May 16, 2008

Instant Gratification

It was the dead past
re casted into dreams
packed and sold
as brand new things

surprisingly old
un replaceable thoughts
were ideas and imaginations
of visions that we'd sought

blue and true to
a drifting soul
the thoughts re capture
a fleeting goal

slipping away
on thinning ice
the surface is cool
in slight disguise

before the door
opens no more
The bird flies away
into recurring shores

We wish they were here
who are here no more
but before they speak
we leave the icy floor

somewhere perched
up and above
the blue bird sings
the songs of the dove

freedom on its mind
its virtual wings rewind
to a time that was gone
but was hardly left behind

we are never really lost
we are always on a quest
you will learn if you listen
at times silence is best


Innocent wars

Except
that is not this
and
this is not that.

The questions survived the tests of terror and the questions remained floating in the air of oblivious disguise forever.
The pretence of the relative blood was getting warmer by the years.
The words on the pages were making new sense everyday.
In every way our minds are growing and our souls are reaching out to ourselves through people, thoughts, and plays.

A wonderful painting is the result of the feeling in your fingers. If you have the feeling of the thickness of the ink in your brush, the painting is already there before you paint. When you dip your brush into the ink you already know the result of your drawing, or else you cannot paint. So before you do something, "being" is there, the result is there. Even though you look as if you were sitting quietly, all your activity, past and present, is included, and the result of your sitting is also already there. - D.T. Suzuki

So much in a name.
So much in a series of letters, words and syntax.
So much in a signature and on a screen.

Infinity had simply shied away to the depths of sincerity.
The awareness of a rock pressed hard against a headache was mounting like a fountain frying through the shadows of duplicate hells.

The schizophrenic who went to heaven freaked out coz he hallucinated that the angels were demons with lightening in their bites and chaos in their voice.
Needless to say that he was in deep hell!

Water is thinner than blood, but blood is made of water.
Water wipes the fire off the first lethal pain that was suffered by the martyrs who died in somewhat vain by the blade of an eagles beak.
Bound by the stone, again and again, the egos of history rave and rage till the wonderful caricatures begin to play mayhem in the subtle silence of such mental caves.

The darkness is always a picture of mystery, a canvas of possibility, a fertile ground for bright creativity.

Through thick and thin everything was in place but the next moment made a slight change and the place was rearranged
yet again.
Believe it to be an idea granted from above the surface of the bottomless pit where demons and gods play whose line is it anyway?

Riding through the desolate landscape of Texas a thought comes to any lazy mind in a car. What do these cows think when they graze the grass on the other side of the fence? Colorblind as they are, do they care or are they just too nonchalant by nature?
Is it so desperately cool to be bovine?

The next item on the dish was a steak and some peanut sauce.

How wonderful is the sky when it reveals to the eyes a minuteness so beyond description that silence alone - that too the pin drop kind - can describe with elegance the inverted depth of truth.

A smiling cloud looked beneath.
Light was its soul and heavy were its days.
The rain and the storm played and danced like the siblings of a shy couple who had never known pain.

If an evening disappears like this I will fade along with you.