At the mouth of two rivers. These feet that have carried me are not aware of the skies above. There is an extra wink in the stars tonight. As if mocking me. Mocking this pain that is a flat line now, infront of me that sometimes takes the shape of a lone mallard.
There is no telling what silence is made of. But I know just this now. What is beating inside me is the sound of my own two wings to fly.
If my happiness at this moment consists largely in reviewing happy memories and expectations, I am but dimly aware of this present. I shall still be dimly aware of the present when the good things that I have been expecting come to pass. For I shall have formed a habit of looking behind and ahead,…
The sky has many layers of blues.
A cross between a girl’s and a boy’s
How innocent is karma ?
My mind is an unmoving needle
drawing a flat line.
The clouds flow slowly
dragging away the causes.
A troy train
filled with silly fluffy animals and horny humans.
It’s the birds that are chasing each other
in the distant sky.
The effects are zero.
I feel nothing.
Just a silly needle with no sense of geometry.
The mist is just right
to be fed into the mouths of the trees.
How many sentient beings must be hungry ?
there is a filled hollowness
in the depths of the mountain cliffs
and it’s the silence that moves
inside the incense smoke
that is insatiable
like a belly
deep in the three worlds.
flowers take up the space within me
to such an extent
so much so that when I walk along the path
inside the flat lands
touching so many wild flowers
i don’t mean to carry so much of their scent with me
I keep reminding myself that they are my
that whispers so many teachings
that I can overlook the weeds that have grown within me
that this ache I feel
compared to the fullness of things
The rain has gone.
It has pulled away my words along with it.
I’m left to dry on a chair
looking at nothing.
My hand has drawn nonsense
on the notebook
of mated lines and circles.
I have ruined many pages.
I have searched
for a nameless self.
it is the least I want
the perfect place I want it to be
the snakes have long faded
this flower in bloom is ready to burst in to thousands of petals
this matter of atoms
who would have thought
is just a crack
within a void
of a cell
inside where galaxies of jewels
mirroring each other
a quilt of patched up colours
of planets and stars
To see a butterfly
taking off from an open flower.
You become it.
Neither the flower nor the butterfly.
You are that moment
that get released from both.
It is unbearable.
You cannot capture the feeling.
Lee Jenkins, senior writer for Sports Illustrated, recently did a feature on NBA star Lamar Odom. Odom’s eccentric and sometimes questionable behavior has been well documented throughout his career, from his fame as a youth basketball star to his marriage to one of the Kardashians. He recently emerged from a drug and alcohol induced coma and is reported to be getting better by the day.
Jenkins sums up his superb feature about the enigmatic Odom by saying: ‘Strip away the size and the handle, the addictions and the demons, and you are left with the sweetest of souls.’
The sweetest of souls. How beautiful. Tender. Peaceful. Content. Loving.
When all of the baggage has been stripped away, the personal story dropped, isn’t this sweet soul at everyone’s core?
Unravel a ball of yarn in search of its center and all you find is emptiness. Likewise, when you unravel…
In the aftermath of the Paris massacre, there has been much public consternation, accompanied by ubiquitous expressions of solidarity. Some have argued that there is deep hypocrisy in lamenting French deaths while ignoring equally gruesome loss of life in other parts of the globe, as in Kenya, Lebanon, Syria, Yemen, Mexico, Palestine, or the United States, where African Americans and other etnic minorities are the victims of pervasive institutional violence and prejudice.
Others observe that our exclusive preoccupation with human suffering is an expression of speciesism, and that the human proclivity for violence cannot be curbed until we stop the animal holocaust that deprives billions of non-human animals of their freedom and lives every single year.
While acknowledging that it is true that most humans tend to care more deeply for those whom we consider “our own”, it is neither fair nor helpful to criticize harshly the concern or solidarity of…
The grass has grown around the stones.
It’s like a marshy land now with only creatures
that come out without being seen.
The only sign that they are there is the sway of the wild leaves
here and there
or an occasional sound calling out to each other.
Maybe it’s a warning that I’m watching them.
If only they know that I still know the path exists underneath,
that it’s familiar like the lines on my palms. Every curve,
This is beauty.
This space to share it with so many
and just let it be, a haven for unbound forms.
Where they go in and out of so many closed doors.
A bird calls out among the trees
and so many answer.
I hold my breath and listen, beginning to walk
among the sounds and sink
between each stop
when they breathe.
If I say I want to dust away the stars
From the sky
And make clusters of pillows
Will your eyes be the same
Looking into mine ?
And if I tell you that it’s not the green
In the leaves
And that they draw me in
When I go too close
Will you continue to smile
Without wavering ?
I may seem like a dislodged space
Between two shapes
And the frills you see
Are not my own
The print is made of thrusting oceans
That have refused to go back
In search of shores
What of my hair ?
It may seem too tame
Inside a knot
But you never see me
Alone by myself
When I free it from confined frames
How they tumble down
And wrap the mountains
You will not find me then
There will be no trace of me
I will walk into it
The door firmly shut behind me
Enter the moonlight
The only thing
That will be with me.
I will not hear any noise
Only the sound of my breath
How the thoughts skip
And it will be me
However much I wash
Would cling on to my skin
The words never stays
They would slip away
The flowers fail to see me
I am a blank
An unsigned space
And when they touch
It’s them I hurt
Their petals will shrivel
Infront of me.
It will always be me then
Alone in this opaque shell
At the center
If you are a butterfly what would be your favourite tree to go and hide yourself in ?
: If I’m a butterfly, I’ll be a foolish one, not to hide but to bask in the shining sun! To sleep, any tree will do and any with flowers will be my favorite ones.
What sort of path would you want to walk upon ? A. a one that leads through a forest B. a one that leads through an open field C. a one that would lead through a rocky mountain D. a quiet street Why ?
: I would love to walk on all four as all of them would provide me what I look for during a walk, solitude. But if I must make a list of preference for seven days of a week with only one option per day it will be ABCDABA. It is because the…