life from thought to thought

The Orange hue

When the sun is not set and the moon is out

It’s a different hue that is spelt out.

The blue sky displays an orange shade

as I stand on my terrace immersed in a similar glaze.

The fiery Sun has calmed a bit as dusk approached,

It made me realize, my being has entered a similar zone.

The blaze of youth have quieted over the years,

The passions that drove the younger me look trivial as twilight appears

The sights that allured me are not worth a second glance.

The sounds of ecstasy are now found in a higher trance.

The orange hue of the sky is looking down upon me,

Just as I look up to understand what it means to me.

I see we have become companions in this eternal story,

The orange hue of my life is waiting for the moon to shine in its full glory.

A lot remains unsaid, it’s the society.
A lot is felt, but unexpressed, in a society.
Trying to define love, it ridiculed the pangs felt by Meera, now dances in joy at her divinity, is the same society.

Love has permanence, but where does the permanence lie? Does love change or just the object of its affection show a wide range? These are the questions, framed and refrained in every society.
Where love solidifies, it becomes less of love more a chore for society.
Love is in us, it finds expression outside…in whom, is ordained by the society.
This society, residing in the mind, resisted by the heart…has found a prisoner willing to play the part.

Some have broken the bonds and attained liberation, but I am still here, respecting the confines formed by this society.

Crossroads

Not knowing and Knowing of the soul,
there is a long road between the two poles.
We walk the path having no knowledge of the destination. But to walk is in our nature, in an attempt to understand the future.
Not knowing is like a pig in the mud, wallowing in dirt and enjoying the slush.

The journey starts with an increased awareness of the dirt and all things gory. Till then, it was just a mere story.

As the days progress, I weep as doubts creep in…raising the banner of revolt questioning the need of Knowing.

The state of ignorance has me in a daze…letting the pig play in the mud puts it in a hypnotic maze.

But the pig has been told that he can still play in the mud, getting dirty is an option he can surely escape.

Let the mud encompass you… The Knowing will keep your core pure as dew.

The Forest

Have you ever stood in front of a deep dense forest and tried to see in the depths of it? Or ever wondered what lies inside? Is there anything that eludes our eyes? Have you been over-powered by the desire to find out that remains hidden from our view? Is there anything in the stillness that might be new?

The depths of our being is looking out and searching for what agrees to look back and say I am here, somewhere, keep trying as the search is your only rescue.
I stand often in front of the infinite layers of the same deep forest, with a feeling so strong, that the depths are looking back at me without any effort.
Such simple yet wondrous sites receive me every time I look there…the forest is buzzing with such unabashed bare.
I also encounter some views that refuse to be captured in pretentious hues.
At first glance, the eyes see only dark, but adjust your vision, the path gets lighter and brighter as you embark.
The feeling of being alone gives way to a calming solitude, the need to be in the crowd dissolves in its fortitude.

I am surrounded by nature, in the lap of my creator. The union is ecstatic and swift, it’s easy to forget you even exist.

Look who’s watching!

Photo by Elizaveta Dushechkina on Pexels.com

Every morning the mirror waits, as I wake up and rush to wash my face. I look at my reflection with a beating heart. The image that forms decides how the day starts. Some days I am a beauty to reckon with…others I cringe at the sight that beckons me. There are days my face speaks of all the potential to be realized, and there are times when the reflection surrenders without a fight. What I see every day is a different hue…it makes me wonder if the mirror’s giving the real view? I have never stared in my eyes directly…it’s only the reflection I gaze at, that defines my personality. The realization dawns sometimes…it’s not the reflection but the one who is looking is divine. The different hues I see are just a part of me…yet they fall short when they try to define me. I am not the changing reflections…I am the constant that views the changes. But again I wonder… why can’t I see what’s real in the mirror? The answer sometimes pops up…‘seeing oneself’ is a journey that we are supposed to undertake. But the next day again I wake up and rush to the mirror to see what it has in store for me. And so continues the journey of ‘Being me’.

Intimacy

Please leave the covers on…don’t remove it in front of others. Once the covers are off, everyone will see how dirty it is from inside. It is stained from the fluids that our bodies emit. It has the scars of the dreams we often visit. It is marked with all the ugly fights we had, but didn’t resolve. Every time we lost faith, the sheet disfigured, is enough to appall. It is all here covered up. So if you take the covers off you will see all the ugliness, all the dirt, the intimacy you don’t want to see lurking behind this beautiful exterior. We have kept this cover for your benefit. So come, stay and leave before its time for us to remove it once again.

The window of life

There is a window we sit at…

Looking for something we don’t know yet

Whatever we see we think this is it

We go on gathering but there is no end to the list

There is a junk yard at the back doors

But we do not stop and seek a little more

No matter what we acquire the flavor doesn’t change

Wealth, love, lust all lead to the same pain.

Dawn to dusk it is the same old story

The window has lived a hundred years waiting for that glory.

My time shall approach when its time

Once more I’ll shed the search in its prime.

I’ll find another window on my return,

If all goes as planned, it is the sight of me I hope to behold.

Reluctant writer- Compulsive thinker

Its a wonder how the old vices are leaving

But I fear the new ones, that might creep in
I know that I have not turned into a saint,
darkness looms large in the pictures I paint
I do try, and I know how much I strive,
anything more from it I do not claim to derive
This journey I have undertaken is not on a road less traveled
To walk on this path for all is preordained
Who came before and who after is not my concern here
I want to keep walking until what is Real is no longer surreal

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