beings
trying to
cope with a
human
awakening.
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To experience
the mystic immerses himself in the spirit.The mystic is convinced thatthe reality lies beneath the surface,the appearance of things.There is a spiritual dimensionthat invests matter with whatevermeaning and value it has.Both the poet and mystic synthesizethe diffused experiences of lifeinto a discernible pattern.
The mystical experience
or adequately expressed symbolically.But there is a conscious awarenessof God, though it is ever tenuousand tinged with doubt.On the conceptual level,where logic and rationalityare in commandthe mystical experiencemay admit of doubt.In fact, it may perhaps admit ofnothing else but doubt.But on the level of immediate intuition,it admits of no doubt.This is a level in which,an…
We cannot run away
constant companionuntil we are healedand move on withour lives againas our loved oneswho have crossedover wish us to do.Grief is a panaceafor our aching heartsand one day we willlearn to live andlove again withour loved one’s blessings.(written from the comments of Marie Shine,the poetess of Listowel, Ireland)
In the depths of meditation,
Beholding the SelfBy means of the Self,An aspirant knows theJoy and peace of complete fulfillment.(Quotes fom the great Hindu spiritual classic Bhgavat Gita)
It depends on the
knowledge isused to transformexistence in sucha way as to enablehuman beingsto live full andflourishing lives.
„And I believe that I saw
of this complexity;because, as I say this,I feel that I rejoice more deeply…Oh, but how scantthe speech and how faintto my concept! and that towhat I saw is such,that it suffices not to call it ‘little’ „.O Light Eternal,Who only in Thyself abidest,only Thyself dost comprehend,and, of Thyself comprehendedand Thyself comprehending,dost love and smile! ‘(Dante,…
on the page,
the cup chipped
on the windowsill.
wood stacked against
the porch,
the shadows on the
empty swing.
the kiss lost,
and the ring.
red dirt dried
on the shovel,
the old boots left
by the door.
the creaking of the
screen door opening,
the box tied and
packed away.
hunger sap dried
on novel sheets,
the half smoked cigarette
lying in the ashtray.
the sound of the empty room,
in that old house on nowhere lane!
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long shadows cast,
the bare branch scrapesagainst the windowof the house left vacant.the desk left cluttered,as if in waiting.the candle half burned,naked without fire.the woodstove cold as ice.the gravel drive now virgin,the mailbox rusted shut.the yard oozes like an open wound,in the womb of stillness.nothing moves, nothing at all!another world?maybe it never was!the rope tied in a noose,the…
lover, dont lie…
the stray cat sleeps in a cardboard box,the old oak tree groans with morning.table set for three,you, me, and the guest…too long on the road,he’s forgotten the turn,and love’s address is unlisted.the feather drawn lines of arch and thrust,define your eyes with headstones.your hand slips between the bread,tastes better without mayonnaise.the cup of whispers grows…
if all human beings are created in God’s image….
then the ones we’re dropping the bombs on,the ones hungry, sick, and homeless,the ones we hate out of fear….are…
what if you moved the mountain?
fed the hungry, healed the sick,and stood up and stopped all wars?what if you peeled back the mask of prejudice,and exposed the beating heart?what if you walked on the water?what if you built a temple,using only your own hands?what if you made your life a prayer?what if you gave all you had to the poor?what…
when the destination
and the fire we seekis but a reflectionof the fire within us…when the cross is a part of the body,and the war we protest,is the war within us…when the leaf is knownas always tree…and the dropp of watercontains a river.when breath is hunger,and love is fullness.when the spirit is a finger,and the soul is a…
i am the kiss of the feathered wing…
driven by ancestral blood i go deep in the mines,listening for the voices of freedom.i define hunger with faces and eyes,i unload the gun, and tear down the idols.i am the maker of mountains,bare branches bringing forth leaves.i am the winds of change,the still small voice within.i am the womb of the unborn child,i am…
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Of Poetry!
What is
Your opinion about
This here?
There are
Many boats going on
On this stream!
Yeah! A lot
Of poetry boats are
Many going on!
Whose boat
Are you going on
Poetry stream?
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Religion is an individual spiritual matter, but not a social
For the whole world under the rule of a dictator and that isImpossible to happen as it is rejected ever by human world!Military rule by a dictator like Alexander or Gheniz Khan orNepolean or Hitler for the whole world had failed long ago;Economically also by trade and industry under one colonialPower, one world rule next…
Life sans love is bird sans wings dreaming to fly
Dream is the convenient thing helping the drawbacksLike the poet does expressing oneself in poems ever!Human beings’ longings are compensated by dreams atNight and in imaginations or reverie in the day sure;But with the engagements of occupation, one forgetsThe loss for the time-being till such thoughts come!When monotony and frustrations of work load increases,Mechanically one…
Love of Nature in providing life-support things is a greatest wonder;
All species have been born out of love of each with each since long;Each act of Nature kindles love to all living beings to live fine!Love only makes one free, enjoy happiness, sing, dance and do all;Cool breeze gives great relief after a tiresome work making birds Sing and the rain clouds kindle peacock dance…
People of knowledge, talent and skills need to be
Do the best and create beneficial things for all!If highly educated people, when not provided withSuitable jobs by government and go for manuel workTo earn sufficient income it is a shame for nation!The educated and skillful unemployed in large numersMeans the government machinery is in very bad shapeNeeding drastic reforms to utilize them for better!Unemployment…
Where there love is, there only truth resides ever;
For the well being of the loved ones forever sure!Only a free mind with open heart filled with theSpirit of love can be truthful in thoughts, wordsAnd deeds going ahead with positive attitude ever!The glowing beauty of love reflected by such onesMakes all reciprocate love by doing everything inTheir favours whatever be the situation in…
Can love be specifically defined to have a complete idea of it?
Love is a high and broad human feeling that can be called as theGreatest power nothing can be compared and replaced to it ever!This human emotion comparable to divine aspect in the world isNot an easy thing to learn and acquire as knowledge by mind asLove is possible to feel and express only through heart…
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Oh, the things that people do
As life they uncover,
Can we ever discover?
The reason for the unreasonable
The breakthroughs from tradition,
That seem in a way, treasonable,
But it feels so good,
To break with some traditions,
Progress is made,
From experimental, renditions.
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I receive a line
I write,It starts to takeShape,Love is awakenedAnd writing becomesMy lover,Should I be satisfiedWith that,When I awake?
As long as there is Poetry,
For a better WorldWhere joyfully,Some dayLOVE, may,Be fully,Understood.
Writing is thrilling,
For it will open,Of Heaven, the Gate.It’s up to you now,About how you feelMaking your writing,A truly big Deal.
In the mad world of desire,
Full of fire,Passion, wildly at its side,Feelings deep, you cannot hideFor Love does complete affection,And thru love, we reach perfection.
We are,
Never to be seen again,Nothing, ever lastsNor us, nor we, nor themOnce the die is castAnd Life is on its way,There is no turning backTill our final day,But how we miss our Past!The once lived, happy days,For some, yet not for all,Those days, those yearsThat won’t come back,Like first Roses of MayLike Love that’s gone…
They’re for the people,
For the middle class,Or any class in ‘distress’,In other words,They just don’t care,Power corrupts,Even before it’s there.
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Never to be seen again,
Nothing, ever lasts
Nor us, nor we, nor them
Once the die is cast
And Life is on its way,
There is no turning back
Till our final day,
But how we miss our Past!
The once lived, happy days,
For some, yet not for all,
Those days, those years
That won’t come back,
Like first Roses of May
Like Love that’s gone away.
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Yesterday, I think I dreamt,
Then Gene Kelly quickly came,Began, ‘Singing in the Love.’Love thy neighbor,Love thy self,Love the One you chose to love,No umbrellas for this rain,Only pray it doesn’t stop,For there’s Never enough Love.
We all cling on to something,
But the trunk must be healthy,To bear all that Life can be,Solitude is always our worst enemy,But love and understanding,Has saved many a lonely tree.
Roses, Love and Music,
A World, perfumed illusion,That enhances poet’s, sight.Thru Roses, scarlet color,Perfume and nectar flow,Thru Love we open power,The best we’ll ever know,Thru music we hear Poetry,With which our feelings grow.
How do you become
Asked the childTo the All Know ItWho answered,You just sit quietlyAnd prayIn doesn’t ever happen,Tomorrow or Today,Or any living day.
They have no dignity,
Their only in it,For the ride,And if you let themThey’ll take your hide.‘I’m running here,I’m running there,But hey, don’t call me,I just don’t care,I am the shadow,Of what I should be,If you are decent,Don’t be like me’Now,When you think of itHow can it be?That we are governed,By Insanity!
The Midas touch
The golden imageThat is free,The poet says:‘Oh come to me,More than all elseYou’re worth to me,For Love to him is poetryIt’s in his bloodInner world be,This golden-worded tapestry.