Monday, January 30, 2017


about me
about myself
ahead of time
about past time

the mind races
the thoughts surface
the stories form
past and future

runs in circles
pulls you deeper
kills the moment
now and ever

dissolve diffuse 
past and future
dissolve diffuse
me and myself

dissolve diffuse
the dark clouds
dissolve diffuse 
the heavy mind

dissolve diffuse
the separate me
dissolve diffuse
all identity

Friday, January 20, 2017

Tall and Dark

Amongst tall buildings
And in these dark streets
I wander aimlessly
Lost in my own world
A world of pleasure
A world of pain

And the next day again
Different buildings so tall
And new streets so dark
I wander once again
A world of pleasure 
A world of pain

The sun eclipsed 
By these tall buildings
The dark streets
All lit by neon lights
A world of pleasure
A world of pain

I wander aimlessly
I search carelessly 
To find the sun
In this world of neon
A world of pleasure
A world of pain

And I fail again
To find the true light
Artificial neon
no substitute for real
A world of pleasure
A world of pain

Look beyond tall egos
To find the true light
Look for the real
Beyond the dark mind
A world of real
A world eternal

Friday, March 25, 2016

Last Stanza

A morning so bright
HE asked me to write
Lyrics come bursting forth
From deep within my heart
Words flowing through smooth
Ink blue on virgin paper white

Creativity in my morning cup
And inspiration, my daily bread
Exhilaration of the waking hours
Lucidity in my goodnight dreams
Words flow from nether land
Coffee stains on the paper white

And a few mornings go by
Since HE asked me to write
Now this world is in rapture
Some hearts it does capture
Words stutter amidst flash bulbs
Slow dance on the paper white

It has been quite a while
Since I began to write
The world marvels at MY song
I dance intoxicated to its tune
And then the words stop flowing
Blotted ink on ageing paper white

It’s time for the last stanza
And I can’t find the words
The world sniggers at my plight
And I cry out to HIM at night
Finally the words start forming
Shaky ink dries on paper no longer white

The winter morning so cold
And it’s time to write again
The lyrics form in the mind
And my poem almost over
Then HE snatched the pen
 Unfinished on this paper white

That barren winter morning
I said, Lord, my last poem…
And HE said it was never yours
The poem was always MINE
My last stanza too was HIS,
Clear ink on pure paper white

Monday, March 14, 2016


Her biggest confidante, her friend
I am now mocked in gatherings
Just 'cause I shared the truth
Truth of the matter so bitter

So quickly I am an outcast
A distant memory from the past
Just 'cause I shared the truth
A noble pact not honoured

She shut me out of her room
Felt she cast me out of her heart
Just 'cause I shared the truth
A sacred promise not kept

She drowned me in loud anger
My silence felt more silent
Just 'cause I shared the truth
A silent witness in disdain

Stared me down in cold blood
Cold shoulder to my advances
Just 'cause I shared the truth
Maybe 'twas too hot to handle

Dethroned and unseated
From the kingdom of the Mind
Just 'cause I shared the truth
I lost to her, the ego

I am the soul's whisper
She is the ego so dominant
Just 'cause I shared the truth
The soul silenced by the ego

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Conversations with a self made man

And he said with obvious pride, "I am a self-made man". There was a glow in his eyes as he proclaimed his arrival, and spoke about how he had become successful. The important lessons from his life that future generations could look at and learn from. 

And I asked with humility, "So, how self-made are you really?". There was a twinkle in my eye as I stated the facts. Your origin is but the fusion of two cells. The unseen and unknown million sacrifices and choices of your parents, your family and your friends are but obvious. The unseen and unknown sacrifices of people you don't even know is not that obvious in your becoming what you are. Your physical growth is fuelled by the grains from the fields of a farmer. Your emotional growth is thanks to your family and friends and enemies. Your intellectual growth is kindled by your teachers, both formal and informal. Your being has been shaped by all these folks and the many thousands of encounters on your way. So, how much of what you are is self-made, how much of your life is really shaped by you?

And he said with a bitter smile, "It was my handwork, to overcome the circumstances that life placed in my path, that made me what I am". There was a twitch in his eyes as he defended himself, and provided his reasons for his success. 

And I said with a knowing smile, "So, who placed those circumstances in your path and why?". There was mischief in my eyes as I dished out my logic. Your circumstances made you stronger but who created those circumstances? Were those circumstances placed on your path so that you fail? Or were they on your path so that you could learn and become stronger? So, how much of your life was shaped by the circumstances and how much of your life was made by you?

"But it was me, I am a self-made man" he pleaded with downcast eyes. I asked, "But where is the self in all of this? Your parent's cells, a farmer's toil, a teacher's diligence, a family's support, a world's indifference, an unfavourable circumstance, an inglorious defeat, a famous victory, a worthy opponent, an able ally, a crooked accomplice, an honest teammate, a fortunate investment, a real estate boom, an undeserved pink slip, a well deserved bonus, and many more such life events. All of these shaped you, but which of these is self? Which of these is you? "

"So, what is self? If I am made of non-self elements and non-self moments, then what is self?" he looked at me with bewildered eyes. I said, "Just like a mountain becomes a mountain by the seismic changes in the earth, by the pull and push of the forces of nature. Just like a river becomes a river, by the million tributaries that join it, by the rain and clouds. Just like the earth, the sun and the stars come to be, so do you. You are one with everything else. Remember you take different forms, but you are a part of the whole. You become, but you already are. Drop the self, you already are."

Oh, this conversation between ME and myself......

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Pigeons and Circumstances

One fine morning, my daughters were bustling with excitement. Two pigeons were busy building a nest in our balcony. We were going to share a corner of our home with a new couple and welcome new lives, new baby pigeons in a short while. Very soon, we saw two eggs and the girls were all excited about the happenings. Our house help swiftly came in one morning and decided that this was not the place for a nest and eggs. She was about to move it, when the shrill scream of my girls stopped her. No, please do not touch the eggs, if a human touches them then the mother pigeon destroys the eggs. It was our mission now to protect the eggs and help bring the baby pigeons to the world safely. We are in it together with the parent pigeons now.

Days go by, I am travelling on business and I get a video message from home. The eggs have hatched, the baby pigeons are out. I talk to the girls and hear the excitement in their voices, of seeing new life, of seeing God's miracle. Well, the baby pigeons are a bit ugly, nothing like they expected it to be. But,  mission accomplished, we were part of the guardian angel network that helped bring these pigeons into the world. Now, it is time to ensure they grow up into big healthy pigeons and fly away. I get daily updates of how the parents feed the young ones. We are disgusted by the amount of pooh these tiny pigeons excrete. The pigeons were not the role models for hygienic behaviour. But, we decide to ignore these small irritants as we were part of the mission to transform these babies into strong birds that are ready to take on the world. We are in it together with the parent pigeons, of course!

And then I come back one evening from work to a somber silent home, I wondered what died that day. And my wife breaks the news to me that one of the baby pigeons have died, that the girls are equally sad as they are bitter about it. My elder daughter shows her indignation when she cries "Murder!". The parent pigeons had killed the young one. Google research showed that some pigeons do that  when the young one is not healthy or when it creates too much of noise that threatens the nesting place. So that was likely, but it could also have been some other pigeon or predatory bird. The jury is still out on that. The next day however, the mystery deepens as the remaining young pigeon is also killed. It is a depressing sad day for us. We had taken on the role of saviour and guardian, now having failed miserably at it. We are not even sure if we were in it together with the parent pigeons, them being the number one suspects in this gruesome murder. Beyond the sadness and depression, this taught us one valuable lesson. Don't try to play God or guardian to anybody or anything. Your own life is not in your hands, you are but a tiny cosmic speck. Do the best you can in a detached manner. You are just a circumstance in other's lives and all we can try to be is a good circumstance. 

Friday, October 23, 2015

The old forgotten village square

I have been here for a long time. I have been around this peaceful village square now long forgotten. This small village square was often the meeting place for old souls. This village square was witness to the easy silence amidst slow conversation. This was where the breeze, the sunshine and the raindrops danced to the seasons and its changes. This was the playground for young children and their rattles. This was the battleground for the village elders and their squabbles. This village square echoed with the chimes of the village temple. This village square bustled with the festive happiness of crackers and sparkles. This village square had space for the divine and had time for his prayers. This village square that I stand beside was all that and more....

I have been here for a long time. I have been around this village square while it was being consumed by man's urbanisation. This village square was witness to the advancing frenzy of the city and its army of progress. This small village square was often the meeting place for big landowners and their business deals. This village square saw rough men in gentle suits in fast and heated conversation. This was the playground for the rich in their game of real-life monopoly. This was the battleground for some in their legal tangles over land and labour. The breeze, the gentle sunshine and the rain no longer danced in abandon. The chimes of the village temple rang hollow. The divine had to pay rent and time was costlier than money. This village square that I stand beside was once so much more......

I have been here for a long time. If I am honest, this is a village square that I recognise no more. Amidst the tall buildings and tonnes of concrete, this is no longer a village square. This is a place where people have no time for conversation, no patience for pleasantries, no space for divine. This is a place where the sun burns down my every fibre. This is a place where I crave for the rains to quench my thirst. This is a place where I feel rootless amidst the heavy winds. This village square I do not recognise any more. I am the last remains of a time gone by. It is time for me to go as well, it is time for me to fade away.......I am the last tree standing by the old forgotten village square.