I

I am not me.

I am the search for myself.

A wilderness, a chaos.

I'm the one who made me.

I'm the one who breathes through me.

I'm not the one who lives;

I'm the one who killed me.

Renounce

[I spilled some of me in this poem. Some of the moment.]

Once, I gave my all.

And now they leave me empty.

Not whole, not even an ounce.

All I called mine, drifts away,

And I say I renounce!

...And in this infatuating darkness

of the evanescent moonlight,

I celebrate the birth of light

with the birthpangs of an uncertain dawn.

At this moment

when all ceases to be,

I celebrate my non-existence.

I sing a song.

A song of the midnight sun.

...Still

A faded out meaning

of the ineffable,

still lingers, languidly

in the hollow word,

of language and its translated beauty.

The lost cadence,

of cosmic indulgence,

still slumbers its rhythm

in the echoing depth,

of a man’s consciousness.

The song of eternity,

of infinite life,

though smothered into a groping lullaby,

still renders its remnants,

to the seeking palm

of the hesitant man.

A vague cry

from deep within a man’s chest,

still seeks its echo

in the ancient hallway

of a life-less wisdom,

but alive-

with a fragile vulnerability

of a creator’s pulse.

Cosmic me

in this futility

of the spasms of existence,

some cobwebs,

still unstirred,

support this life of mine,

in their indelible words

of a forgotten wisdom.

the aum-kaar

that spur as the first voice,

of the created universe,

still echoes in my veins,

and arrives in the pupil of my eyes,

as the secret of my being.

in the constant chaos,

of this holocaust that my innerworld is,

as some shooting debris,

my emotions evolve,

and stamp their thunder,

as the pugmarks on the moon.

and the scattering stardust

is the ashes of my long lost

sputtered incarnations

heaving softly,

each time the creator breathes….

Dawn

Light reveals the one,
in its manifold wonders,
in its magnificent hues.

The infatuating darkness,
wraps the various,
in its complete uniformity,
in the infinite surrounding.

The dawn,
with the fusion of two,
gathers faith from its womb,
and manifests the hope,
of one complete wisdom,
unscarred by the
shallowness of knowledge,
illumined by the being of
unattributed purity,
a speechless cadence
of unmeaning words…
in the inkless canvas
of unassumed abstraction…
concretely stamping the thump
…of climactic culmination.



13 Dec 08