The bloom of life

The rose,
cognizant of
its perils
of the
morrow,
still exhibits
a grand grace
of budding
and blooming;
the colors
and fragrances
on full heartfelt offer
to all the passers-by;
and not just those
who turned
the soil at its feet
in the garden
one misty dawn.....

And I,
with a choice
of life,love and liberty
throughout,
still crib
and hold back;
a glare here,
sometimes a stare
in anger,
a turning away,
a closing of the heart,
sometimes,
the mind;
pushing the future
to be
just so........

When all is said and done
the petals lie
in a soft carpet
sprinkled with dew
happy at the end of life...

And I
at the end of mine,
still searching,
but
have
not yet
found it......

Surgery of the mind

An abused mind,
a cut here
a nick there,
a thousand slashing doubts
and a million fears......
Some thoughts
pulling you
helplessly
into an abyss....
While
a part of you
hangs on
holding tight
clinging
to the threads
of tradition and heresay.

The Doctor Up there
recommends
A Surgery of the Mind

Anaesthesia
of deep friendship,
Stitches of laughter
Embroiderd with care
A tradition
of worrying about others;
And a philosophy
Of sharing...

The Surgery
always succeeds.....
Its never the design of the face
but
the look in the eyes.

Healing

She goes in for surgery tomorrow. May His music heal and comfort.....




The expert of Kolkata
smiles,
disinfects,
microstitches,
soothing the surface,
thinking its Braja ver 1.1...



The Expert
with the flute,
his music,
calms
the trauma beneath...
And you wonder
at
His Expertise,
the seamless stitching
of a hurt spirit,
a painful body.

A contented mind,
thinking
about
a worrying mother far away
and someone
even Up There,
both
ensuring
that you have the best
healing
of the Spiritual kind...

No version change,
Its the same you....

Playing the game.....

Three portraits . Serena Williams at her profane best. Roger Federer at his defiant best. And Sachin Tendulkar, at what else, his BEST ! All happening in the same two day span. US Open . Sri Lanka.


She flies off
in anger,
burning words,
waving rackets
and balls,...
then
asymptotically
apologetically
reaches normal
playing for herself
as the prize money blinds.

He struggles,
returns,
petulantly angry,
with a perceived loss,
unhappy with
a newbie
who seems to
push
the rules.
Yet he plays for himself
As an imminent
record blinds.

But another,
in a gem of an island
in the Indian Ocean,
swipes and pulls
his team
wordlessly
to victory,
playing for all;
While he himself is happy,
looking up at
Someone Up There,
who smiles down at him,
and says,
"Thats how a game is played, son,
jai ho!"

Hands across the Ether

Real Friends remain friends. Regardless of distance and absence. And no one needs to prove anything, either to each other or to the world. Thoughts on reading this post by Braja.






Treads hesitantly.
the child,
through a dark
garden,
across
lush foliage
and
crushed flowers...
watching the moon
aeons away
through the branches,
matching his little feet,
step by step,
as it moves
with him
in the sky,
in and out
through the clouds.
Smiling, in friendship.



Those
who said,
it mindlessly revolves
around you,
test
the brain of the moon.
But I alone,
know it's heart,
as it walks with me
quietly,
cosmically,
aeons away,
always,
Smiling, in friendship.

The 'A' word

....Inner voice on austerity has spoken....Link



Wild expenditures
of power,
money,
and debit entries
for the account
called Integrity.....
There is
a recession
of Good Sense,
Honesty,
Altruism;



An Inflation
of Pride,
Lies
and Sick Money;
as they shamelessly
throw
their corrupt weight around.

And I sit,
despaired
on my haunches,
in the dark,
cursing
the angrily raging
capital-flooding
Yamuna;
looking up,
at these "leaders",
counting
1, 2, 3 , 4 and
5 stars
Hoping that
they finally learn,
amidst all the lies,
the
Austerity of the Mind

पुणे

परकर पोल्क्यात्ले पुणे,
काच्या मरून लंगडी खेळ्णारे पुणे
ऱस्ता ओलांडाय्ला वेळ लाग्तो म्हणून,
ड्राय्व्हर बस थाम्बवतो , ते पुणे,
सायकल वरून शाळेत जाताना साईड देणारे रिक्क्शावाले,
एक दोन वृत्तपत्रच अस्णरे पुणे,
ते माझे....


पर्वतिला गेल्यावर,
"आजींची नात आली" म्हणून
हातावर खोब्र्याचा प्रसाद आणि
साखरफुटाणे
देणारे पुणे,
आणि कॉलनीतला मुलगा
एस. एस. सी. ला पहिला आला,
म्हणून कॉलनीत्ल्याच धोब्यांनेच
पेढे वाट्ले ,
ते पुणे,
ते माझे....

हे अत्ताचे पुणे,
मी ओळ्खत नाही,
ते माझ्याबरोबर पुणे सोडून दूर गेले...
आता फक्त मनात असतं.....

E = m (c ) squared

Life vibrates all around before asymptotically leading you to a balance. Making choices. In comment to this post by Braja....

Mismatches
thru the ages,
He shows you
All the sides...

Some white and empty
like a blank mind,
that resounds
only to buying "one more";

Some, like
a blackboard---
Make your mistakes,
learn,
wipe,
and start again;

Some, blue-green
as in a calm river
that flows
regardless
of the tumult
on its banks;

And sometimes
a burning red
glowing long after
destruction
is complete...

Sometimes time dilates,
Sometimes the mind dilates..
And as the raindrops
trickle
outside
your mind's window
You observe and learn
to live ,
making choices,
relatively
in balance.....,

Enlightenment = my (seeing) squared....
Einstein
would probably approve.

Bovine E-Soliloquies

Spare a thought for the temple top cow. Dealing with conch shells and missed calls, as in this post by Kavi. Photo of temple at Kodai, courtesy Kavi.


She observes
this dicey world
chewing the cud
from
behind the man
with the conchshell
as he bravely competes,
with mindless obedient
electrons
departing in a rush.


Far away
the missus,
glances and purses her lips.
A missed call
to tell her
the milk van won't come today.
The cows
are part of a bandh,
protesting
the support
price for electrons...

Practically Spiritual of Spiritually Practical ?

Content with the spiritual in the daily and routine. On reading this by Braja.


Freshly cleaned puja lamps,
Whiff of burning ghee,
Champas and jasmines
filling the basket
as she sits,
her tresses adorned
with the saree pallu;
For puja
in a world she thinks
is godly celestial.
A ear tuned to the cry
of a little one
searching for his mother...
She pauses mid puja
as she sees him crawl in
and break
into a toothless smile;
Into her lap,
with a cry
climbs her Krishna,
Her other hand,
holds the aarti.
Praising Him,
soundlessly,
amidst his gurgles,
for this real Puja
Of her life.....

A tree's Karma

In response and contemplation of a post on " Karma" by Braja....

You, a tree,
you choose
how you grow;
Puffed with foliage,
firmly ensconced
in soil you claim
as your own,
waiting for the
perfect nurtured fruit***.....

Or spreading
a sheltering branch,
bending to offer
sweet fruit
to the weary man,
Rejoicing as the monkey
shakes you up,
amidst a shower
of flowers,
descending into the hair
of a delighted maid;
Maybe sometimes,
the crook of your branch
a home for someone
fighting a flood
of misfortune.....

And as a grandtree,
you,
of the thickened trunk
and grandkids swinging on
your hanging roots,
look back,
taking a breather
from
your happy busy life,
and wonder,
Karma ?
What was all that about ?

***कर्मन्येवाधीका रस्ते मा फलेशू कदाचन