Soul poem IV..........the Brahman...is dead

Love ..is a faint voice...

almost like a child..

in womb....mostly felt and 

mostly unseen  

yet filling the existence 

of a woman.....and of a man, is unknown

yet ..as of now ..

the search is on 

for the cosmos and the feminine...

Time...moves

in leaps ....over the mountains..

sometimes as clouds...sometimes as thick fog

time is truth..they say..

and truth is space...they say

but space is every where..

inside you ..inside me

yet...as of now

the search is on

for the space....where truth is spoken...here and now.

The Brahman 

is dead...so are the sacred threads

and the beads

and the chants

and all the strings....

attached and those devoid...
can be consumed...by yellow and red  and blue .. flames
yet as of now,
the search is on ...
for the fire ...for the sublimation 
of existence

The Brahman....

is dead....the cosmic recluse 

is .... everywhere indeed...

birth never created  him

 death cant  undo her......Dance.....my love

in insane ..sanity

Drink.......my zoya

all the sorrows ....
of all the lives...

and sing ..

in your own voice

your own song 

..in your own way..

liberation..is here...and now
yet as of now..the search is on ...
for ....a lullaby

the phrase 'Brahman is interchangeably used here to denote the birth ..in a caste.....and as in 'the self -Atman'. Unless the birth order dies ,,,the 'other order' does not emerge .....the other 'order' is a spiritual path if one may say so...for no one knows what liberation means....to the liberated....and the liberated..can only say so in comparison to his or her erstwhile state. This is the last of the soul poems series... my dialogue with Zoya continues...as love , as the feminine, and as life itself ,
SHE ...fails to wither away...and I m not a  whiner.

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GABO..............and .....me

It is ... unimaginable

Gabo is dead.... or aleast the world says so

R I P. Gabo . they say...or atleast they  think so...

 I dont know Gabo....I know "Garcia" ....

I know ...one hundred years of solitude... ended flat in 24 hrs with four packs of navy cut....and the learning began...and life opened up ... in layers....

Be true .. he said .. to me.. in meditative trance....in love ...

Feel free to tell it... to the ones you love....

feel no shame to fall in love and feel no shame when you fall out of it....

all you need to be is true...

Life is a magic ....he said.....

some of it is lived.....but most of it is not even experienced..

live ..as though its real.. live as though its magic

Between Magical realness and real magic somewhere he said 

is the child... in you...

Don't let it die...

Nothing was left unobserved by him ...love... life... wars.. dreams...

'they didn't even bother to close his eyes'' he said...

poignant ...humane...Che was never more revered

If  freedom was pain .... if life was a  indeed real .....if liberation was a dream .. 

if tango was a  dance ......and relationships were lived ......if I would be born all over  again  and even if it were to be with a pig tail ..I would  find the solitude again.....Those ... 24 hrs....were cut for.. this very  God...

in many ways .. at many times....life imitates.....Garcia...

and now he they say

he is dead..

it just sucks...

this death......its all over the place...

and for once..

appears real

Drone

a million drones 

move in unison - the toad

weeps in ecstacy

For Haiku heights 

April Challenge : Drone

toad- the entity, drone movement- movment in the pranic sphere some times heard as a loud hum,weep in ecstacy - bliss

Candle

molten wax runs 

to earth-the cup spills

tranquility

Written for Haiku heights 

prompt : Candle 

then candle here is the seeker...the molten wax is the seeker ... the cup is the seeker.... tranquility is the thing that is saught

Butterfly

the winged monk

rests - a barren tree

smiles miles away

written for haiku heights 

April heights : Butterfly

Butterflies appear as monks with wings ... signifying the ever regenerative potential of nature and the essential transient ness of the material world ... Chaos is integral to a poets sustenance..he practically feeds on nothing else  

Ascent

last night 

the sea was rough

waves heaved

written for Haiku heights 

Prompt: Ascent

fortitude

high way crossing

toads wipe brow sweat.

they hop to live

written for haiku heights

the toad... a recurring character in my lines...are just me. ...and may be some of you..we as humans are as ordinary as a simple toad... and yet as complex as an amphibian....like humans toads ...also need to cross roads...and they are afraid when they do so ..and life is all about crossing roads...of choices we make and dont make..some live to tell... and are called fortitudinous..many Brave ones are silent...

Cacophony

many lives 

souls yearn - urbane

cacophony

written for haiky heights 

Blogging has come to define what I am ... urban, discordant, yearning for meaningful moments .. in which the souls makes tea...and.. has time to smell the aroma before being sipped gently......I live many lives , by the hour .. and  yet.....sometimes .... by the minute....zoya smiles 

origami

a sheet of paper

folded in infinite ways

children on the swing

for haiku heights

the mixed emotions.. the matter of the fact types... manifested by the so called real world...and the not so matter of the fact types.. seen manifested in moments ..by children on the swing.

The song of Anjaan Peer....dance of death

On the Steps ... of life 

I seem to remember some things 

of the past ...of the present and 

of the future....

My eyes are red...

just as were ..of the man 

in front of me..as I watch...

a swarm of flies

Look around ... its the place of dead

I say.. you've arrived..

dog brothers play with the child

and the boy does a somersault

for a dime...

the dead sleeps

the river flows...a mile away

and then it takes along with her

ashes....but memories stay

of the priest in warm cloths

of the many dead in queue

of the shaven heads

beaten breasts... the pyre 

 and ..longing lives 

back home

but then they speak of the dead

his life .. his deeds...

some say he was sane... some wise 

and some are in silence ...

grief is rare...pity the  life

and its play

the dead is deaf and the dead is indeed blind

The dead is numb and the dead is cold

how does it then matter...if the flowers are 

jasmine......or.. .marigold.

what a shame... 

life is .......at death..

wretched air....

carries all the soot 

and so she sobs for all things lost

under the veil

I cant see well

but am sure of her heart

and her eyes .... red
in tears...she beholds
a future unseen

sugar

crystal mist splashed 

across still sky- in sleep

a baby toad smiles 

sugar .. crystal....smile in sleep....a sweet dream....a baby... innocence.. toad...you...sky..all that is yours in stillness

written for haiku heights 

Red

Red were his eyes

and so are hers now- Love

agape a torrent

written for haiku heights

warm hugs

Warm hugs to  friends on Haiku Heights

and Indiblogger

today my blog almost exclusively made of poems

has crossed 4000 visits !!

as I note .....4000 visits is nothing in blogging terms.....but 99% of them for haiku!!!.... is something to cheer.

pride

the lone toad drops

his ego - waves get to

infinity

infinity
waits till blooms wither
like seed !like seed!

written for haiku heights 

rescue

Two takes on ' rescue"

take 1

Rocks up the creek

never get bored: Waves

often say hi

take 2

Loneliness stalks 

solitude ; voices  

seek wings to flap

Written for Haiku heights

dusk

Wandering pup

wanes on  to the dusk

brothers wails lost

written for haiku heights

Death

The bean

split well- Ah !

the aroma

Written for Haiku heights

Snow

 birds hold breath as
 a lone soul cracks mystic-frost. 

winter feigns, again

written for Haiku heights

wish

shadows at noon calm 

as  kites cut loose,yearn

for  hearths  of life 

written for haiku heights 

pain

Cosmic thorn ...breaches self

and cries - in her touch 

a lullaby is born 

For haiku heights