As Strangers Do...

She told me that we would meet again as strangers, although her shadows would never leave me and her tears would always stay in me and I would be thinking about  her lonely nights. We would meet again, she was certain and that as only strangers.

My eyes remained empty, the throat was dry. Like some frame on the wall with dust on it, I looked at her walking away.

Her walk bought the memories frame by frame, with each step that she took away from me the time slowed down. I saw her so clearly - now, as if I hadn't seen her at all for some years now.

I once heard a morning song, a song of heart, songs that happy people sing, I was romancing her; in love with life and she with me.

I had to leave that evening back home, but her beautiful hair that was pinned back. She looked at me, smiled, an act that told me things would never remain the same. The heart had set itself to go on a journey and I wanted to paint that moment forever. Her eyes were ruthless, she was in love with herself and she wasn't at ease with her past. She was a mind reader and I realized I was one too.

In the sand there I wrote her a love letter, all my hopes held a promise and the sands would hide it from time.

Today the letter read itself to me as if the sands had kept the promise, each word killing me.

A life was traveling back and building a bridge to tell me that there was never ever a time that she came or she left. A face held itself and so did a voice, crossing a street and a flowing floral skirt flirting.

She said she would meet me again as strangers do.

Stiti sunya hai aisa ehsaas hota hai,
Par koi toh isse bhi pechaan raha hai,
Apne aap se alag huun yeh yakeen hota hai,
Phir aapne aap ko dundhe ne mein,
Uss shunya ki stiti se alag hota hoon.

Phir nayee soch leti hai janam
Phir wohi soch hoti hai khatam

Chahatein unn soch mein aati hain nazar,
Unnke puure na hone ka phir lagta hai dar,
Issi dar se ladta hoon,
Aeey zindagi tujhe paane ki, tujhse
Ek hone ki keemat deta hoon.

Iss suniya ki stiti se issliye alag rehta hoon.

The Path

The path remains unknown to all movements completed or incomplete,
Cause, I move from a past to all pasts.
That journey thus remains known and that
it can never tell me
of the path.'

Dream To Dream.

Dream to dream,
there is a time travel machine in my mind.
There is energy available there,
this energy slows the time, or makes
it take quantum jumps.
In my waking state too,
this energy slows down my working time.

I want to do more or get more done,
this being then a process where
how a dream is made,
Dream by dream,
I sleep working in energy channels.
These are
movements within an electrical potential.

I stay awake in my dream - to
interact with the flow of time and the energy that radiates because of that.

All Alone.

The breeze carried the ashes,
they were once thoughts
that wanted to give up and end it all.


The thought,
Of the who of  who I am, cannot stand by itself,
look around...
there is a why round the corner.

A life waits there, in that intelligence of why all alone,
try that, change the contents of the breeze.

Anger.

Not only I, you can see it too that you can work yourself out of your nights.
In abundance of moments, the value of each stroke adds up as I work these seconds of the night.
Anger is what keeps flames burning brightly and when it brings the past and future down the dawn breaks through.
Thus, it's the weapon called anger helps bring a morning that you always worked for.

I lost it
To find it
A game that I indulged in

I lost it again
To find it again
Each day bought me that opportunity, and
I played it, it felt new every-time I indulged,
I liked it
I hated it
I felt it.

It had a story each time
That had to end
Before I slept every night.

I have had choices,
That helped me sleep,
I remembered mostly all my sleep.
Wanting what I wanted,
I was living them.

Voices thus spoke of,
Reflections of my mind,
The rhythm of its body, that
I am in the instinct of my desires, and
I have so much more to do.

Surya Prakash:

The universe has found it's expression in us. An expression flagged by the memory of the part. A part, always seeped in fear. A fear the source of all uncertainty. Uncertainty that changes the texture if my existence. Existence that duplicates itself till the forces subside.

What I will propagate is not me, but a faint echo of self. Like an eruption of that which cannot be contained for long.

All we have is this moment, all we need us the ability to let ho if the moment went by. Then we shall invoke the gods of this body.

Let the purity is want to touch be a reflection into this vessel, a reflection of what is.

I will then mould my castle and out reach my limitations. Arms spread wide everywhere I look.

Yes, life is good.

Raj Shahani:


I give expression to this universe and call it a universe. This expression is flagged in evolution of me.

I have to understand my capacity to feel fear and my capacity to love. If fear and love remain uncertain in me then my texture never expresses this universe. 

What I propagate is, is me alone in my entirety. I am the eruption that which cannot be contained at all.

We have this moment to choose, this moment as it is, is a fact that change is constant. The change that remains constant is how I define my god.

I see no limitations thus as I have had no beginning and no end.

Life IS. Love IS.

TA.

And you too
And you too
.
.
And you too,
What a pleasure.

A Surprise There.

A leaf enters a diary, when,
It has the sting
To last a life time.

YES.

A simple YES to the now, a YES to happening, that one/first YES is contagious. This one YES grows to burst into limitless possibility.

Dumb Fuck.

Truth never comes in opposites, never in marginalization or in fractions. There are changes that keep happening, it remains constant, there are changes hence that are forced or resisted by my desires and my expressions.

As time clicks I keep developing the tangible to interact with the changes that I experience and my desire to maintain a certain way of living. It is time that makes me observe a cyclic and efficient process that exposes my potential to create or be a parasite. Although time exposes through information about non-existence of death and destruction, and because they don't exist, it makes humans want it ever so more and keep thinking of it as a tool to integrate with the existence of universe itself, by comprehending and contemplating destruction.

I understand and am sure that death and destruction does not exist and hence that makes the theory of after-life and reincarnation in its entire permutations and combinations a dumb fuck's theory.

Work To Do.

In the woods I was stopped, there was a job to be completed, people to meet, to fall in love again which I know would come as a question, I had to talk, to cope with endings that are a reminder to me who is always alive, the woods of course would give me one more chance to let me measure love, to move love into light.

The Neurotic.

I had a dream last night, rather had a feeling last night. I was there and it was all I got. It was a school and there were people, ordinary people, talking about food they eat, should eat and how it is that fat comes about at places that doesn’t show in the mirror. There was a movie hall down the corridor. May be it represented an escape door, I don’t know, it was there. I saw a file. I saw me in that file. There it was, for a quick read.
It was a script, with limited role. The best part in the script was about ice creams, the happy part, the rest was about others.
I want to make movies. I want to buy then tickets to my movies. Sit there in dark, watching them and asking me, what do I think.

In The Still Of The Night.

A sky searched,
A circle chased,
A rain came in concealment,
An object called philosophy
Thus required a study.

Chip by chip stones flew,
A night died to become a day,
Execution was thus worshiped,
It could rid boredom to action some.

I dug the earth each hour
To change my shape
A heaven in force waited there
For me to dig, a servant here,
A master there, me.

Lazy bones once and
In me they creaked too,
I then began to
Love the nights and I
Let them burn in my face,
Never obedient. I slept the
Whole day,
Sin hence was some devil,
And I rolled in it too.

'Kill, kill the night,'
The child shouted in all its
Dreams,
'Once and for all take that jump,
So what if it's still the night,
Sing more,' I called out to it,
'For you are required by so many
More.'

Hunger then became the god,
Which the food could never
Put an end to,
A jump would, a thought could,
I took a position and claimed the
Great in the greatness in that
I were born, that
All were born.

The Wrong Guy.

You do everything that THEY want you to do...... and you still remain the wrong guy.

Freedom To Be.

She was what she was,
And there was anger
On her and on me too
In bondage to an action.

If I could see this,
Would I be free?
The anger was the object,
Keeping my freedom away.

The past had to be wiped out,
She would still remain she,
Hence to know
What nurtured the anger was
More important than
Doing away the past.

It had all come down
To estimates I had of me,
It was fear actually
That prevented the
Freedom to be.

Life nurtures appetite. 

Appetite gives strength to self. What is…remains a choice to observe and the problems if any keep remain if desires run dry. Love hence never remains unknown as the poet’s poetry suggest nor it remains a word as the philosophers sing, much less an experience as the seekers of freedom speak. 

Dew drops up the window, they
Live with the rainbows in here.

What should a woman be?
In love with a man,
And the man who knows
only about passion,
And never about love,
and who remains a child
to his mother, and the
woman who knows love remains
The mother to its child.

Desire travels to truth,
and only that,
Questions about life,
Don't exist,
And it's never about if
You know you do better.

I remembered and I
Now wanted to know why
I buried my memory,
What was it that I wanted,
Was it.....
To be a man without words.

It must have been
An escape
From something that was dead
already, or
Something devoid of love,
It must have been something
That I was afraid of.

The mind talked,
And it had to listen,
About past, and how
Can one be born again,
After life had drained out of me.

The thoughts now had to be
followed through,
They couldn't be fought,
They had ended a long time ago.

It felt as if I have
found my way home,
Although alone,
Sleep would come easy,
As would a walk,
If I decided to walk someday back
To what I escaped from.

Just That.

A new breath
Comes in light,
In a situation
of what I take my time
To understand
Of what I gave up.

A face is born
In the pulse and
It trembles,
It asks me
"how do I walk through mud"
I lie down to
Look at my mind.

I melt, I know it can too,
In some time, I feel it,
It feels like a rock,
I call it new hence, this breath,
I learn that a fear loves to
Imagine itself,
To be rational.

Free Will.

Purpose is decided by interpretation of reality and of emotions. The free will, mine hence depends on values that trigger my actions. Working assumptions never help achieve goals that I pursue, thoughts being born thus has to come from awareness which needs me to focus on reality.

It is not something beyond, externally we explore the reality and that always gives us a choice to act upon. I remain thus free in my choice, even those who claim and shout that they are not; remain too, to understand this all one requires is to focus on the value that makes us make a particular choice.

Wake Up!

As it seems so

I am

Just about there
Hanging in
As being sucked
By the noise.

I hear a fear
And then a laughter
Breaks my lips
‘Cause my creation
This fear
Remains mine alone.

I stare,
It stands dumb
The laughter works
And it makes a lot of sense,
It drives the breath wild.

I know where it is
The fear,
All that remains of it
Is a story
Wake up! Wake up!

Strings in the winds,
A wave of freedom lashes,
As always, I now
Remain aware.

This rising thus help
Energies soar,
Reminding me of some indulgences,
I let them go.

More and more fuel adds
To the burning of
 All the so called solutions.

It takes little
Of what I am can offer.

Some habits yet stay back,
The I in them too,

But these strings
In these winds
Burns all remains of
A division so.

A thought remains independent, even
Alone in an event
Its external movements though
Exhibits all its attributes.

Out from the mind and then
In to the mind
A thought travels through
A past and a future,
Each morning brings in a choice
In what not I can do, or.

As night ends
The dark provides the curtains to
sleep through it
Deep, deep in it
All grow who choose
To play as the players should.

Produce, produce and then rest
As energies are available in movements,
Events remaining independent 
And in plenty,
A kiss lasts forever,
That comes from joy
And yet remains alone.

Awareness of self - a journey that triggered troubles processing simple mathematical equations, hence for survival a pathway had to be discovered or forged in to identity.

I opened up to self, self observing starting with breath, to my needs and my feelings, and my expressions thus exposed my emotional states. I confronted threats that would alter my state of being.

Actions stood outside Moral, ethical codes.  Awareness bought in reactions, reactions that needed to be within the social codes of conduct, I hence needed a premise, a premise that would see contradictions in my reactions. A purpose here I understood helped, it created a hunger interacting with actions effectively. 

Anticipation I understood had a frequency. It was sound, it had form, it had shape and it had to be created by me and that needed a pulse. The pulse i.e. I to create anticipation it had to seek. 

To seek would build intents.  The intents forge identity through productivity.

Intents help learning and in developing of skills.
The genetics could build sustain and discard emotions.

DREAM.

We had a dream. 
This one that we saw came true for most around us without an effort.
We had to wait. We had to think for it. We had to work for it. We toiled for it.
We prayed. We traveled, studied a lot, planned and waited, waited endless days, endless nights.

It was this dream and it became precious to us with the patience and love we came to preserve it with.

Now the dream has become a Reality.
We will watch it in its every action – sleep, walk, learn, discover.  We will take time for all of it, slowly see it through and learn from it.

We will express gratitude for the rest of our life. For a dream for which we waited for so long we promise we would never be careless with it.

Myra.

As I watched her sleeping, there was silence and a movement in that silence or the movement of silence itself. Time remained absent for once, although there was movement, but there was no time.