Poem

Fine-Tuning The Fears

Poem

Facing the fears.
[Image by Alexandra Haynak from Pixabay]

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No, not the fear of the ultimate ending

Binds or resides within;

It is the opposing voices cascading,

Confusing, crippling, caricaturing

Us and the peace within.

*

No, not the fear of a sickness

Troubles or tortures the heart;

It is our hopelessness,

A steady bleakness,

And the habitual surrendering of our craft.

*

No, not the fear of failure

Numbs or stuns the mind;

It is the snagging daily battle

Against the monsters of routine life;

Those are treacherous, lazy and anything but kind.

*

No, not the fear of the invisible

Tricks or fools us;

It is our way to define,

Design and create

The heroes, the villains and the fuss.

*

No, not the fear of the word fear

Lurks or creeps today;

It is our forgetfulness that steers…

… And suddenly, in haste one remembers

Fine-tuning life’s fears to Play.

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She, the Infinite

A Poem

She, in red!
[Image by Gil Dekel from Pixabay.]

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For building a house, thought God,

What could be the strongest element to mix

In the foundation so that the house wins over Time?

What could be infinite in nature, powerful and rejuvenating

So that the house nurtures love, peace and joy,

So that the flames of birth and death doesn’t sicken or weaken

This house called the Universe?

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“There is nothing as alive as the feminine part of me,

It is infinite, supreme and divine;

My lovely equilibrium, my alighted spirit,

Fulfil this task, rise-o-infinite!”

-Said God.

*

And so the house called the Universe was built with feminine power at its core.

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Lovely

Poem
Fly my lovely!
[Image by Miguel Á. Padriñán from Pixabay]

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Paper like fresh

Paper like crumpled

Paper like white

Paper like light

Isn’t it lovely to match,

To catch,

Freedom and its rhythm?

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Paper like clouds

Paper like crumpled

Paper like white

Paper like light

Isn’t it lovely to breathe,

To read,

Freedom and its rhythm?

*

Paper like thoughts

Paper like crumpled

Paper like white

Paper like light

Isn’t it lovely to know,

To follow,

Freedom and its rhythm?

*

Paper like paths

Paper like crumpled

Paper like white

Paper like light

Isn’t it lovely to walk,

Towards

Freedom and its rhythm?

*

Paper like you, me

Paper like crumpled

Paper like white

Paper like light

Isn’t it lovely to live,

Immersed in

Freedom and its rhythm?

Isn’t it lovely…?


Listen to Billie Eilish’s Lovely that inspired me to write this poem –


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The Moon’s Job

Our Moon Connection.
[Image by 愚木混株 Cdd20 from Pixabay]

The Moon’s not shy,

Your winking eye

Knows a secret.

*

The Moon’s not singing

Your composition

In a bar.

*

The Moon’s not dreaming

Your lovely dream

In the dream-world.

*

The Moon’s always only listening

To your stories,

Patiently till the end,

Passing messages at times,

Giving hints

To the storyteller

And the painter…

Messages and hints of love…


*

More posts for Moon Lovers –

To The Moon And Back

Moon Colour

Crescent Moon Lights

In Slo-mo Towards the Moon

The Moon is Moving


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Lissome Dream

The gentle, lissome dream.
Image by Dimitri Houtteman from Pixabay.

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Beyond bountiful thoughts of today,

Tomorrow and yesterday,

Lies the gentle, lissome dream…

Bright and blissful that scene,

Distant, imaginary if not seen.

*

Take two drops, without fail, of zeal,

And Sunshine, keep turning the wheel,

Playing the circus game, yet untamed,

To become the dream you dreamed.

*


Why should you keep your Dream Light on forever? Click here to find out.


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Nature

Green magic!
Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay.

Wondrous are the ways of Nature

Capturing, hiding the sun in a leaf,

Revealing it in a colourful belief,

Fruits of absolute joy, a treasure.

*

Giving life to all lives,

Giving shelter to all tribes,

The Nature plays a rhythm divine,

Transforming the woods into a shrine.

*

Nature destroys the apathetic traders;

Blind, unforgiving, hitting with catastrophes,

Listening not to the heavens, the creators,

But to the Time that heals.

*

A dense forest or a tiny plant,

Both are Nature’s marvel;

Her ethereal hands are the mantle

That blesses our lonely planet.

*

Sublime nature!
Image by David Mark from Pixabay.

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God is a Belief

Satchitananda – Existence Consciousness Bliss.
Image by Bessi from Pixabay.

Eyes that can see the divine,

Ears that hear the bliss,

Voices that utter a name –

Allah, Vishnu, Shiva, Jesus

Waheguru, Parvardigar, Eloah, HaShem –

Witness the power that is the same.

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God is one, present everywhere

Like an atom unseen in the air;

Passion for the one supreme,

Searching the pious dream

That every holy book reveals,

Takes us to the ultimate truth and peace.

*

Fine belief this is that we all

Have nurtured since antiquity,

For it unifies, it gives us courage;

Its cursed crusades aren’t a lie

And yet the belief only multiplies;

A believer sees the God inside.

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Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Omniscient

This glorious idea assures the devotee

Of support, of comfort, of being home;

In this grand scheme you’re not alone,

A guide walks by your side – this belief

Shows the seeker an end they hope.

*

The mystical power, that is the universe, listens, call it life force, dark matter or god, it depends on what you believe…
Image by Leonardo Valente from Pixabay.

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The Multitasking Voice Within Learns on the Go

Poem

A machine mind never stops thinking.
[Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay]

The multitasking voice within learns on the go

It hisses, swishes, cheers, jeers and almost always forgets the flow

Running slowly when you are fast and rushing when you are slow

A confidant and conspirator, the voice knows

Nothing that you do not know

*

Castles, ruins, castles, ruins

Building, hiding, building, hiding

Honest and unashamed of it all

When needed, clever as a Jackal

The voice, so ambitious, hates to stall

*

But it obstructs, this friend and foe of ours

Especially if one is not aware of the day or the hour

When quiet, it forgives and forgets

The voice then patiently sits and looks

At us and smiles, waiting for us to calmly turn and smile

*

The multitasking voice within learns on the go

One life, one journey, one flow!

*

“To gain your own voice, forget about having it heard. Become a saint of your own province and your own consciousness.”

Allen Ginsberg

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Amir Khusrau and the Mustard Flowers

Sufi poet and singer, Amir Khusrau (1253 – 1325), famously known as the ‘Voice of India’, was an expert in unifying the mundane with the divine. His poetry presents the mystic in him and the mystical world around him.

Reading his verses, seeing through his eyes, one gets a chance to experience the transcendental self.

Here is one of his most famous poems on Basant (spring) –

सकल बन फूल रही सरसों।  

बन बिन फूल रही सरसों।।

अंबवा फूटे, टेसू फूले

कोयल बोले डार-डार

और गोरी करत सिंगार

मलनियां गेंदवा ले आईं कर सो।  

सकल बन फूल रही सरसों।।

*

तरह तरह के फूल खिलाए

ले गेंदवा हाथन में आए

निज़ामुद्दीन के दरवज्जे पर

आवन कह गए आशिक रंग

और बीत गए बरसों।

सकल बन फूल रही सरसों।। 

Mustard flowers blooming in glory.
Image – Pixabay.

Literal translation –

The yellow mustard flower is blooming in every field,

Not a forest, yet like a forest of mustard flowers.

Mango buds are clicking open, and other flowers are blooming too;

The Cuckoo bird chirps from branch to branch,

And the maiden does her make-up,

The gardener-girl has brought marigolds.

The yellow mustard flower is blooming in every field.

*

Colourful flowers bloom everywhere,

With marigolds in hand,

Waiting at Nizamuddin’s door

For the beloved who had promised to come

In spring, but hasn’t turned up – it has been many years since.

The yellow mustard flower is blooming in every field.

*

A burst of yellow joy.
Image – Pixabay.

My Take –

The delicate mustard plants are ruling the world and the forests are shying away from their glory, what a splendour, a burst of yellow joy this is.

Seeing the blossoms, the cuckoo bird begins singing, its melody though familiar, fills every heart with delight.

And with a delighted heart one beautiful young girl is dressing up, she is hopeful.

And the gardener-girl has brought marigolds for joy has chosen a ‘colour’ and it is yellow, the yellow of the delicate mustard flowers.

Myriad coloured flowers everywhere and marigolds in hand, I am waiting as promised at Nizamudin’s door for the colours of love, waiting here since ages.

And the delicate mustard plants are ruling the world. It is spring.

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The Sufi Touch –

In love, the whole world appears to be one with us, in this state of ecstasy every atom resonates with us and here ‘mustard plants ruling the world’ is a metaphor for it.

Further, the blooming flowers, the singing bird, the beautiful young girl, the gardener-girl and marigold enhance this feeling, this thought.

Then at the great Sufi saint Nizamuddin Auliya’s door, one awaits, with marigolds in hand and yellow lustre all around waits for the beloved for years and years.

Here, the poem transcends from the transient to the eternal, from passionate love to soulful love.

It becomes then about the devotee waiting for the supreme light, for the union with the ultimate soul, waiting with flowers in hand, forever in joy, waiting to attain absolute bliss.

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This Sufi poem/ song has been performed by classical/ folk singers all over India and other Hindi/Urdu speaking countries.

Check out the powerful performance by Rizwan and Muazzam Ali Khan –


Also, read my post Dama Dam Mast Qalandar to get enthralled by another soulful Sufi song.


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कलाकार/ Artist

The wheel is spinning.
Image – Pixabay.

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सोमवार को दी एक पुकार

की जल्दी में क्यों हो सरकार

आना भी है, आकर जाना भी है….   

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मिटटी गुंधे जो बैठा है कुम्हार

जशन से टशन से घुमाएगा पहिया वो

आदर और अदब से फूंकेगा वो

जब जान, तब बनेगा एक घड़ा जो

जल से भरेगा, तरेगा, करेगा शोर

की जल्दी में कयों हो सरकार

समय से कब बंधा है कलाकार?  

Translation –  Artist  

I spoke to Monday once

That why was it in such a hurry

To come and in a hurry to go…  

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The potter who has kneaded the soil

Will spin the wheel in his style

Carefully and respectfully he will instill

A life force and the soil will take the shape of a vessel.

In usage this vessel will make some noise and ask

That why is time in such a hurry,

When it can never bind an artist’s creativity?

*


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