Imperfections

My imperfections are many

So are my possibilities

Memories don't fancy me

Memories are innocent

Like some hot chocolate

It makes me smile

Window shopping is all that I do with it

How amusing is the laughter of a possibility

I keep working

On my imperfections

With my possibilities

I keep listening

To my imperfections

About my possibilities

A Game

If it was only a game, I should have been amused

It is crystal clear, The absurdity of calling it a game

The energy spent, You say for something that does not exist

The search is not a game, Wanting to play is the pain

You repeat the moves that you learnt as to how to play the game

Yet you loose and you still love to call it a game

What happens to my body after my death, You ask and you still call it a game

The speculations about death and reincarnation,

make you a pawn in your so called game

Mind

The mind dreamt of heavens to open
The mind dreamt of the search to end
The mind dreamt to kiss the breasts
The mind dreamt to groan and grin
The mind dreamt to sing in starlight
The mind dreamt of flowers to be picked
The mind dreamt
The mind worked
The mind was never silent
The mind was never supposed to be silent
Silence was not its nature

Time

We wish for the time lost to come again, so that we would not do what we did, we always look back and think , I wish I could have my time back and I would do that or I wouldn't have done that.
We wish for it to come again because we think that every event occurs in a circular pattern/ effect.
We scan all our actions, some take relief in believing that the mistakes were there as lessons, some don't want to change a thing because it helped them learn, but even in those cases they wish the time to come again so that could practice what they learnt.So everyone whatever their approach to life may be, whatever their philosophy may be, have this strong under current of wanting the time to come again.
This demand for cyclic patterns wants us to look young and beautiful for ever and plenty of instances in history where humans have gone to great efforts in preserving their bodies long after they died.
How could thought become eternal? How could time be immortal?Why as existence I allow that? Why do I let time in? Why do I let pain in?

I Need To Know

What is that you want to know; something helps binds,

is that what your mind shouts.

What is that you hear; something that only you say,

is that what your thoughts think.

What is that you reflect; something about soul and the universe,

is that your moment of darkness.

What is that you dream; something that you desire,

is that not your mirage.

What is that that you want to feel; something that you can hide,

is that your perception which can't lie.

Does time know of the shadows that come and go?
Can the mind breach anything that You want?
What are the limitations of a restless spirit?
Who said visions were framed in dreams?

What if truth is a simple physical phenomenon? not a mystery,
or a mystical abstraction,
or a trick, or a talk,
and so how does it come about?
The entire structure threatened by that phenomenon,
and what is that I want?
is there anyway can I allow that question.

Everything I am and who is anymore,

You saw you and through your own,

Aware were you always,

Awake was the only state,

does the SUN go to sleep,

or it lights up an another world to see.

Touch someone and be touched

Touch someone and be touched

A pretty good feeling

To keep you on your toes

Chemistry turns abstract

Impulsive it can be called

Being ridiculous is so simple

It makes you laugh

Like a disobedient child

I say

Get embarrassed

But hey

Touch someone and be touched

The Movement Of A Pause

You know when the mind pauses,

An unsure long pause,

The spirit disturbed,

Is it hungry for something to learn?

Not to inhale hope,

Or a stale experience,

Gratitude is what he teaches worst,

How does God loves his work?

The movement in light,

Brings the lessons alive,

Turns you away for the quiet,

Hey does the sunshine teach a lot to mind?

Treasures touch you

You walk with them

They let tears flow

You let them go

They stay with you

Losing control is nice

Alive is what you feel

Lost are you

The treasure you hold

The vision you live

It Is Not Through But What You Are Left With

To Be Brutally Honest With Your Own Self, You Do Not Require Courage.
Courage Cannot Help You. It Is Not Through THAT that You Reach THERE.
If You Find Your Self In That Strange Situation Of Being Brutally Honest With Your Own Self, Then All You Are Left With Is Courage.

Untouched by you

Untouched by search

Untouched by disguise

Untouched by true lies

Untouched by godly perfection

Untouched by boundaries and blood

Untouched by memories of redemption

Yet and somehow TOUCHED BY LIFE.

You stay there,
Calm and content the eyes sail,
The clarity makes the walk swift,
You found it the hard way,
The choice between what you want from what you need.

You stay there,
The shadow vanish,
As the lights go deep,
They never ever made any sense,
Neither did the lights,
You see something and you never question back.

Nostalgia

With both hands productivity organized,

Unified they understood and clenched "That's it, that's it",

Nostalgia was felt in the mind,

The breath in the lungs.

It was a journey of ideas uniting the importance of each,

Fever in the pit of the stomach,

Instincts in the mind,

The joy BLEW away all kinds of "TIME".

The appetite of life questions you all the time,

Who goes first it shouts,

It has nothing to say or a story to tell,

The total always remaining the complete.

Driftwood

The driftwood rolled up some memory
It thought it needed some for the winter sleep
The hope of living the summer and it could live to be anything it wanted to be
The rains did not matter now
Neither did misfortunes
Pulling itself together it rolled to learn.

It was earth and it knew it had to help itself through the Arctic freeze
Strangers rolled by it and among some who could love it
It was paradise that they seeked as they rolled
The driftwood wanted none of that
All that it wanted was to roll till the sun could smile
Perhaps be a grave with no sign.

Something in it's eye made others to stop a bit
Steal a kiss and roll on
All wanting to achieve their goals
Drifting along for reasons known unknown
And the driftwood rolled up some memory
It thought it needed some for the winter sleep.

Standing still I walked alone.

You did the drill, looked straight out
The walk was your song and the night lighted your path
Never thought and did not bother as you took none along
Perhaps your shadow could walk with you and see your walk through

What could you care of how you were told it to be done
You never picked up the pieces and what came easy
Looked for the reason and its long lost child
Apart from you who else would want you

Your pocket map was always a myth
So now you got lost to find a way
The air filled in the guts to show you your truth
Standing still you walked alone.

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One thing that is certain is that every human being realize at the point of death, that they could have lived alone, that moment there hits you hard with that realization, but you are no longer alive to reap the benefits of that enlightenment, its too late.

You drop dead.

If you do survive death then somehow you are LUCKY.