Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
In depths of all souls,
All talks remain incomplete.
--------------------------
Once upon a time (that is how all stories start) there was a man. He loved to dream. He would dream as if he never had to wake up ever again. He had to wake up for life demands few actions. So upon fulfilling those duties that life demanded he used to go back to his love of dreaming.
The places he visited there were beautiful, the bridges he built were master pieces. He was the creator of an entire universe.
Once in such creation he felt a nudge, a pull, a pull that ended his dream. Upon waking up he saw he had sweated profusely and in that unearthly hour of cold, the body had misbehaved.
-------------------------
The body wet and feeling strange did for sometime have some fresh breaths.
This wasn't something that man would leave it alone. He knew of a weep that he had in some of his dreams and he knew of joy in others that he keep.
A dream has to dream.
It has to have a sword.
It cannot be chased away. The dream could make him convert all his pain to his joy.
The pull then was the dream. The stone in his heart was a clay for he knew as he did breathe easy on waking up. That was the hope he smiled.
He needed help for once now outside of his dream. The nudge now never would subside till he allowed this mystic fire to burn.
---------------------------------
Then he thought he should sleep instead of dream. He could let the love in wilderness for some days. The walk in the evening was in a deep forest. There an earth worm ruled. The earth worm was no ordinary worm. It was brown and it's head blue. What brings you here, it asked the man. The man spoke to the wind and he was fine so what he had heard a worm talk.
He had in his dreams spoken to all. He knew the languages well.
He spoke about the last night.
He asked about what was the sign, the pull had made him a handicap.
He no longer wanted the wealth and would block its love even if it meant he would have to burn in hell.
Laughed the worm at the vanity of its guest. It had thought high of man. Man it thought was closest to God.
What and why had God abandoned this man?
It then asked the man to listen; it had a story to tell. It would help nothing and everything. The story was about a dream within a dream. Now listen well.
--------------------------------
Once upon a time there was a poet blind. He sang a song all day long, he sang it on the graves he wept:
Why is that it is the Joy that only multiplies?
Inner secrets are the key,
Pass the image, move further in,
The image imagines a beauty if
you do,
The beauty grants life,
It is like a spell,
But it is not,
May be a kiss,
Sometimes obscene,
And it multiplies,
Why does it multiply?
-------------------------------------
The poet blind had studied the wisdom of all markets well. He was son of a trader great. His childhood and his youth spent in streets where traders of pride and reputation dealt. Off late the rulers had feared the traders and thought of markets as a disease.
The streets changed as the rulers kept digging their nose driving all foreigners out. Corruption grew and traders weak. The poet who could see went blind. He was hence called the poet blind. He lost his father who fought the rulers well. He now called all markets graves. It is in the market he sang the song of Joy.
..............
A mad man once came to know of this poet blind. The fame of this pure heart spread wide. The mad man was also a doctor and he sang the song of this poet blind.
He travelled a distance great. The sun's bright rays and the cool of the moon guided this man to see his soul.
You have an eye and I'm a doctor so why do you call yourself blind? said the mad on meeting the blind.
Yes, the love and the honor of the streets of this market which have suffered a blow has left me blind. I now sing my song and one day would walk away. The love still holds me here for few good men still exist here.
The mad understood about love and learnt how to trade when alone with himself from the one who was blind.
It was traveling of the mind within the mind. He knew now desired to be keen and the one who he came to cure, he was himself in a spell.
About existence and how body transforms to life he understood as he was made to understand how bread transforms to flesh.
The secrets were clear and this was a market that dealt life and death. He weeped and he then laughed out loud. He bid the blind good bye.
................
All talks remain incomplete.
--------------------------
Once upon a time (that is how all stories start) there was a man. He loved to dream. He would dream as if he never had to wake up ever again. He had to wake up for life demands few actions. So upon fulfilling those duties that life demanded he used to go back to his love of dreaming.
The places he visited there were beautiful, the bridges he built were master pieces. He was the creator of an entire universe.
Once in such creation he felt a nudge, a pull, a pull that ended his dream. Upon waking up he saw he had sweated profusely and in that unearthly hour of cold, the body had misbehaved.
-------------------------
The body wet and feeling strange did for sometime have some fresh breaths.
This wasn't something that man would leave it alone. He knew of a weep that he had in some of his dreams and he knew of joy in others that he keep.
A dream has to dream.
It has to have a sword.
It cannot be chased away. The dream could make him convert all his pain to his joy.
The pull then was the dream. The stone in his heart was a clay for he knew as he did breathe easy on waking up. That was the hope he smiled.
He needed help for once now outside of his dream. The nudge now never would subside till he allowed this mystic fire to burn.
---------------------------------
Then he thought he should sleep instead of dream. He could let the love in wilderness for some days. The walk in the evening was in a deep forest. There an earth worm ruled. The earth worm was no ordinary worm. It was brown and it's head blue. What brings you here, it asked the man. The man spoke to the wind and he was fine so what he had heard a worm talk.
He had in his dreams spoken to all. He knew the languages well.
He spoke about the last night.
He asked about what was the sign, the pull had made him a handicap.
He no longer wanted the wealth and would block its love even if it meant he would have to burn in hell.
Laughed the worm at the vanity of its guest. It had thought high of man. Man it thought was closest to God.
What and why had God abandoned this man?
It then asked the man to listen; it had a story to tell. It would help nothing and everything. The story was about a dream within a dream. Now listen well.
--------------------------------
Once upon a time there was a poet blind. He sang a song all day long, he sang it on the graves he wept:
Why is that it is the Joy that only multiplies?
Inner secrets are the key,
Pass the image, move further in,
The image imagines a beauty if
you do,
The beauty grants life,
It is like a spell,
But it is not,
May be a kiss,
Sometimes obscene,
And it multiplies,
Why does it multiply?
-------------------------------------
The poet blind had studied the wisdom of all markets well. He was son of a trader great. His childhood and his youth spent in streets where traders of pride and reputation dealt. Off late the rulers had feared the traders and thought of markets as a disease.
The streets changed as the rulers kept digging their nose driving all foreigners out. Corruption grew and traders weak. The poet who could see went blind. He was hence called the poet blind. He lost his father who fought the rulers well. He now called all markets graves. It is in the market he sang the song of Joy.
..............
A mad man once came to know of this poet blind. The fame of this pure heart spread wide. The mad man was also a doctor and he sang the song of this poet blind.
He travelled a distance great. The sun's bright rays and the cool of the moon guided this man to see his soul.
You have an eye and I'm a doctor so why do you call yourself blind? said the mad on meeting the blind.
Yes, the love and the honor of the streets of this market which have suffered a blow has left me blind. I now sing my song and one day would walk away. The love still holds me here for few good men still exist here.
The mad understood about love and learnt how to trade when alone with himself from the one who was blind.
It was traveling of the mind within the mind. He knew now desired to be keen and the one who he came to cure, he was himself in a spell.
About existence and how body transforms to life he understood as he was made to understand how bread transforms to flesh.
The secrets were clear and this was a market that dealt life and death. He weeped and he then laughed out loud. He bid the blind good bye.
................
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Abandon the thoughts that
remain strangers
For the ground I stand on remains very visible
Love and it's attraction
are generous here where I stand.
Set the eyes on day and
Spare the valley left behind,
Do it daily, there is a need that
needs you today,
Return in dreams to the ground
that you find expands.
See the dust waits and
ready to fulfill all my needs,
Wings would grow too,
Yes they have to,
It waits till I become certain
Of the ground I stand.
Abandon the thoughts that
remain strangers to you.
remain strangers
For the ground I stand on remains very visible
Love and it's attraction
are generous here where I stand.
Set the eyes on day and
Spare the valley left behind,
Do it daily, there is a need that
needs you today,
Return in dreams to the ground
that you find expands.
See the dust waits and
ready to fulfill all my needs,
Wings would grow too,
Yes they have to,
It waits till I become certain
Of the ground I stand.
Abandon the thoughts that
remain strangers to you.
Friday, November 18, 2011
The beauties stripped in healing and listening,
I shared my bit,
Pain came from outside, feelings and questions were
the roses with thorns.
Roses, why did the you look for it,
The eyes never said anything of it, may be
Your friends must have taken care,
To make you suffer and make you ill.
Do you see?
Seeing is not seeing, if you
still feel a pull,
Would you let it live or go
blind to the urge.
Going blind to the pull might make
The heart cold.
I shared my bit,
Pain came from outside, feelings and questions were
the roses with thorns.
Roses, why did the you look for it,
The eyes never said anything of it, may be
Your friends must have taken care,
To make you suffer and make you ill.
Do you see?
Seeing is not seeing, if you
still feel a pull,
Would you let it live or go
blind to the urge.
Going blind to the pull might make
The heart cold.
Sleep will bring an aide,
Aide or magic,
May be a day, but
where did so many stars
disappear.
One thing leads to another,
A thing cannot lack that,
It demands action, it
can never run out of it,
The source leads to source.
Eclipses hide the sun or
The moon, the eyes,
the greatest of treasure to me see a hand trapped in a movement,
To something new.
Aide or magic,
May be a day, but
where did so many stars
disappear.
One thing leads to another,
A thing cannot lack that,
It demands action, it
can never run out of it,
The source leads to source.
Eclipses hide the sun or
The moon, the eyes,
the greatest of treasure to me see a hand trapped in a movement,
To something new.