SELF MADE PRISON

Thoughts enshrine

Feelings entwine

Fear freezes

 Pleasure enchains

Hared and desire burn away

Caught up in my “ self”  made  prison

Life fades away ! 

YOURS IS THE CHOICE

All that you seek

Will lead to suffering!

All that you let go

Will lead to happiness

The heretic says!

Yours is the choice my friend!  

ANTICIPATION

The treasure within

A missing tooth

 A mind lost to anticipation

The heretic says!

Can suffering be far behind? 

HOW MUCH LOVE !

Running away from fangs of death

On this fatal treadmill of time!

Older and short of breath

How long will my fuse last?

No more solace in cynicism

Nothing Bitter sweet in sarcasm

The hard truth of suffering is here

Nothing more can evade it

It can crack any skull; and melt any brain

Memories and hope too,

All shall evaporate! 

The heretic says!

Oh! How much Love can save this world! 

FROST BITE

The winter morning is cold

My hands are weeping numb

No sunshine to warm

No gloves to protect

As the frost bites into my frozen heart! 

PAIN

Pain is the truth and painful is the way

Man may struggle forever

But can the curse of pain go away?

Protector of the body, they often say

But, is not pain, the furnace that burns the soul away

Unfathomable in severity, and variegate in form

Each painful one, scorching the mind in a different way

The writhing pain of birth, the gnawing pain of disease

 

The stabbing pain of injury; the choking pain of death rattle

How merciless is the heinous power of pain

In this ever-changing interwoven web of reality

Where life is a game of survival and preference

The truth of pain may be inevitable

Its flagitious sword may be invincible

But still; letting go of self pity, and letting go of the self

The weed of suffering withers; and the blossom of serenity flourishes

As the truth of pain is here to stay!

FISH ASHORE

The time has come and the tide has receded

The baren rocks are all exposed

A fish caught between rocks and sand

Where can I swim today?

My gills are dry and muddy

My heart is clogged with purple blood

My my scales are peeling

 And my fins flutter in the cold empty air

How long will this agnoy last

How long will the celestial fisherman play?

WASTED WINTER

The silence over the hills speaks of sadness

The cold wind over the plains, snows down as pain

The cold winter seems endless

As my sorrow is wasted in vain! 

EMPTY HANDS IN A FLEETING WORLD

Never was I born, to die today

Nothing has changed, yet nothing stands still

With empty hands I let my suffering go

Within flashing dreams of this fleeting world

Pleasant is it for everyone, when the new spring comes to pass

When chains of love drag me to my empty grave! 

HOW MUCH ME

How much brighter must the sun shine, to  see in the hidden shadow?  

How much clearer must be the mirror, to see the sadness in my soul?  

How much violent must be the anger, that dares to hurt Me

How much bitter must be hatred, that finally kills Me

How much molten must be lust, that lures to melt Me

Torn between the void of empty spaces and faces

How much deeper must my love be to love once again! 

VENOMOUS WINE OF ATTACHMENT

Drinking from the foamy cup of evanescent life

The venomous wine of attachment!

How sweet is the taste of the luring sip?

How sweet is its first after taste! 

Yet with every gulp after; every gulp your crave

As the stealth of the venom blinds your heart, and cripples your soul  

Pangs of suffering choke your mind!

Oh drunken soul of mine!     

How intoxicated have I become!

          

          

Intoxicated I am in fear and love

Intoxicated I am in passion

Intoxicated I am in sensual pleasure

Intoxicated I am in experience

Tell me, oh drunken soul of mine

If existence is merely a vivid dream

What more can be of mere experience?

PICTURE FRAMES AND MEMORIES

Picture frames and memories

Hopes, smiles and miseries

Of love, loss and emptiness

The eternal pursuit of happiness

Of dreams and visions that only shatter!

Life and meaning; that don’t really matter!

With bonded chains of attachment

A life free of detachment

Can  selfless frames without memory

Be free from life, and its misery?