Closer

She looked into the rear-view mirror to see her parents, leagues away from talking terms and smiled a faint smile.
It said, “Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.”.

Such am I

Vitreous I seem, dazzling truth,
a veil of lucidity hiding the darkness within,
thoughts so vice, yet honeyed words.
Oh Lord, keep the veil intact,
shelter my innocent words.
Such am I, Oh great giver,
virtues and the vice.
.
Resentments I hold, weigh me down,
strange silence surrounds me,
By refraining the materialization,
thoughts never died, grudges never melted.
deep within, I stayed absorbed,
the great ‘Naad’ is still unheard.
Such am I, Oh great giver,
the inflamed statue.
.
Everywhere in the known world,
sometimes into the absurd,
empowered by riches my search continued,
found the doors closed, ahead I moved.
I wandered till my feet became a map.
Oh Lord, You still are the unknown.
Such am I, Oh great giver,
virtues and the vice,
Judge me.

Anhad Naad , Sanskrit origin, it means “primordial sound”.
Inspired by ‘Japji Sahib’  n ‘Eho Hamara Jeevna’.

Dreams

The fabric of dreams
binds flesh to bones,
entangles a seed to a womb,
guides a bird’s flight,
weaves an inescapable web,
the one we call time.
.
The fabric of dreams
holds planets in orbits,
makes the ever shining sun,
pierce through every known star,
makes a garland we call Universe.

I feel alive

I feel alive when death offers her hand, a dive into the void.
I feel alive while clenching my fist it sweats on the insides.
I feel alive when my truths find some concerned yet fearful lips.
I feel alive when a rifle butt stamps ‘traitor’ on my back.
I feel alive because no-one suppresses the dead.
I feel alive when I see my blood fights the grayness of soil.
I feel alive because one-day every tree will grow read leaves.

In the Midst of a battle ~ Kelsier

I saw weakness.
A feeble hero,
his fragile dreams.
With every blow,
he fell, tasted dirt,
befriended death.

How to Focus? Or How not to Focus?

“When growing up everyone of us have been told to concentrate while no one has ever been formaly tought how to do it.”

– A friend of mine told me once but i’m pretty sure it’s not his original.

Much before.

Much before we spoke,
trees talked with winds.
Dried leaves fell on roads,
stepped upon, they talk,
Was it always a monolog?
.
Much before the Clocks,
time wheeled the same,
it saw, felt, remembered,
and webbed an endless yarn.
Did time imagine reality?
Are we a fairy tale?

At times

So close
buried into my chest
yet so distant.
Waging a war,
against me,
for me.
Me!!
There is no me,
not within me,
in you there is.
In me,
it’s all you.

Buried dreams

A desert it was,
where I buried my dreams,
some mine some borrowed,
a passerby told me,
it’s now a forest.