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.

Time and Again

Its strange to pack again

to leave this place
before it got old again
To go through this and that
is not easy you know
when you gather what you had
to avoid the apparent show

so suddenly you move on
its not easy every time
but you have it and its gone
it was never yours
though you were always mine

so no point in holding tight
it will still lose your grip
its certainly a futile fight
coz you are right
if you feel alright
coz thats what its all about -
the difference between vision and sight

the nerves are slit open
and the sweat is on my palms
calmly I stay un broken
while the new changes turn on

walking past the future
this time has come about
without your thoughts for sure
I wouldn't have done this route

so you are all right
as long as you see the sight
coz that's what its all about -
this day is different from the night

I wonder if anybody knows
where the world goes
when you close you eyes

is it still around you
or its neither earth nor skies?
but just a rapid change to an end

smile
its still the beginning my friend
from here we receive and send

Shanti

Of course there is a method to madness.
One has to be mad indeed to understand this method.
However, madness by its virtue is resistant to adopting 'any' method.
This then is the method to madness.

Every individual is unique.
How could he not be? How could she not be?
The thoughts and the worlds and the creations and the madness are all mine.
And they are all yours too.
These ideas have always been ours and no one can claim the creative rights.
However, everyone can claim whatever they want for themselves.
There is infinite from where it all came from.

Why be afraid?
Whats there to lose?
There is everything to gain and you will still not have it all.

This moment is special.

I will leave it at that
I will leave it to you.
Peace.

Whens your time?

When you are tired of fighting
you speak up to the thoughts
and you wake up with them
as thoughtless as you’ve been

You caress the past
while a dream spills a future
as you sit still in two days
the next moment comes too fast

You try to hold
for a while some more
of the smiles in your eyes
they grow larger many folds

your silence means some things
your time is some sort of a skin
and your ideas flap its wings
you have some action with in

There’s nothing there
to search no more
but its taking me
to a moment before

Uncertain certainty
she painted its flow
in a mercurial zoo
that wasted some how

The roads up
round about the sounds
of the guitar strings
that left your grounds

waiting to re pair
from dismal despair
shines another scene
I think it is some where here
that I have been


moving on from
here to there
your thoughts resolve
to a town some where

tomorrow try to lure
the same moment before
captured in your tears
the decade approaching near

different people same mind
the conversations we left behind
but yesterday is an other thing
if you say you saw what lies within?