Shadow

He lies in pain writhing vaguely

Fighting the gripping pain in his stomach,

He the shadow of a society

A civilized society

That lives a dead life.

In the dead of the night

The homeless eyes shrunken deep

Burning like amber

The eyes of a soul neglected.

The tree cries too for him by shedding a few leaves

And, under that tree, he found his way to be free

The wind sings too, a solemn breeze for this man,

Whose life is but the shadow of our ignorance.

Tonight, perhaps tonight will be the last night of him

As the night goes deeper,

Bloodsucking creatures began to climb on him.

The tattered shirt is no more a shirt

But rags worn over a dying body,

That we use to wipe off the dirt of our feet.

A body long forgotten by the living

For they live a materialists civilization.

Thrown on one person, or perhaps more

By cohesive civilized ignorance

He, a loser not. Laziness perhaps a word rusted.

They ‘whys’ of this man’s life is not the question here.

Insignia of our ignorance

The homeless is our shadow of selfishness

Placing our feet along the same route daily

Hardly to our heart this homeless finds his way.

The shadow is dying.

Our shadow is dying.

The homeless
A phantom for us.

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Awakening

Birds chirp, and monkeys chatter
Leaves rustle, and grass dances
As the wind sweeps across
To kiss the falling dewdrops
The sun rises with brilliant golden rays
Bathing dewdrops with utmost worship,
Magnificent colors diversify
And, each color speaks a language.

As each lays on the leaves and grass
The meadow sparkles colorfully
Another painting for another day
Nature speaks in many ways
This hour in the morning 
Just a fraction of the mystery
Of what nature will ever be
And, of what we will ever see.

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Life

life passes by

within a tick,

the rest are but fantasies

in dream.

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Romance

His fingers

Pamper her short hair.

Romantic.

She was shy

With eyes looking down

Hands plucking the grass

Suddenly he stopped.

His eyes focused intently.

He picked the lice

Placed it in his mouth.

His fingers

Pamper her short hair.

Romantic.

Another lice comes by.

Monkeys in love.

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The Idea and the Ideal

Go as far as you may

To the stars high up and earth beneath

In the moon and the sun

In the air and the space

All space filled invisibly, with,
This energy masked by manifestation.
In delusory subjugation we let ourselves down

'Coz, we have lost the key to the heart
The seat of faith, food for soul.

We stumble and stumble

Searching Him far far away

And, we find Him not in our hearts.

Because he who sees through the eyes

See Him not, as the basis of his vision.
In all that is seen and in unseen
In that which is filled and in hollowness
In space beyond the reach of eyes
In the rocks, trees, animals and in humankind
And, between the walls and pillars of many houses
Churches, Temples and Mosques
He lies still engrossed in His own play
And, the dissected mind portrays
Him to be different here, and different there
He is now here, and yet appears as if He is no where!
But, beads that appears separate in a garland
Strung together by a single thread
The thread we hardly see.

The divine invisible is everywhere

But, in creation He speaks His language.
The idea is evident and clear 
The ideal makes it happen.

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Relationship

In my absence that makes time tender

The heart grows fonder.

In my presence that makes time solid

The heart is cut asunder.

Is this my fault?

Perhaps it is not.

Is this your fault?

Perhaps it is not.

Is this our fault?

Perhaps it is not.

Is this God’s fault?

Perhaps it is.

What mystery does this relationship holds?

Ages and till now it remains untold.

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