The Silence of The Woods

Walking amidst the woods,
Simoni could hear
The fading in chirp of birds,

In the darkness after dusk,
The silence gradually devouring all the symphony,
In her lustful silencing embrace.

The music of the lazy river,
The whisper of the smooth wind,
They rest in each other's naked lap,
In that embrace of togetherness,
Voyeured earnestly by all the excited stars.

Such was the silvery deluge of that
Romantic moonlit touch.
Simoni was beginning to connect to all...


The untouched beauty of the
Pristine white lotus,
Stands amidst the cold indifferent pond,
Grounded unaltered
To the warmth of Love.


The black mountain
Mingles with the amorous sky in silence,
Surrendering all its might and pride,
Into the luscious embrace of her softness.


The moon radiating the glow of lovely charm,
Warms the bosom of the cold and frigid pond,
With the desire to be one, re-kindling that passion of lust.
It appeared as just a reflection.
But truth did only Simoni see -
Moon had descended all the way from heavens,
To be one with his love - the pond.
In the quietude of that fateful night.


All was so exquisite,
All was so heart whelming.
But Simoni noticed,
There was no word spoken anywhere.
Yes there was song, there was symphony, there was poetry!
But no words, no syllable no language!


All were in trance loving each other wildly,
There were no words,
But inarticulate cries, meaningless moans,
From the bottom of the most primitive being.
The squirting fountain of nectar of love was profuse, 

Straight from the sanctum of the depth of belly.
A piercing Joy was omnipresent,
Leaving all - 

Empty, Conquered and Silenced!
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The Path to Death

I meander through the valleys and hills,
Being the clear stream -
Banked between boredom and thrills.

I remember not, from river which, was I born,
I keep flowing just they way I am,
Know not I, ocean which to shall I fall, worn.

Resilience of being a water,
Is the destiny of being a stream.
All that I know for matter.

Being part of the dynamic whole,
With the open blue Sky,
From the galaxies to the black hole.

The bright warm Sun,
The friendly bedrock of smooth stones,
And accommodating banks ready to be won.

Altogether we fit-in as kith and kin,
Completing each other,
With a faultless overarching sheen.

Privileged am I in this being.
A peaceful yet another vein of life in the cosmos vast,
Seeing myself as not just a disconnected stream.

Being yet another little note,
In the symphony magnanimous,
Feels good to bear a meaningful connectedness to tote.

I meander through the valleys and hills,
Being the clear stream
Banked between boredom and thrills.

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The Argument

Simoni's younger little self, pesters him,

That he quit!

For it is nothing but useless hankering 

To knock at thy door. 

Tired and hopeless is he,

Looking at the futility

Of the continuous song,

Of the unending expressions of his love.

He longs for his muse to love him back!

For the God to appear in front of his eyes!

Simoni, confronts his younger self,

Lovingly arguing against his stance,

Standing by the river Nile,

In his white robe,

Being washed by the silvery moon light.

He smiles and looks at the distant star,

and says, "If she loves you back, will you still be who you are?

Mimed will not be your song, if blessed by presence of her?

Probably you would win her,

But will not you lose something more precious?

The preciousness of your pain?"

But then the little self, revolts again, accusing back-

"you romanticize your defeat!"

Simoni, smiles again, gazing at that distant star,

Gives a passing remark, 

"Who knows what is defeat, and what victory is!"

In that profound solitude, 

Simoni, kept walking by the bank of the Nile,

In total surrender to the enigma

Of the suchness of creation.

Questions reverberated from all around,

Sky, Moon, Wind and the river cold,

All stared on to the eyes of Simoni, and asked,

"Why it is that we feel. Why it is that we are!"

In an effort to discover that missing part of the puzzle,

Simoni continued to walk,

By the bank of the Nile.

The ancient start, light years away,

Kept looking at Simoni,

And when he again looked at him,

And their eyes met each other,

Simoni could listen to that silent whisper

From the ancient seer star!

The star twinkles burning 

In the fire of his love.

All alone and abandoned 

In the vastness of the cosmos.

But continues he to twinkle,

Since eons passed by.

For that is what is his destiny.

He is a star after all. 

And he has to twinkle!

He has to burn!

Simoni knew his answer to his little self.

To sing his song was his destiny,

To love was his purpose! 

Went back he, in silence, 

Towards the feet of his God,

In total surrender.

The feet was his altar of love,

He built it with great care and art,

Since ages, one tune at a time, 

One syllable at at time,

Embellished by one song after the other!

The gap of pain between the Nile and the moon,

Was the space in which that beautiful night was created!

The same was the charm of the beauty,

Of the solitary abandonment of the star,

And the lonely journey of Simoni.

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A Wish to God

Wishing u a yet another new beginning 

That aids you to be more fully 

What u are at core - bold n beautiful!
The grand existence, The Nature,
The Cosmic Self!

Wishes from this distant star
Twinkling in solitude millions of light years away
Might be unsolicited and unwanted,
But they r relevant for sure!

Grounded are they in that strong desire 

Of thine wellbeing and love
It is not that the beautiful rose
Needs the song of love.
Rather the bard needs to continue to sing,
For it is that keeps him alive.

My prayers are too a trifle for thine, O God.
But it is for myself I praise thee in my song.
It is the tune of your spirit
That breathes life in me and my song.

Ya, you are right,

Immaturity and insanity
By and large constitute the human condition.
I know u accept my madness and my follies...

Walking lonely in the desert,

Simoni sings his wishes to his God..
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Affixed in her Penance

Silent and constant,
Affixed in her Penance,
Nature exists in all her grandeur!

Simoni does not know
For whom is the penance,
He does not know for whom is the longing!
But does he see,
That resoluteness in the silence profound,
Transfixed is Nature,
Affixed in her Penance.

She is quiet but is alive!
Through her closed eyes,
She sees the past, future along with the present.
With power of creation
Throbbing in her viens,
She stands there all powerful,
Feigning the silence of the surrendered!

At times being lost in pride,
Of his own creation,
Simoni derides Her,
Showing his indifference to her.
But the ego-driven haywire ride,
Stumbles Simoni down,
Soon to bring to his realization,
It is the will of Nature and not his own will,
That pervades!
She is quiet but is alive!

In the suchness of the creation,
Simoni now just surrenders and sits in observance,
He is just a clearing of Her will,
Through his work,
Trying hard to listen what She whispers,
Through the sound of his chisel on the marble of Life.

But Simoni does not know,

For whom is her penance, her longing, and her pride!

In the space of wonder and innocence,

Continues Simoni on his marble,

With his chisel and hammer.
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Carving God out.

In every moment of being alive.
Simoni stays busy to carve God out,
In anything he thinks,
By anything he creates.

To him that is what is
His meaning to exist -
Unending effort to carve out the God,
From the marble slab of life!

The shouts of accolades
To him are meaningless,
For he knows that God was always there,
Only that the non essential
Was to be chipped away!
He is not the creator,
Rather just a means of expression,
Of what already exists!

Like an obedient servant,
Like a warrior of light,
Continues he to carve out,
Working relentlessly in his studio,
Carving out from the cold white marble,
Those passionate throbbing bosom of Life!

Her eyes are the most beautiful,
But entwined in its shine,
Are the shades of dark and light.
It is not all that is joyous,
For most part is melancholy, indifferent or routine.
But in the the interplay of contradictions,
Thrives the over aching vision of the Truth!

Out of the dust of the marble,
Amidst the noise of the chisel and hammer,
From within the coldness of the dead marble,
Carves out his God,
The lady with the most beautiful eyes!
Shimmering in all her delight!

And when the king’s men come
And take her away,
Simoni starts afresh,
In carving out his God anew,
Out of a new marble,
Inspired by the eternal charm,
Of the immortal, never changing Truth!

Days come and go by,
But the music remains.
Seasons change,
But the wonder persists.
Night gives way to a new day,
But the Sun remains unaltered.
Flowers sprout and wither,
But the unbounded openness of the garden remains.
Birds change their route,
But the open magnanimous expanse of sky remains.
People come and go,
But that yearning of connectedness remains.
Yes, God is Omnipresent!
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Rekindling the extant

The Good and Beautiful thought Simoni,
Lies hidden beneath the layers of routine and habit.
What is needed,
Is just that patient eye and throbbing will,
To re-kindle the extant,
The ever present Goodness and Beauty.

For nature whispers,
Only to the ears keen,
And creation shows,
Only to the eyes open.

Through the eyes of the soul,
Discerning from what is visible and peripheral,
In the realm of the invisible and essential,
Simoni observes the Beauty -
The Limitless, Eternal and Perfect.

The noise and the jitter,
Of the material world transient,
Does its best to blur the vision,
And replace that ethereal voice
With the concrete drone.
Simoni is not closed to the errant reality,
But hit with the blows of what appears to be true,
Simoni opens up more fully, every moment,
To absorb the otherwise invisible and forgotten,
The Essential, The Truth.

They say its just a mirage,
And a cooked up feel good coping up scheme,
Of a sculptor just expressing his unreal art.
But then is that not what is real -
The sculpture for the sculptor?

Simoni knows not what is true for the world,
For he sees through, all the popular truths,
The Absolute Truth.
No, it is not his subjective story,
He knows it is the Only Truth,
The Objective Absolute!
The overarching theme of Love.

Who knows what is Absolute!
Simoni does not go to defend his stance.
He is silent. But his Alive.
Throbbing in Love, offering his art
To the suchness of the scheme of things.

His work is to offer. He lives to create and give
His song, his poems, his sculptures.
For only one thing he knows,
He communes with That Invisible,
Through his art.
And She runs to him,
Into his loving embrace!
Whispers She in his ears,
“It is just you, who knows me, my Love!”
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Good Night

From the far away twinkle of the star here I watch thee,
Sleeping guileless adorned by the moon light sheen.
I shower thee blessings
From the eternal distance,
Praying for thy rejuvenating rest and pampering dreams.
As the new day gestates in the womb of silence,
In the darkness of the impending birth of a new possibility,
I send my blessings with my eyes closed,
And hand on my heart.
May you be beautified with greater charm,
And richer gifts in the day to come.

Singing you the lullaby,
Rocking you on the cradle of creation,
Here is a wishing of peace of surrender
This night through.

Your hair winnowed by the passing breeze,
Sent by the ancient sages -
Those twinkling ancient stars.
The sages shine as reflection of grace,
On your gleaming eyes,
Bringing forth their wisdom of Love,
To this world, through those most beautiful eyes!


The benevolent creation watches you,
In silences from eons away,
Offers She her care and wish.
Entwined by the fearless wand of Her blessings,
Thy retire on the bed,
Sinking in the depthless ocean of ecstatic rest.
Only to give shape to a throbbing tomorrow,
In the process to be born,
In fullness of life and light!

Ending of the stale,

And heralding the new,

Here I wait through the night,

To see a new beginning the morn to come,

With the newness of life,

Brimming with light!

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A Pinch of Salt

Meditating on the breath,
Letting go the stale and old,
And gushing in with new life,
The stream of awareness
Like a pinch of salt,
Reveals the taste of the Presence,
In clarity profound!

Touching the still openness,
From where the tumultuous changes arise.
Wearing the silence of the womb,
From where all warps and weft of Lila blossoms.

The mindful presence
In stillness and solitude,
Like a fresh shower,
Cleanses the heart of the illusive barriers,
Enabling it to reflect Life and Love,
More fully, more truly.

I continue to live,
Centered on my breath,
In thick and thin,
In shadow and sun,
I continue to transcend
From thinking to awareness,
Knowing Thou more fully,
In thine glory,
My Lord.

Meditating on the breath,
Letting go the stale and old,
And gushing in with new life,
The stream of awareness
Like a pinch of salt,
Reveals the taste of the Presence,
In clarity profound!
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Silent but not Indifferent

Silent but certainly not indifferent
Stands she in sheer robe,
Arousing creation with her sensuality
With her desirable body,
And magnanimous soul.

Wakes up the whole cosmos
To a new morning
Inspired with her passion and beauty,
Like a hearth of fire,
She continues to blow life into
All that is proud to be alive!

The gushing Niagara,
The tumultuous Atlantic,
The persevering Nile,
The all alive Amazon,
The powerful glowing Sun,
The ever youthful Moon,
All throb with life anew.

Each new day, each new night,
Just being fed,
With the exciting energy
Of your throb,
The creation moves and grows,
My Love,
My God.

Yes, she is silent.
But not indifferent
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My Song

For the limitless Presence of Thine O Lord,
Grateful am I beyond words.
To be truthful, I do not know what name to give to you, and your presence.
Anything, that I think - a friend, a lover, a muse, a charm, a blessing...
All appear trivially inadequate.

There is something beyond these words - That you are! Just that your suchness.
All the sparkles, fuzziness, contradictions and mystery of your presence,
Altogether, they weave a unique tapestry of splendor.

It is only thorough my song,
I see you, I feel you, I understand you.
You art not reached through my heart, mind or words.
Nor are you reachable through my emotions and yearnings.
The only way I am able to reach you,
Is through my song.

And the magic does not end there,
For in the intoxication of my song for you,
I forget myself, totally to nothingness,
And there is created a world,
Where there is only One - That is You.
In that omnipresence of you and your charm,
I relate to you, my God.

All that is hurtful and melancholy,
Do melt in the warmth of love,
Amidst the symphony of my song,
Mingled with your presence.
A new dimension you give to it,
Beyond the words, rhythm and life.

In this song, my God,
You have made me endless!
Such is thy pleasure.
A frail vessel am I,
But then filled am I,
Over and over again, with fresh Life.

Sometimes I wonder,
Is it my song,
Or is it Just You!
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The Flute's Endeavour

Taking up a task so far beyond one's powers,

The flute pressed on to the

Lotus lips of The Lord,

Determined to play the music of love,

Meandering through the landscape of life.

Like the impossible task of Arjuna

Of trying to comprehend,

The essence of The Geeta!

Each time confused,

He pleads for the one simplified way to the truth,

Only to find himself,

Perplexed even more,

After an elaborate Song of The Lord, 

Propounding the mystery of life,

In reply.

The little flute of reed,

Being carried over hills and dales,

O Lord, held in thy palm,

Breath thou, through it,

Melodies eternal and new.

Like a fountain of love,

Mingling with the beloved,

In the embrace of lust and love divine.

At the immortal touch of thine,

The little flute of reed,

Loses all it's limits in joy,

Gives birth to the tune ineffable.

Through the hollowness of 

The ordinary flute of reed,

Pours the never ending nectar of love,

Heard by creation,

As that potent song of Union,

Of the flute, and The Lord.

Ages pass,

And still Thou pourest,

And still there is room to fill.

Like that eternal love making,

Of Simoni and his Love,

The never ending craving,

Enhanced and sanctified by the ever youthful,

Thrust of enlivening love.

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The Hidden Unity

The incredible multiplicity of the Beloved,

Manifested in the thousands of forms,

The bountiful autumn,

The colorful spring,

The silent and pristine winter,

The passionate summer,

The specialness of the presence

Of all men, and women,

Of all times and spaces,

All in their multiplicity,

Make up the Unity,

The Unity of 

O Lady with The Most Beautiful Eyes!

Yes, some call her God.

Like the white light,

Which in her mindful silence,

With all her diverse lights of the spectrum,

Integrates all in homogenous presence 

Of that all accepting Whiteness.

Fallen and then stood in Love,

Did Simoni for damsels and nature,

For music, art and stories.

All in the crescendo of novelty and diversity,

Did play for him,

The unified orchestra of

The One, The Lady, 

Angella for Simoni, 

An invisible mystery 

Of life and attraction for many.

The hidden love and direction of life,

Revisits in all her wild and divine 

Lust, love, enchantment, inspiration and ardor,

Like a hidden unity of meaning,

Encompassing in its essence in divinity,

All the tumultuous, transient, and disintegrated

Waves of life.

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Mingling in thine essence

"Desire was there to mingle with Thou",
Soliloquy'd Simoni, "Or would I say,
The desire was born that way.
Never did I know
Why was it born?
Probably it was my destiny"

Another stance of a miracle again hit him;
A grace right from the world of higher spirits.
And he was in trance for the whole winter.
Now, when the winter is gone,
In a position was he,
To pen down what I went through.
It was overwhelming. It was breathtaking.
Yes, it was unbelievable. Absolutely unthinkable.
Such a joy was it.
His heart was light, and it was flowing in trance of exuberance.
Yes, it was an ecstasy he had never known.
It was so tenderly strong.
He gasped, "I have been feeling under surface in my soul so long: an incarnation.
It had to become manifest. So much desire must create a reality.
My love was sprouting out of my heart,
Determined to create a figment, an artifact of that divine state of being."

Angela when blossomed from the white marble,
On that full moon night,
Reflecting all its silvery glory,
On the still stream by the fountain.
And when she wrote on the canvas open,
The verses of the Rubaiyat.
On the sepia background..

Simoni fell enchanted,
Watching the beautified letters, with confident strokes of shiny mysterious black,
Flowing with perfection,
Like a seal diving into the still stream.
Was he standing there, in awe.
Skiing in ease, with youthful wild throb in his heart,
Stupefied with the intoxication of her magic.
He was just watching in awe,
Those impeccable strokes,
Perfect the first time, and every time,
Confident, open, bold, artistic, and glorious.
They were as if pulling his heart out,
Taking it in its tempo,
To a world unknown.
And he stayed, surrendered in his totality,
Allowing the flow to take him to the world new,
To taste that exotic presence of beauty.

Then, Simoni thought, "let me mingle with your essence,
With your flow, with your writing"
And then I too wrote on another row,
Just below the strokes of Angella,
The same words, in his way, in his style, in his might.

Then, Simoni saw his writing, and hers.
He could see they were like made for each other,
One completing the other.
They were so unique, Also they were so alike,
They were so class apart, But they were also so close together.
He could feel the sense of mingling of the souls,
The mutual camaraderie,
Through his writing and hers.
Amazing was the feeling of belonging,
Incredible was the feeling of being a part of her,
Sailing together, in unison, in harmony,
As the dance of salsa,
Being the symphony itself.


"Desire was there to mingle with Thou",
Soliloquy'd Simoni, "Or would I say,
The desire was born that way.
Never did I know
Why was it born?
Probably it was my destiny"

But the Simoni stopped, and contemplated,
"Beginning am I to cherish,
What it means to mingle with your essence,
Your essential beauty,
Your expression of art,
In your voice, your gestures, your writings,
And yes, the radiance of your presence."

He continued,
"Your essence understands me, though you don't.
Your art, and your stance, your magic, your elegance, your enchantment,
All knows me, and loves me, though you don't.
I feel good to be with the essential,
To be in love, in communion, with that essence,
The essence of Love,
The essence of Beauty,
The essence of Life and Light.
I care not,
Thou love me not.

Or probably you do.

Anyway is so inconsequential"

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The Beautiful Game of Life

From dream to the dream,
Here I tread the way
Who knows where I was before birth,
And who knows where will I go after death.

When I know the journey is not in my control,
Why I feign that I plan my life?
Probably just to make myself happy,
With the false hope of getting it the way I want.

Probably I will be never able
To even conceive the truth,
Discerning through the maze
Of diverse color and form.

Fearless, determined and with hope utmost,
Here I walk my own path.
When my heart curls inside in sadness of solitude,
Through the darkness of loneliness,
Sparkles the sky full of stars and the ever glowing moon,
Walking hand in hand,
With me, in my journey -
As companions in love - silent and pristine.

Where I am heading to,
What I am up to.
I know not.
Only know I one thing for certain.
I am in love with this beautiful life.
And here I explore the nature, the time and cosmos,
In sheer wonderment,
Of that invisible unknown mystery -
The mystery of that invisible Damsel Delight!

It is not just for the sheer diversity and novelty
The dream of existence fascinates me.
But also the web of Life -
The interdependencies, complexities and contradictions,
All making the mystery even more overwhelming,
Takes my breath off.

Certainly a simple play bores me.
So, here is the game that enthralls all imaginations anew,
With the transient landscape of all that is alive.
I try to make a sane sense of what is around,
Through the knitting together,
Tapestry of Life,
With the thread of Love.
The Beautiful Game of Life.

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The Unknown but Knowable

The Unknown, but the Knowable
Plays hide and seek,
Every moment in this ocean of life.

The cycles of hide and seek,
Drench the whole being of existence,
In the rhythm of
Love and hate,
Ecstasy and pain,
Excitement and boredom,
Mundane and extraordinary,
Hope and despair.

All swing the cradle of life,
Civilizations after civilizations,
All embroiled in
Multiplicity of cults, beliefs and ideologies,
Extending across the vastness of the Earth.

Through all these ever changing,
Commotion of transience,
Runs through,
The constancy of the only Absolute.
The Absolute of the Unknown, but the Knowable.

The expanse of clear morning shine
Gets sometimes hidden
By the curse of black clouds,
Of Ignorance, trivialities, and all that is dark and small.
Only to eventually show up
The grandeur of the bright shine of
Enlivening Light of inspiration, passion, hope and aspiration.
But again the cycle continues.

Heartening to know the permanent sanctuary
Of that Unknown, but the Knowable,
Experienced through,
Spontaneous acts of creativity,
Visible through
The eyes of the heart,
The fluidity and dynamic dialectics,
Amazes every bit of my existence!

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Happy Friendship Day!! 2013

A day aptly dedicated to remember, and extend the gratitude to friends and the spirit of friendship.
Happy Friendship day to you all - my friends!

Friends - what does the word imply? Is it a group of individuals forming an inner circle for an my social group, who share my interests, and laugh with me at the same joke? Or is it a group of those, who know me and understand my idiosyncrasies.  Or are they the people who as they say, "a friend in need is a friend indeed"?

I think the word friend is much more beyond that exclusive set of people who make me feel accepted and comfortable. Equally indebted am I to those, who do not like me. Those, who make me feel small, wretched and embarrassed. For only due to the second group, do I know who I am, and who I am not. Only through the second group, do I know from gut, about my barriers and shortfalls. At the same time it paints in-front of me the immense diversity of the nature! More than the sense of loss, it is a sense of gathering new knowledge and new points of view! They show one the depth of the truth of life. How can one call them foes, and not friends? Do, they not equally contribute to one's growth as a fully developed man, to be able to relate to one's existence more closure to what it is, rather than what false conception one has, about oneself and life per se?

The point is that the journey is three fold.  First is about getting stuck in that smallness of considering the other, not friends. That space is that mean narrowness of considering the other different from the self. That space is rightly termed by Marx and other masters of humanity, as the state of "alienation". This primarily is a state of melancholy, where one perceives himself as a lonely entity, on whom the world ("others") are throwing stones. The most challenging part of this stage is not to give way to death, slipping the downhill of various symptoms of neurotic separateness, manifested as hatred, sadness, emptiness, depression, jealousy etc.

The next stage is about identifying the barriers of the self, which makes one alienated, and appear separate and disconnected from the other. It is about curling inside and knowing oneself more fully. This stage is difficult as it is about going beyond what is felt or seen on surface, through the tapestry of personal biases. It is about being able to move out one's own self out of the center of the world, and putting someone else in that place. It is about relating to the other from that vantage point, as they are the center of the world. Compassion represents succinctly this state of being. It is about relating to the other from the vantage point of love, with the attitude of respect towards diversity, with the knowing that what appears so alien, is something that points oneself to something so profound that one would have never even made a sense of that profundity relating to the world, by a lone self.

Obviously when these barriers are identified the task is to remove them, leading one to connect to his fellow humans, and relating to one and all as true friends. This stage of transcendence of one's own barriers, ushers one to that unbounded openness from which life springs out in love. This stage is un-folding outside in the one's pristine nakedness.

These three states are not separate from one another in the real life's stage. They happen together, and and happen always. It depends on one's capacity and skill how much one can beautifully play this game of dynamism, progressing from one stage to the next, and then suddenly regressing with a fall, and again getting up, fully determined to climb the next level, and go on - in the dance - enjoying every moment of the play. It is like a child learning to walk. He crawls, stands, falls, and again decides to stand and continue, only to fall again. The dance continues. But the beauty is that after every fall,  he decides to start all over again! What a beauty!

And again, it appears to me, whether friendship is limited to fellow mankind? Does it not obviously and naturally extend to non-humans; to nature as a whole; to the entire cosmos? Thinking more about it, it increasingly appears that friendship is universal. In fact it is very hard to clearly know for certain, where our individuality ends, and the surrounding starts. The point is that it is very difficult to demarcate the boundary where the self ends, and his surrounding starts; where "I" end and "my friends" start. May be both directs to the same? May be one is visible only due to the other? May be both - self and the other, appear together; always?

Like, for example we have more than 10,000 different species of friendly microbes on and inside our body. They operate in the level of our DNA, capable of switching them on and off, selectively, impacting our mood, perception and our perception. Similarly in our external world, we are increasingly dependent on both people who love us, and those who hate us - For only through the pain of rejection, do we realize for sure the glory of acceptance. Without one, how could we have even comprehended the other. Sometimes it occurs to me, this world both within and outside, comprises of just friends, whose member I myself am. Certainly major part of these friends are non-humans, though unfortunately we are fixated at humans, at most of the times!

Books, ideas, inspirations, visions, purpose, art, vocation, etc are another genre of our friends, who add new meaning to who we are. Certainly such friends are the most special. For they know only one thing - To Give!

The elements - air, water, fire, earth - for sure are friends magnanimous! No complaints, no need, no ego, no quarrels! They only know to give, to inspire, to seed a new idea! The transience and energy of fire, the tranquility and humility of water, the omnipresent space of the everlasting company of the air, the unconditional openness from the unbounded openness of the Earth - reminds of the archetype of friendship!

Friends are also, the times both good and bad! Good times nourishes us, and the bad strengthen! Can there be any friend better than time - epiphanies and trials?

Those memories of love and warmth. Those memories of pain and indifference. Are they not friends of equal importance! For memories are the friends who are permanent with us - Till eternity - leaving the footprints on the vast expanse of the fleeting time.

More I think, more it comes so real to me that may be the self and the other both is encompassed in the spirit of friendship. May be even calling some other entity is a friend, indirectly points that I am separate from the other. May be it is just another illusion. In reality probably I would be absolutely unable to experience who I am and who I am not, without the other. So, does it even makes sense to consider myself as a separate entity from the other? For example how can I experience standing, if there is no earth to stand on. In that case, does the process of standing not comprising of seeing myself only in relation to me and the earth? Can one makes sense of itself, without the other? This dance of dialectics makes life really interesting!

Coming back to friendship day, I take this opportunity to pay my highest homage to the spirit of this complex connectedness, some aligning with the other, and some opposing the other, in an eternal process of transient dynamism of an un-ending transactions, creating an illusion of a varied sparkle of this physical life. From childhood this amazing cosmic play used to be fascinating to me, each time I used to review the periodic table. Just by change of one electron, and the pattern of their arrangement, we have such apparently varied perception of elements. How different is hydrogen from gold! But the difference between them is just a pattern of arrangement of the same electronic wave, and their dance of interdependence.

To that cosmic dance of interdependence, here I offer my worship, on this Friendship Day!
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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar

My 35th Birthday!!

Today is my 35th Birthday. Having born on 17th July, my birth number is (1+7) 8. 35th birthday (3+5) matches the number 8. So it had to be special :). It was absolutely fantastic! Both at office and at home! I was absolutely ravished in pleasant surprise to see my cubicle decorated so thoughtfully by my team!! Had a grand lunch buffet with my team..and they so impeccably arranged for a cake cutting at the restaurant! There was a beautiful birthday song played by the restaurant folks in the background. All wished me!! Parents are with me after ages on my birthday!! The day was special. Very special. It was made special by my friends and family! Thank you all!!

Every birthday, I have a habit of looking back who I was, and who I am, as a man. I try to articulate the one most important take away life has taught me the last year. Most of this is based on readings I do, and my experiences when I try to apply those ideas into practice, trying to search my own truth. For me just reading great thoughts does not make sense, till I apply them, and feel their profundity. I have met many thinkers in my books. Have liked them often, have tried out their ideas, and then having gone deep into their thoughts. Many a times have taken various diversions, when the ideas did not resonate with who I am. In this journey I have abandoned many great men and women, and taken up new thinkers and ideas, which seemed to help me know more closely who I am, and who I am not.

This year also was spent in quite a lot reading, contemplating and practicing. Primarily, everything started with Erich Fromm. A deluge of enlightening ideas from this visionary social scientist. Fromm taught me what it means to love, and what it takes to be a man - he says - fully developed man. He introduced me to the thoughts of Karl Marx. Marx taught me what it means to be a fully developed man by being able to relate to fellow human, through productive and spontaneous activity. He has been teaching me the intricacies of economics, and how society is formed and shaped by the mean of production. Marx is an institution by himself. I have just started scratching the surface. Miles to go before I sleep! The ideas were also made more concrete by the writings of Kafka. I read his book - The Trial. The most symbolic book I have ever read! Thanks to Fromm. Fromm also deepened my ideas about Buddhism. I had a stint re-visiting the Christian mysticism, Sufi mysticism, etc, too. Along with that Karen Armstrong, and Fritjof Capra led me to the world of religion and physics and being again present to their interconnection. Armstrong is one of my person inspiration!

The most refreshing thing that happened to me between 17th July 2012 and 17th July 2013 was Fromm and Marx. I feel, they really helped me to know myself and the world better. I am still continuing Marx and Fromm. But recently since couple of months, I am deep into David Deida. With what a courage, audacity and truth this person speaks! Interesting perspective! Now continuing with his third book. A good place I am standing, trying to synthesize Marx, Freud, Fromm, Tolstoy and Deida! All experimenting on Love, God and Truth. Things going good!

Yes, I started growing beard and hair this year. (Family not happy) Do not know why, I am doing this. It is a fallout of a concoction many thoughts, feelings and whims. I myself am not very sure about it. I can always rationalize it saying something or the other. But, I choose not to do so, and just be in the place, without searching for any explanation and logic. I just want to be free.

Yes, this is the third year of my being a vegetarian. I am finding more and more that vegetarianism is something most natural to me. There is no feeling of righteousness in this. Neither there is any baggage of any ideology. It is just natural for me, and I would like to keep it that way. Again it is about freedom, and being authentic.

One thing makes me feel uncomfortable every birthday - being busy with all myself and me, from morning to night. Hundreds of wishes, phone calls, messages, etc. It certainly feels good that so many people love me! I feel pampered. But it tires me after sometime. It feels like being suffocated by only me, myself and I. The profound desire to break out from the dark bondage of myself, and reach out to others strongly raises its head. It is then, I try to contemplate on those beautiful words, expressions and efforts my friends and family has taken to wish me that day! It feels so good to be able to reach out to their heart, in that space of meditation, where they thought about me, and cared to either call, or send a note of wish. It feels like a communion with God - through fellow humans. It is by itself a profound state to be in! It feels so much more powerful being able to know the other, and relate to the other - their pain, inhibitions, dreams, fears and inspirations!

The primary state of being that I am in communion with through this birthday, is the spirit of being in the state of unbound openness of Love. It is about ravishing the world and myself, in profound openness. From that canvas of openness, I am trying to create every moment, relationship, and institutions, being the possibility of boundless Love. Being in that state, it is all about how I give the gift of the truth - who I am, to one and all. It is about penetrating the world with my gift of openness and Love, in the spirit of service. It is about feeling through my desires and expressing them with my gift to the world - through my words, poems, actions, and work.


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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar

The Bliss of Death

The music from the violin,
Arises from the hidden world of the heart,
Mingles slowly but gradually,
Into the vastness of Her open embrace.


When the music shows up in all its youth,
It enthralls and amazed all!
In all its pride and voluptuous presence,
It basks in all the highest glory!
Gradually but to eventually vanish,
Entering into Her,
With certainty and un-diluted love!


The Sun rises in all its magnificence,
Only to more and more realize
Its love for her, with every passing moment,
Being eaten by Her,
In all arduous and unstoppable Love,
To the ultimate silent night.
Having being hugged to nothingness,
The Sun in hope of more,
Again rises the other day,
Just to experience being exterminated
All over again, Eaten wholly in Her Love.


The song from the depths unfathomable,
From the throbbing soul of the poet,
Emanates out in all ardor,
Determined to escape to the fresh air of life,
From the suffocating entrapment
Of the chores and rules.
With grown feathers it does explores
The horizon wide.
Flaunts its radiant color,
And novel expressions.
Only to realize eventually its only Love,
The Love for Her,
Vanishing in her bossom,
Like nothing existed a moment ago!


In the landscape that is known as reality,
The games, dances and the celebrations,
All the chimes of the bells,
And the hues of vermillion, crimson, and indigo,
All the strokes, shouts, moans, and laughters
Appears such that
Hidden within all what is manifest,
Is a hidden truth!
The truth of that un-dying Love,
The eternal attraction to Nothingness,
Entering into Her,
Forgetting all that ridges, highs and lows,
Being erased for all and ever.


Walking by the silent Nile,
In the canopy of the twinning eyes,
Of the ageless twinkling sages,
Watching as stars from the infinitude of the open space,
Simoni moves on in ultimate surrender,
In his Love for Her,
Watching himself to be wasted,
With wrinkles, and all frailties of age.
Just to discover in all newness,
That rejuvenated primordial attraction,
From eons past and eons to come,
To be taken forever by Her
In that bestial grasping, clasping,
That tightest hug of the Beloved,
And Her cuddle of the all encompassing Mother,
Warm, violent, ecstatic, relieving and certain!
Into the eternal bliss of Death!
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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar

She

An evocation of the Primordial Song,

From the deepest recesses of the Soul!

A huge splash of buckets of Vermillion,
On the huge dusky canvas!

An all embracing inclusiveness,
Like the magnanimous Mother Earth!

A bestial throbbing urge,
Eager to engulf within all that is!

A damsel in trance,
Swooning in overflowing emotion!

A process of expanding the self,
Increasing in the breadth, spreading all around.

Disappearance in that vast openness,
Nothing to hide in tensed closeness!

The act of the turmeric dissolving earnestly,
In the all accepting being of the milk!

The fragrance of the Jasmine,
Enthralling the being of the whole garden!

The birth opening up as the virgin dawn,
Death ensuing to a new horizon as the wise dusk!

The wheel of Life goes on,
She is watching it in her full grandeur!

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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar

Saluting Motherhood

A portal for an angel to taste
What it means being a God.
Being in the pedestrian of the Highest Glory.
Of being the Creator,
Of a new Life, a new Hope, a new Dream!
It is being the Mother.

A re-creation of the self,
In the primal being of Creativity,
Giving birth to a New Dawn,
With Potential anew,
Nurturing the seed,
With all the Possibilities in potential,
Grooming it to the fully grown Tree,
Beautifying the landscape and Sustaining the same!
The stroke of being a Mother.

A stance of grace,
All alone through the solitary journey,
Nurturing a life within Her womb,
Containing all in her,
The fear, hope, pain, dreams and Love,
Of Hers, and the one to come!
Bringing forth her creation,
Through the lonely torture of that unbearable pain!
Is that Elegance of Being a Mom!

Being able to contain all in Love,
Nurturing with that all encompassing Hope,
All forms of Life, All forms of Possibilities,
A living Channel,
Bringing down the Highest Invisible Archetype,
From the horizons unknown,
To the tangible reality of day and night!

A Being exemplified by Mothers all over the world,
All colored in just one garb of Grace,
The Grace of Motherhood,
Bringing forth to the world,
What it means to be a Creator.
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 Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar

The Solitary Vagabond

There lies the vast expanse,
The green meadow,
The strip of crimson flowers,
The dots of flowers and fruits,
In colors yellow, green, blue, and red.
The trees, the stream, the mountains and the sky!
All varied and unique and so special!


The vastness of the sky,

The grandeur of the mountain,
The still and strong tree,
The shy bushes,
The frigid touch me nots!


The Solitary Vagabond roams
From meadows to stream,
From trees to falls,
From oceans to deserts.


In his journey, he stops often.
Either to the pink tulip, or the green cactus.
Sometimes to the clean flowing stream,
Or to the passionate roaring ocean.

All elements in nature,
Established in their own beauty,
Flourish, Blossom and Thrive!
The Solitary Vagabond, stops by,
Listens to their song,
Hums it a while, loves the music,
And kisses them, as he goes by!


He is in love,
With the flamboyant Albatross,
And the coy turtle,
For he knows all have a heart of Gold!
He tries to touch them,
From the core of his truthful heart,
With the touch of his throbbing Love.


The cactus bleeds his fingers,
The touch-me-not closes her away,
Vanishing in the closeness of darkness,
The Albatross takes his new flight
Charting a horizon new,
Leaving him abandoned.


All continue to follow their journey,
Some love the Solitary Vagabond,
Some hate him from core.
For all are different, unique and so special.
They have their own language, their own fears,
Their own songs and their own strokes.
All see the Vagabond colored in their own colors!


The Vagabond continues to be solitary,
Always being in Love,
He continues to stop by,
And touch all with the touch of his soul,
From the depth of his pure heart.

With every touch, and every hurt,
With every stone toppling him,
With every new pain, and scar deepened,
He has a new impression,
The impression of Life and Love.


For the Solitary Vagabond,
All the scars, sweat, pain and tiredness,
Is the gift of Life,
For he is able to see the invisible,
The archetype hidden in beneath
The surface of all the diverse chaos.


Bliss sails him through in ecstasy,
Pain churns his soul,
And brings forth the pearl of wisdom!
All play their own role,
Nourishing the Vagabond in his journey!
For, he knows for sure,
The truth is just One - Love and Only Love.
It is just he has to know it better,
With every scar, with every blow.

Sun is about to set,
Vagabond is tired,
Every joint of his body is pain.
Stops he not.
Continues he the journey eternal.


Sun sets, and Moon rises.
Stars come up twinkling in amazement.
The Vagabond continues his journey,
Going beyond all that is non-essential,
Beyond all barriers
Of hatred, meanness, closeness, and delusion,
To touch all, in his purity of Love.


He has no one with him -
No person, no thing.
He is solitary and alone.
But more than what he has,
He is happy with what he is,
For he has been able to Love,
In equal fervor -
The Cactus and the Tulip.


At the sunset of his life,
He knows nothing will be take with him.
When Death hides him
In the dark shroud of the unknown,
He would know that he is happier,
For he has been able to touch the Heart of All,
Knowing the bliss,
Not by what they felt or gave back,
But by what he was able to give, and discover!


His God is the invisible core,
Of all that is alive,
Beneath the bustle and chaos,
Of all judgement, illusions, transience,
That Truth which thrives
In the Space of the perpetual Sanctuary,
The Sanctuary of Love.

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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar

Simoni's Closet

Ever changing is Time, as the Things.
So do people, feelings and seasons change.
Good that memories don’t.

Opening the huge closet, Simoni was about to
Start the Journey to the bygone lanes of his memory.

The closet of red velvet, lined with glistening gold,

Opened into precious memories
Of years gone by!

There were rings, bells, books, notes, book-marks,
Plaques, and trophies.
All impeccably placed, clean and shining.

In one corner was a rolled red muslin.
Seeing it Simoni remembered it!
Unrolled he the muslin with peace,
Was there a strand of hair,
And note of thanks! - Still Fragrant in that youthful Love.

Started he reading through the lines,
Between the words, and letters.
For started surging the invisible waves
From forgone years of abandonment.

The waves of feelings, emotions,
Vulnerability, fear, pride, honor, and Love.
The note, the letters and that
Most Beautiful handwriting!
All appeared like the Harp of Venus,
What was more essential for Simoni,
Was the hidden Symphony.
The Symphony of that pristine Love.


The color and texture of the paper has aged,
Simoni’s eyes have gone weaker,
His fingers has wrinkles many,
The Love from Her, is now lost
In the commotion of years gone by.
But then, what was still young, fresh and unchanged -

Are the memories, the throbbing of the heart,
And that surrender in the space of Love,
Simoni was going through.
It was all the same then,
It is still the same now!

It was about a century ago,
When the Love was born,
Out of an innocent liking.
In that space in time and dimensions,
Before She loved him, a century ago,
And after she changed, and never loved him again,

In that space behind and in-front,
Simoni was sailing on his suchness of Love,
With shimmering phantasm of
Emotions, lust, longing, sensations,
Rising and dying on the eternal ocean of
The Suchness, and Permanence
Of the Sanctuary of Simoni’s Love,
Always present in Peace.


His possessions in his secret closet,
That strand of hair, the note, the book mark,
The ring, the bells,
All appeared to him keys to the mystery,
The Mystery of Life and Love,
The Eternal, un-changing, constant and un-altered,
Axis of his every youthful Love,
For Her.

For more poems on Michel Simoni and his love - 

http://criativ-mind.blogspot.in/search/label/SIMONI%20SERIES

http://www.amazon.com/Simonis-Story-sculptor-his-love/dp/1481128590/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1367386585&sr=8-1&keywords=samrat+kar

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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar

Letting Go

Growing up and letting go,
Flowing like the clear stream,
From tip of the fall,
To the vast ocean,
Life is all about letting go.

The seed in the soil,
Lets go to the sapling supple,
Innocent, soft, and naive.
The sapling lets go to the huge firm tree,
Giving shade to the travelers weary.
The tree lets go her flowers and the fruits,
And then after years of giving,
She lets go herself to the Mother Earth,
Mingling to the dust, from where she came.
Letting go for another seed, another sapling,
Fruits and Flowers anew,
With colors more vibrant,
And songs more melodious and novel.

The infant lets go to be the toddler,
The toddler lets go to the teen,
The teen, to the adult, and then to the old.
Finally all lets go to the finality of death,
Just to open up new possibilities,
Of new generation, better and more beautiful.

The whisper of the hidden hopes of the expectant dawn,
Lets go to the crimson quietness of the tired dusk,
The throbbing heart of arduous passion,
Lets go to the awareness of the transience to unfurl,
Into the cold spread of the reality of pain.

In this game of letting go,
Its exciting to be part of the roller coaster,
Letting go the hope, equally with fear.
Letting go acceptance, equally with rejection.
Letting go pride, equally with embarrassment.
Letting go all that a man can have,
Letting go all that a man can be.

It is that surrender to the mere suchness,
The suchness that I was when I was born.
The suchness, that I will be when I die.
The suchness, that I was always before I existed.
The suchness, that I will be eons after I die.

All this play is a transient rising tide.
It will rise, and then gain fall,
Mingling into the eternal train of the line of eternity.
Nothing matters,
At the same time,
All that is - Is just this. And nothing else.

In this practice of letting go,
Somewhere deep inside my heart,
A deep ridge is sown,
With love, understanding, compassion, openness and courage.
In this breaking apart in openness and surrender,
I absorb the nectar of being alive,
In all its color, sound, smell and appearance,
Knowing for the first time, every moment,
Yet again and again,
Who am I, and who am I not.
Engulfing the eternal expanse of life,
Within me, All that his human, All that is life.
Both in its exquisite zenith of inspiration,
And it its darkest nadir of existence.

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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar

The Rendezvous with the Eternal

In his studio ancient,
With hammer, chisel and his family of tools,
Was Simoni working on his art.

Around him were sculptures he made long back,
There were men, women, tigers, and tulips.
All in white deeply gazed Simoni busy at his work.

Suddenly Simoni was distracted with the angry gaze,
Of the tiger and the rhino.

And the eyes of disdain,
From countenance of stale old statues of men and women.

Surprised at the anger and hatred, he looked deep into their eyes,
Trying to make out the reason.


Looking into the eyes of the tiger and the rhino,
Simoni, observed in him the ebb and flow
The spasm of the pain of rejection.
Discerning deeper, found he a deep seated need,
Deep down his heart,
To be embraced in the all accepting warm embrace.
He found in him, the infantile craving of a motherly hug -
A symbol of acceptance and love.

Taken aback was he,
To confront face to face,
His weak, emotional need - his handicap.
And that superstition of meeting that need
From the tiger and the rhino in marble.
He was like a child looking out for a crutch.


Then suddenly hit him the wind of the fragrance of acceptance,
From the tulip, silently watching him in adoration, by the side.

He felt immensely comforted by the solace of kinship,
He was wallowing in the wave of love.
He felt strong and happy.
Discerning deeper again he was stunned at this new found strength,
The strength which was just an incarnation of a deep seated weakness.
A weakness of the ardor to be accepted,
From one and all, and the tulip included.
It was again that weakness of a longing of embrace of love.

And then, once established in that strength,
He could sense the tinkling of the hope,
A hope of a constant adoration from the tulip.
And then there was fear hidden under the hope,
"Hope she never leaves me alone"

In all his unrest with the gaze of the tiger and the rhino,
The amorous advances of the tulip,
And the disdaining looks from the stale old men and women,
He discovered the barriers in him,
That was crippling him and weakening him,
That was obstructing him to become fully who he is.

The barriers would get dissolved when he is deep in his work.
When deep into his art of chipping away those extras from the marble rock,
To shape it to the most beautiful angel,
He remembered there was that infinite wave of love,
That he created within himself,
Out of his skill, passion, creativity, and toil.
He remembered that the Eternal Loving Embrace
Was already within him,
And he was the source of that,
All along his journey of creation.
He was the source, and the world was just a reflection.

He realized that neither the beauty of the tulip
Was dependent on his adoration of her,
Nor, his sense of being loved and accepted,
Was dependent on the whim of the tulip.
For that the hatred in the eyes of the tiger and rhino,
Might be self created, or the objective truth out there,
But that does not matter to him,
As he is already fulfilled in love and acceptance,
Creating that wave of passion for himself, and his art,
Deep inside his heart.

No, Simoni is not indifferent to the tiger of the tulip.
Simoni, stands in acceptance and love,
For all around him.
He might not be fraternal,
He might not be part of the group.
But, he stands there entirely fulfilled,
With no needs, but a bag full of gifts,
Gifts of love, acceptances, compassion, respect, humility, and wonder.

He returns to his sculpture,
In white he was chipping the bosom of the angel,
Being able to see through the beautiful heart of hers,
Beneath the luscious curves.
An angel who was his heart, his creativity, his passions, personified.
Who was bright, youthful and brimming with joy.
The angel was in no need.
But was existing only to give.
For she was the Simoni's fulfilled and Joyous Heart.

Simoni went in trance,
Amidst the sound of his chisel,
And the softness of the presence of the angel,
Deeply engrossed in his work and toil,
He had a passing thought -
Was this the Rendezvous with the Eternal?

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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar

The Love of the Pond

Under the open blue sky,
Center of the dreamlike green meadow,
There lies the solitary Pond.
An old soul is he,
Older than
All the lands happy and sad,
All the fun and melancholy,
All the exhilarations and heart break,
All ups and downs,
Right there he sits,
Meditating - still and silent.
With his heart brimming with -

His love for the bright yellow Lotus,
His ardor for the luscious pink water lilly,
His limitless care for the swans swimming,
His affection for the wriggling schools of fish,
His longing for that special fairy from the heavens,
Beyond the stars and all starry noises of the tranquil dark sky.

He knows all his love,
Will never be his.
For his love is bigger than his embrace.
And his love is too alive to be an object of his possession.
For his love is infinite.
Taking forms innumerable,
Sometimes in form of a song, or a poem,
Or might be just a gush of calm breeze,
Caressing his body with all her affection and love.

His love stands in that tranquil presence,
Close to his heart,
In manifestations countless outside,
But just only one - deep within his heart,
His love, and his being,

Two - always entwined with each other,

Deep bonded, without any crack of anything visible.

His love is an expression of life.
Which expresses herself all around,
In forms countless,

In myriads form and colors,

In countless voices and symphonies.

But, unknown is his love,
Of that eternal longing of the Pond,
For her and only her.
For she is herself,
Eternally busy with her dance,
With the countless of loves of her own!

Decorating the fabric of the world,

With hues of a thousand rainbows.

All deeply in love, 

The yellow Lotus, the pink Lilly, the swans, and the fish.

The Heavens, and the Earth.
Being in that space of peace,
Celebrate the beauty of life!

All are unaware of the silent, solitary and still Pond. 

Under the open blue sky,

Center of the dreamlike green meadow,

An old soul,

Older than
All the lands happy and sad,
All the fun and melancholy,
All the exhilarations and heart break,
All ups and downs.

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Blessing of the Fakir

The fakir, wanders the barren land,

Down the rocky ways, meandering streams,
Lost in the world of the music of his poems.

He watches the vastness of the blue sky,
The generosity of the great Banyan tree,
The acceptance of the Mother Earth,
The carefree stream of loitering water,
The passionate tides and tireless ocean,
Mesmerized is he to feel his Lord,
Invisible through all that is manifest!

Amazed is he, just to be in the presence,
Of that limitless Being,
Invisible, but so real.
Continuously claiming herself,
To each of the patient eye,
Each longing heart!

What else I want,
Utters the Fakir,
The nearness of my Beloved - my Lord.
So close you art with me,
For I see you in me, and me in you!

The Fakir blesses his Love - his Lord,
For being so alive, dancing with life,
In forms unlimited,
From the small acorn,
To the giant oak tree.
From the thin trickle of stream,
To the limitless ocean,
From the darkest nights,
To the brightest days.
All manifesting in multitude,
Just the One.

Quietly the Fakir lies down on the footpath,
With a smile in his face,
Relaxing in the bosom of the Mother Earth,
Caressed by the beloved Moonlight,
Cuddled by the fleeting sensuous breeze.
Lost in the intoxication of his love,
He partakes another journey in the world of his dreams.
But as in the world of matter,
So in the world of his dreams,
His beloved is always with him,
His love - His Lord!

The fakir, wanders the barren land,
Down the rocky ways, meandering streams,
Lost in the world of the music of his songs.
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The Fakir's Symphony

The warrior amidst the battle, singing the song of the Truth.
Playing the symphony eternal,
There he strolls carefree - The Fakir.

With dirt on his clothes, hair in shambles,
Mud and dust on his face, dried is his throat,
But continues he sings, the song of his heart.
There he strolls - The Fakir.

All the twinkling stars up in the sky
And the curious Moon shining up high,
Wonders at the mystery hidden in his heart,
Giving way to the symphony and the Profound Trance!
There he strolls - The Fakir.

In the fond remembrance was he,
Meandering the memory lanes
Of those ageless stories of truth,
Which all think just folklores,
Those momentous sighs of the longing heart,
Which men dismiss just as gush of breath.
Those lightness of the naive heart,
Believing the illusion for the truth!
There he strolls - The Fakir.

Ages and eons passed by
For he was looking for his Beloved, out there in the world,
Trying to snatch and have that shadow for himself,
Only for himself - To have her for ever.
For sure he bumped upon idols, temples, signs and posts.

He mistook them for his Beloved.
Sometimes he believed he got Her. But then, she was again gone.
Like that luscious mirage eluding the thirsty traveller.

Till the Fakir, on one of those solitary strolls,
Lost in his fantasy of his Beloved,
Bumped onto his song! His own song!
From the inner chords of his own heart,
With the accompaniment of the beauty his own mind.
Now the Fakir strolls as the creator,
Eternally bonded in love with his beloved.
Invokes he, his Damsel,
At any time, at any place.
For he knows, his Beloved and he is One.
There is nothing outside there,
But all is within - Here and Now
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A Valentine Day Wish

Venus - By Sandro Botticelli - 1486

Here is my heartiest wish to you,
On this special day dedicated to Love, Just Love.

May the sail of Compassion and Love,
Always guide your boat through the ruthless waves of life.

May you discover that wonderful person in you.
May you always be your most loved valentine,
Even if the whole world looks down on you.

For I have known, it is impossible to know one,
Without the eyes conditioned in love,
The mind guided with empathy,
The heart garbed in compassion.

May you never cease to be in love,
Even if you are stoned to death.
For life has no meaning without love.

May you know for sure,
Whatever appears devoid of love,
Is just a farce, No matter how convincing it appears.

May you always express your love,
For the rose wilts away in dark,
It needs the light of the world,
To shine and spread its fragrance.

It is only when you sing your song aloud,
You recognize your own voice.
Singing out your love,
Would make you present to your own love.

When you plant a wish,
When you have a thought,
Nourish it with only love, and nothing else.
It is only love, that is real,
All else is just illusion.

May you always remember,
It is more important to be kind, than to be right.

May you always take things in your own pace.
No matter how fast or slow others are.

May you do what you think is right,
No matter who tells, it is wrong.

May you have the perspective,
That Love is a desperate search
In the eyes of others,
That what is most special in yourself.

May you be one with your Valentine -
Your own special and unique self.
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The Futile Struggle

That struggle to bring Her into form,
That sense of awe,
That feeling of likeness,
That solace in heart,
Is a futile errand.


Each time I attempt to put in words,
That inspiration, or that ecstasy,
Each time I try to bring into color,
That wish, that dream,
Each time, I try to sing
That unsung desire.
All what comes to form,
Is not that inspired in the first place.
All in the world of form,
Appears just a metaphor of
The real Invisible.


I think with awe, about the masters bygone,
Who could bring into reality,
Their love, their vision,
From the labyrinths of hidden darkness,
To the light of the day.


Why then I can't carve out my Love,
That inspiration, that enchantment, that Divine,
In my poems, in my song, in my life?


I know the struggle is futile.
But I shall keep trying.
May be this is what life is for me.
Being in the journey of a disciple,
Lovelorn for the Ideal,
Trying to see her in my poems,
Trying to feel her in my songs.


For one day for sure,
Before I cease to exist in form,
Before mingling into the invisible again,
May be I would have found her,
My Ideal, My Lord.
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Prayers from a rustic soul

In the trance, here I stand,
With my words, my letters, and the invisible Inspiration.
For I know these are not just words,
But are prayers, from rustic soul!

Held strong is the connection,
Since millennia days, and seasons,
With the thread of love. Just Love.

Love for that all inclusive humanity.
Where there is nothing which is alien.
Where there is no separation,
But just unity and fraternity.

In that deep bond, held I am ever strong.
Grounded in faith, and friendship to one and all.
A space shared by all,
Where all belong to me, and I belong to all.

For sure, we are not all same,
For better we differ!
Different shades of the rainbow,
We all are,
But sharing the same sky,
The same space,
We hold each other by hand,
Stand shoulder to shoulder,
Arching the sky from one horizon to the other.

In the trance, here I stand,
With my words, my letters, and the invisible Inspiration.
For I know these are not jus words,
But are prayers, from a rustic soul!
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The Journey of Love

In love was born a little but an infinite and immortal soul.
Eons ago, when there was no creation around.
What simply existed was silence and darkness dead.


The Soul was in love.
He was in his journey eternal,
To see, hear, smell, touch and taste,
That part in him that he priced the most!
That he could see as a reflection,
In his love for his lady with the most beautiful eyes.


Didn't know he about his beloved.
But just he could have some apparition
Here and there, sometimes in his dreams,
Sometimes when fully awake,
His Beloved playing hide and seek,
Either in the blossoms of the spring,
Or the wetness of the monsoon.


In that journey, he discovered for himself,
The ever bright assertive rising Sun,
The soft and silvery mellow Moon,
The ecstatic wild arduous oceans,
The still, meditative mountains high.
Strangely all seemed to be in love,
Craving to embrace in all their passion,
There own personal love,
In the best way they could.


Millions of years did pass away,
The ever youthful soul,
Still looks for his beloved,
In his eternal journey,
Finding for himself,
The reflection of his love -
In those most beautiful eyes,
In those luscious trembling petal like lips.
Hanging from the edge of time,
Like the dew drop from the tip of the leaf green,
Passes the soul from one form to the other,
Covering centuries, millennia and eons,
Sailing in the curved continuum of time and space,
Looking out for his lady love -
Those most beautiful eyes.


That eternal journey,
Is the soul engrossed in,
Discovering his love,
Thus knowing himself better.


His love gave rise to the flora and fauna,
And all the humanity,
Held together in the bond of love,
Ever growing all around,
Extending the silver lining of that immortal love.


Each time today,
When a child gasps at the Grand Canyon,
Or wonders at the rapturous Niagara,
When he looks wonderstruck onto the starlit sky,
With the twinkle in his eye,
Knows he not,
All are just reflection of the love of the little soul,
His love for his lady with the most beautiful eyes.


Transcends the love of the little soul,
From the tiniest insect to the blue whale,
Extending all over the oceans, deserts, mountains and plains,
Throbs his love with ever renewed passion,
To see, to know and to embrace,
His Beloved deep inside in the temple of his heart.

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The perfect place in the world

The perfect place in the world,
For me is my study,
With open books all around,
With book marks reminding a train of revolution on hold,
Waiting to be synthesized
With thoughts ancient, new and unique,
Creating a world beautiful, in real!
For today, tomorrow, and through eternity.
With my pen, my computer,
This beautiful mind and heart,
Working through the ideas of masters many,
Spending hours trying to grasp their ideas,
Their passions, their inspirations.


The perfect place in the world,
For me is my study,
Sitting on the recliner,
With closed eyes,
Reflecting upon the power of human mind,
Creating the expressions as creatively breathtaking,
As the Vedas,
And as heinous and derogatory as the Holocaust!
And then following the chain of the civilization,
And gasping at the magical train
Of Human ingenuity, holding as silver lining,
The hope of an inspiring future!
Inspired with the undaunted spirit of human expression,
Defeating on its way all the anomalies and aberrations.

The perfect place in the world,
For me is my study,
Meditating with gratitude,
At precious heritage of human history,
At the unique point when I am alive,
Working tirelessly,
Towards communicating,
The creative legacy of the human race,
To myself, and the world.

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Happy New Year 2013

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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar