfly, yet mighty as a mountain
I saw innocence and warmth and a tender quality of love
And a hint of your past, your present and your future
Carefully measured and contained for the worthiest cause
Carefully poured into the vessel for the noblest of all causes.
Will the vessel slip through your fingers? And, blur the vision you so much adore?
Paint the world with the colour I see and not just coz of me
Empty the vessel to honour your passion and make the cause ring truer for you
I step by you, beside you, just to caress your hair and whisper in your ear
Just a shooting star on your starlit sky
One you can point at and remember
When I said: The you I see in you is the you in the infinite.