When we are in pure communion with our soul, that’s when magic happens, that’s when there’s nothing like ‘doing’, when things just happen in a natural flow… that’s when poetry starts pouring out of the soul… when we are deeply connected inside or very ecstatic in some moment… that inner connection becomes alive….
I have many such moments when poetry just flows… magically… without any effort… it’s the language of the soul…
Magical connect
Channelling to me is like a magical connect,
which sparks inner light and stirs the soul.
a communion.
a dance.
a flow.
a reverberation…
a sea of thoughts & experiences,
a journey, a revelation…
a window to our mind.
ah, purity sublime…
channeling unfolds the unknown
and makes magic in the known.
Love
Love is the beginning of
complete self compatibility
Complete self completeness
Love is yore, love is allure
Love is addiction, love is pure
Love is food, love is water
Love is filling, love is fodder
Love is book, love is home
Love is socks, love is rome
Whichever way I go,
whatever route I take,
Love thus I see and
find in all shapes n makes…
Love is a spectacle,
love is in the ‘beyond’
love is pure magic
which makes me respond
love to you and love to me
as love is my best expression
of my core within
love for me is ecstasy
love for me is soul
love for me is beingness
love for me is explore
love is not a mirage
love is not a soliloquy
love is there in all of ‘me’
love is my whole
love my completeness
love is my soul
the oneness…
the rhapsody…
the addiction..
that I have with love
makes me my own self love
the source. the object.
the giver. the taker
all at one. all one.
Who are we?
an enigma…
a line…
a dot…
or a shine?
Who are we?
a sum total of our illusions…
or the choices of our delusions…
a window to our mind…
an absentia…
a presence…
or total blind…
Who are we?
energy…
or mind…
body…
or spirit sublime…
a lung…
a heart
an organ…
a gland.
or an invisible cast…
the ‘hold’
or the holder…
inane
or a super natural plast…
Who are we?
the question perpetual.
Who are we?
question which shows ‘void’.
Who are we?
the question itself, a void.
filling, is but our indulgence.
to live our mind
to play our mind
we locked our ‘self’
we chose to forget.
The ‘self’ is.
we chose sleep.
the reverie we love…
but enough we have seen
and lots we have been.
the inner self beckons.
the sound of beyond…
we hear but neglect,
we respond some,
then again forget.
the waking, the reverie.
the ebb and the tide.
we lesser mortals,
ignorant of our shine.
some of us have woken,
we can’t lie now…
we hear the silence,
we know the flow,
we know that space,
where death doth not show.
From darkness to Light, I Awaken
Sordid I am,
From a woken sleep.
Merry-go-round,
drunken mind bound,
Oh I was.
My own shackle, my own hound.
Apocalypse my own,
I was so so torn;
Mercy! mercy!
I am reborn…
My seething anger,
A formidable razor.
My wounds acronyms,
Of the past crater.
Abyss, abyss-fissures of pus,
no pain much greater….
A home bird,
Who lost,
His nest and wings.
Who fled and bled…
found this grim land
To make it’s stand…
Beguiled as a worker,
In the garb of a lie.
I took the first wagon,
To save my life.
Not trusting anybody,
Hatred deep within…
I took the first job,
From scratch, to begin.
Bourgeoisie of a past,
Now a proletarian plast…
Ruined and wrecked,
I then cried within.
I fretted and fumed,
Cursed ‘em with gloom.
I loathed my akin,
Saw ‘em workers as sin.
but
The illness, the reverie….
Broke my lens.
oh my poor vision,
you finally cleanse…
fever so high,
numbness multifold…
no strength to stand,
I was in a dark hole.
Given-up,
about to die…
A fellow being, helped me
learn to fly.
I awaken,
I rejoice…
I embrace life,
with conscious choice.
Merely to breathe,
or to hear a fellow voice
is a pleasure immense,
full of joy.
I go for a walk
by the river flowing,
Enjoying my journey
with a new light glowing.
I let the river wash,
all my poison and anger…
All beauty unfolds
as am stronger in my anchor.