Neon Lights and Moonshine

               
                Black shadows were closing on my eyes, deep and quick.

                A pace away the dogs screamed in agony.

                So loathsome and fierce were they, gnawing away all the reason they had.

                And they called my name and answered every echo of mine.

                For I was their game and I had lost, conquered so meek.

                I was the heir to an invisible form of heroism and intelligence, 

                 Not valued by the dollar, or the stony paper.

                 The lyrics played a hundred times, telling of warped truths.

                 Which road among the yellow woods has my smile hastened to?

                 .Never to return again as way leads on to way.

                  If life was a reflection of pure creation, then it has been lost in space,
                  their sun stolen.

                  Pandora’s box would never have been opened, and the kites would

                  never have been snapped from their lofty lairs.

                  It doesn’t feel all right, as if peering through countless veils at the light.

                  A perfect world cluttered with silver spoons, blunt spoons,
                  rusted spoons and no spoons.

                  Those chasing at ideas and running to the ends of the world to
                  finally catch nothing,

                 And those who sit by the rocks and embrace all that is around, 

                 then the last of all who are lost in the count and measure of all that is.

                 A democracy built with imprisoned men, and ‘freedom’,
                 another word thrown around.

                 Walls blocking every path , every line that divided anything and
                 all the amnesty ever deprived.

                 I will still look, for there are these holes where light steals in.

                And find a road that will see me through.

TWINS PARADOX

Drops of water leap into the salty air mixing with the wind to weave into floating ripples. The blockade of stones raise the columns and the drops ascend up, up and above. The stony crabs take refuge among the array of rocks strewn along the coast.

There is some effulgence and grandeur about the sea which evokes emptiness and silence within. Maybe the wall of waves, the roar of her breath or the gurgling foam.The sea afront seems to have lost her hue, shrouded in the blackness of failed human endeavors.

But, mind you, this does not in a slight diminish those sparks or weaken her magnificence. The crevice in the rock is being filled by water from a rushing wave, to be gaping yet again as it recedes.

Jets of water brush my cheeks and i wonder where all this rhythm began. It feels as if the movement of the water represents the life force, so chaotic yet constant. Cycles of birth and death, to and fro, high and low, night and day.

The sea knows in her collective memory, better times, golden times, azure times. She is in turmoil, braving similar troubles as her twin, the sky and the rest of her family. Either they are dark or blue or white, all together.

These are dark times, gruesome times. But again, the sea is a master. Her blood has been infiltrated before, she has seen fewer stars. She is the rider of the storm, coolly moving, dancing, being and all else but exist and perish. She lives.

The sky and the sea, mirrors to their own souls. The crab is holding its ground. For how long?

No birds roam the sky. There are no fish to catch and surely they do not want a 'YAHOO' signboard staring at them. As i write, yet again, three empty cups of tea are thrown down the sea, our wastage bag.

Ever wondered why the seas and mountains fascinate us so?
It is because they are the ends, the boundaries. The water points downwards, within.
It separates the land from land. The mountains point to the stars. It separates the land from the sky. This innate fascination and wonder shows that we, as conscious beings want to look beyond, to explore other realms.
The true catch is, we within ourselves, each one of us possess these realms separated by different layers of consciousness. The saying goes "Look within". Think again.

It is in these boundaries, i seek refuge and let the waves rise within. The solitary crab has fallen off the edge into the abyss.

A Passenger

As the gloom of the night set in,
the mind lay bundled in melancholic reveries of bygone times,
times when smiles and tears were quick to accompany with a slight of the hand.

The sun had all but dipped yonder, leaving pale strips of crimson swimming in the skies. The swift wind was beating past the sleepy willows as if trying to awaken them from their restful contemplation.

These sights always make one wonder of what lies in them that catch the mind in such a grasp, bringing thoughts from another, like the flow of a trickling stream.

The flowing river swirls round in eddies by the plants and stones sticking up from below. There is a foreboding silence to all these natural events for the onlooker on a moving train, but in all having a sound of their own.

Now, the crimson is replaced by darkness, reminding of the dying embers leaving ash in its wake. Taking all this into imagination, one can never explain the meaning and significance of them in a physical or sequential fashion.

The nature in all its harmony floats in an exalted plane above the mundane human dwelling, like the purity of a lotus preserved in a green pond full of frogs, fish and foliage.

The train lunges forward yet again, smoke billowing, the heart skips a beat.  What a transient life indeed!!

Higher Tides

Lost in those drifting words, I bide my time in these swiftly swirling spaces.

I look upon thee, with worth and longing, down from the valleys of fear and pain and peer into those profound depths.

I know the truths and the reasons, and yet i seemingly live behind curtains of stone, allaying my fears for the future.

But the canvass of time is stretched to the present, gaping wide, luring and waiting for me to paint its story.

A story written in gold and yellow, of shining light, effulgence bright,  illuminating those silhouettes and dark alleys.

In those different moments of madness, the turnstiles move and the count is lost in books of deeds and meaning alights as to what is.

Life is no more a lie, time is no more a clock and space is no more a boundary. Man strives for different reasons, in it he searches for his own personal God.

These moments will lay spilled on beaches of sand under azure skies and trace its path along the blue expanse giving life its purpose that winds along curvaceous stairways into the heavens above.

Silence invades and inaction follows. There is peace and the seed of thought is beginning to emerge.

Psychedelic Singularity - That expanse...

The far away cry, twisting and turning, swaying and beckoning...

Vibration, the cone growing, reaches a crescendo and melts away to nothing.
Silence does have a sound, a reverberating hum of the void.

That sound is anti- sound, of spaces, of gaps in the imperfection of sound, the bends and
boundaries in a note, like the wholeness of a spring, coils of somethings and nothings, locked
in totality for eternity..

Yes, the vibration does exist, the trough and the crest which i can feel, is annihilating to produce silence.
This annihilation has infinite energy. The energy of nothing in substance, subtle waves of dancing energy.

The question( even i forgot, why?) lies with only one thing for further illumination.."Does human thought
have physical mass/energy(say, like light)?". If the answer is no, then it goes to another realm.

Balls of anti- space caused by extreme constriction & overlap of space(infinite space-time sheets).

The sway, silence..................................Aham Brahmasmi(I am that).

I'm Mine

When thoughts come cascading down, stuck in merciless miseries.

Come up, come over, what will ignite you?

You lie awake at night, sleepless while the sun shines, blue eyes that never cry, nightmarish walks.

A cry that will never be heard or felt, a smile that escapes without feeling or reason, lost in the echoes.

Dreams hovering over horizons yonder, floating in empty spaces.

Lying in the rubble, the dusty corners in a bookshelf, or in the meaningless gathering of lost souls.

Where to find the light? I know not. The search will never frutify. It has never begun and so truly can never end.

The rising tide will ebb and never rise again, forbidden by the law of chances, and the spectacle will always be there to behold and condemn.

Eyes will never open, the sound of silence will never be felt & the wind will cease to beat.
I will be the only witness of me.