Defiant Originality

With the recklessness of the high-wire acrobat

You throw yourself onto the tightrope,

You swing and fly and soar through your imagination,

Because these words are yours

What We Are

I am a handful of dust thown into the air

Carried by a wind bristling with racing raindrops 

Hurrying to extinguish the sun

But in the end the sun folds into itself, 

The raindrops trickle into oblivion,

The dust is gone,

And God and men remain

The Merchant

The merchant was clothed quite simply and was covered warm with a brown coat. He had sharp features. He seemed to be middle-aged. He traveled alone. Behind him, a horse that carried his belongings trudged along.

The town he traveled through at the moment seemed to be quite empty. It was late afternoon, bit all he could hear was the chirping of the birds. The town seemed to be asleep. The only sign that people actually lived here was the occasional teashop which had the shopkeeper and one or two customers within then.

The merchant entered one of the teashops. It was quite small, with a maximum capacity of perhaps ten. Beside him, there was another man reading a book, and the shopkeeper, who looked expectantly at him.

"What would you want, sir?" The owner, a stout man of fifty or so, asked him.

"Just a tea," the merchant replied.

The shopkeeper looked at the horse tied outside the shop. "You come from afar?"

The merchant nodded.

He got his tea in a minute, and he began to muse on various things.

Presently he took out a small notebook from his coat and began writing.

It's quite a cold day. I still haven't found any suitable lodging. If I don't find one before sundown, I'll have to pitch a tent and sleep in one of the fields in these parts. Not that I'm uncomfortable with that.... I'm really used to that now, what with the whole of last year being spent in incessant travelling. What else.... Bad memories are like vultures.... They try to prey on you even when you're only half-dead. Whatever. The people in these parts seem to be silent. It's as if everyone is sleeping. I wonder what's to do them. Perhaps they had some celebration yesterday and have decided to take a lavish rest today. I don't know.

The tea here is horrible. I just drank half of it and I've had enough.

I'm leaving this shop.

The merchant rose up and paid the shopkeeper. 

Past the teashops, past the houses, past the fields, past the tall trees on his horse he rode.

At the town square an old,  bearded man stopped him. 

"What is your name?" The bearded man asked.

The merchant told him.

"From where do you come from?"

The merchant told him.

"Have you found a place to spend the night?"

"No," the merchant answered.

"Then you can rest with your horse in my fields."

It was an unexpected gift, and the merchant gladly took it.

At sunset the merchant sat by a tree in the field. The horse was tied to the same tree. There goes another day, he thought. I feel so flustered. I feel restless.... As if I want to do something but I just can't. And what is it that I want do? Write an epic novel or a grandiose poem of tens of thousands of pages? Or read one?

Is God watching me as I think here in this sunset? 

I am tired of being pushed around and being hemmed in on all sides by clouds. What am I to do? All this seems to lack meaning. Here am I in the loneliness of the sunset, basking in solitude. With no one to help me, with no one to ferry me to the sunrise where all things are new. What a world where no one cares, no one helps the other. Ensconced and cocooned in bubbles of selfishness, bubbles so fragile that if breathed upon they break, here we are, utterly distanced from the other. Bleak pilgrimage that forces us forward, on and on, though we resist. Only an apparition of God, He who promised to accompany till the consummation of the universe, will set us free. He who finds God finds life. For God alone is fire, all else is smoke.  All I want is to break past the fetters that hold me back.

And on and on and on and on he mused, till the rising of the new sun.

New Life

I strangle my heart into new life

And take my camel named Luxury

And the empty and desolate desert that surrounds it

Through the needle's eye.

I come out gasping on the other side,

Taking some time to catch my breath,

And realize that I am born again

Say Something Revolutionary

When poems worthy of the bonfire

Are written once again

When rebellion breaks its slumber 

And rises once again

When men revolt against the common flow of things

And break free from the mire of lies and half-lies

When Truth in its frightening beauty

Is seen desirable once again

Then revolution echoes in my heart

And I too will join you, my friend

In this voyage against the current

So say something revolutionary

Ephemeral The Leaves

Ephemeral the leaves that dance in the wind

Decay'd to the brown of late autumn's tint

Fleeting the memories of midnight dreams

Crumbl'd to pieces by dawn it seems

Brief ash this life we hold close to our heart

Just as we rise to fly we are torn apart

What greatness does last? We are soon dust

And into the hands of the Father our souls are thrust.

Donkey

You came to Jerusalem on a donkey

And were greeted by hosannas from a joyful crowd

From then on you were ever ascending to your glorious throne

From the Temple of Jerusalem,

Rising to the wood of the Cross,

Ressurecting past the flimsy grave

And from there ascending to the heavens

To be seated forever on your glorious throne.

Let me be at least the donkey

That takes you to Jerusalem.

Thorn of a Rose

Once long ago

There was a thorn of a rose

That lived in a hanging garden.

Soldiers cut it up, bundled it into a bag

And curved it into a crown.

They placed it on a young man

Who had just been scourged

And laughed at him derisively.

It was a long time coming for me

To realize that it was You.

Was I the thorn, O Christ

Who pierced your Blessed Face?

Melting Without Freezing

The ice

Of the glaciers of the Poles

That may be centuries of years old

And runs along for miles and miles

With the occasional crevice

And the irregular rise and fall

Is slowly melting without freezing

The world is melting

Farewell to it

(Farewell, pale blue dot, farewell)

Ice Is Melting

Ice is melting

Water is rising

Day is scorching

Night is freezing

Life is crying

Hope is fading

Earth is dying

Only God save us now

Progress

The ice,

Glaciers,

Inuit,

Polar bears,

Poles,

Hope,

And the world are melting

And we charge our smartphones

Amid The Snow, Into The Light

Winter whispers its icy winds

And freezes the waters.

Snow blankets the city

I arrive at Copenhagen, desolate, despairing

Flinging every bit of ego to the ground

Every bit

Every

I too walk along the frosty road with the others

Catching sight of Christiansborg Palace

The dyanamite words you have sowed

In my heart have exploded

And I realize now that

It is you that I need

Across the bridge and into yhe palace

Through the elegant halls and chambers

Until I reach the Palace Chapel

Kneeling, I throw myself before the throne of the one king.

Light explodes

The Light Of Christ

Huddled into seeming herds,

Countless of us there are

Moving along this beaten path

Each of us tragically unique

Each of us distanced from each other

Bleak pilgrimage

Would no one light a candle? 

And then I heard his name being called

Softly at first, then louder

One who was as broken as us

One whose hands and feet bore wounds

He became all that I needed

I will not be needing your candlelight anymore, my friend

For Light itself shines along with me

I Sit Here Listening

In these sullen plains,

Sound explodes

Noisy loudspeakers,

Angry voices,

Flamboyant music,

Deafening songs

All around me,

Cacophony

I will walk and walk and walk

Across these plains

To the base of the mountain

And from there,

I will climb and climb

Till I reach the top

At the mountain-top,

Beautiful silence acknowledges my presence,

And I acknowledge her

No longer is there empty noise,

But silence

Utter, utter peace

I sit here listening.

Dilemma

The young lad stood on the sidewalk, looking at the house on the opposite side of the street. The house, painted white, had a splendid garden of roses before it. It had two floors, with two large windows on each floor. All the windows had curtains, so he wasn't able to look inside. He made as if to cross the street and enter, but then changed his mind.

Better the silent regret than numb pain, he thought to himself, and he went away.

False Dawn

He walked down the streets of an empty city

In haste for soon the night would shrug off its dark overcoat

Into the oblivion of surrounding space

And sat he upon the shores of the endless waters.

There in the faint light he saw ships approach the port,

First the sail and then the hull,

And then the ship itself in all its splendour.

There in the faint light he saw snow-white seagulls kiss the sea,

And then rise up and soar again into the endless vaults of the skies.

But he did not see the dawn he waited for,

He saw only the faint light, hesitating to barge into the night,

As if the faint light hesitated to shine between the endless waters and the endless skies.

Go away, faint light, false dawn, for he has no need of you.

He waits for the real sun to rise.

He waits and waits.

Sky

Looking up,

The sky gives birth to itself forever,

New, new, ever changing,

From red sky to white sky to grey sky to night sky to red sky

Always moving, towards something,

Or to the end.

Journey to the Mountains - An Allegory of Life

A chapter closed and closed forever

A story gone and gone forever

This is the way the world begins.

                           *

The young man walked along the dusty path, through the quiet dusk. Young man of the western skies, that was what he was called. They said he would find meaning in life only when the western skies, where the sun usually set, lit up with the brightness of a sunrise. The young man was on a journey, a quest, an errand, an epic saga to the ends of the earth, and there he was to meet someone. Only when he met that particular someone would his journey be fruitful. 

He was travelling from the rustic plains to the faraway mountains along this dusty path. He had left only now, and he would soon come to two turnings of the path, and then without much delay reach the base of the mountain he was to climb. 

The young man wore a brown shirt and cotton pants. All he had with himself was a small bag which he carried on his shoulders. It contained a few fruits, loaves, butter, other food items, and a change of clothes. All things considered, it was a journey of two or three days on foot. 

At the first turning of the path he looked back and saw trees that were still green, and fruits that were still fresh. A vast plain covered his vision, and the fruit trees grew here and there. He turned to the front and saw a range of mountains in the distance. He was leaving the plains behind and heading for the mountains. He was glad he was going.

He trudged along through the bitter dusk. It would soon be night.

                           *

What faint stars these are, the young man thought to himself, as he lay beneath the skies. So devoid of hope.

He thought to himself: 

Perfect tension between night and day,

The saturation point of faith in grief

The trusting walk of the blindfolded man

A thousand feet above the earth

Now stumbling, now steady

The resolute balance 

Inescapable

Irreversible

Irrevocable

Decipher this and you have the secret to all lives

And all philosophies

Perfect tension twixt night and day

                     *

In the morning the young man awoke, feeling as crumbled and wrinkled as sleep.

Above, the storm clouds were gathering. I should've left earlier, thought the young man.

He continued musing on his thoughts:

Like a flying bird shot dead,

That is how my story is.

High in the sky,

At the peak of its flight,

The bird is robbed of life.

Fly, little bird, stretch out both wings wide

For your last and zestiest flight

And feel the volley of bullets on your chest.

Fly bold and free,

Naivety in winged form,

And fall lifeless to the ground.

Stay there a while

Don't wonder whether you're dead or alive

Just stay there, thinking nothing, being nothing.

What are you now, but food for scavengers.

Who shot you down? You will never know

It was now raining. The clouds throw a handful of rain at his feet, like money to the dogs. Even nature considered him of little worth. The young man walked on to where he should, to the distant mountains, where he would find his worth.

The rain was not too heavy, but it was a hindrance to his journey. The path he walked along was now muddy. Shrubs lined the way on either side, and the sun had emerged from behind the mountains with the splendid majesty of sunrise. But still it rained. He laughed at the peculiar contrast, a welcome laugh to a murky heart. But the clouds scoffed at his joy, knowing well the sorrow that awaited him at the turning.

At the second turning of the path, icy winds blew onto the young man's face even as the rising sun looked on. He fainted, fell down and dreamt of elusive peace in a half-vision. When he came to his senses, the sun was overhead, and it wasn't raining anymore. He rose up to his feet, craving for a peace far from the watchful sun. He craved for day without light, life without grief, and mountains without plains. The clouds scoffed at him again.

It was with a violent heat that the sun stared at him. He still felt a little faint. He soon saw an oasis by the side of the path, and lay in it for a long time. Presently he got out, shivering and hungry. He ate some food, then continued on his way.

As he went his way, he suddenly heard a cry coming from behind a thorny bush by the side of the path. He approached the bush and on the other side he saw an eagle stuck in the bushes. The young man knelt down and carefully disentangled the thorny leaves from the eagle's talons. The eagle, now free, hopped about a few moments looking at him with gratitude. Only when he gave it a shove did the eagle stretch out its wings with a flutter and fly.

The young man continued along his way in silence. For a while he was thoughtful. It seemed that he had been placed here to help the hapless bird. The bird was now free in the skies because of him; but he himself seemed to have no future significance. He somehow felt useless. The western skies were still dark, and his life still seemed to lack meaning. No lofty sky to spread his wings. How insignificant I feel, he thought to himself. He found himself bitterly wishing he hadn't helped the eagle. "No, what I did was right," he told himself.

Hopeless, confused, naive, crumbled, insignificant.... That was how he felt. You walk beside a love that is trampled upon, he heard in his mind. He wondered what that meant. 

By the time evening had fallen, he had become tired. He sought out a good leafy tree that could shelter himself from any possible night rain and soon found one.

He was very hungry. He ate what he had with relish, and then rested awhile with his back against the tree trunk. "I could reach the mountain tomorrow if I'm quick," he said out aloud.

And he heard the angels whisper amongst themselves, "In the shadow of the cross there is shelter for every sinnner."

He soon fell asleep.

All through the night, in the skies, in his dreams, it rained.

                      *

In the morning he felt worse. He even thought of returning home. I feel so desolate.

His existence was like a wet piece of cloth which was squeezed dry and hung on a clothesline, at the mercy of the merciless winds of thought.

The sunrise was beautiful but meant nothing to him. He continued his journey. He had to get to the mountain base by evening.

Where are You?

He could see the mountain he had to climb loom larger and larger in the western skies. The path seemed to go on forever. He felt exhausted. 

He walked on and on.

At noon he saw the eagle he had helped yesterday perched on a large tree, watching him. He picked up a stone and threw it at it. He missed, and the eagle flew away, frightened.

He went on and on.

Do You not hear?

Do You not hear me?

But just as the sun was setting, he reached the base of the mountain. He turned behind and saw that the plains were now like speck of dust in the horizon, and his spirits rose. 

He began climbing the mountain, his heart racing. Bitterness and relief fought with each other within his heart. He went up the steep slope, with a broken mind in one hand and rising hope in the other. 

At last he reached the top of the mountain.

He saw nothing but ragged rocks. There seemed to be no one else here. Clouds shrouded the peak. He was at the very ends of the earth. There was just silence, and the wind blowing. But it was not like the icy wind that made him feel faint.

The clouds grew whiter and brighter. They became so bright that he barely see anything. He lost sight of the peak where he stood. In a few moments, he could see nothing at all. 

The mountain faded away from beneath him. The clouds and the evening skies faded away. The plains, the mountain, and the clouds were gone and gone forever. The young man suddenly found himself standing in an endless, breathtakingly beautiful meadow.

God was standing before him. It was not evening anymore here; the skies were brighter. 

"Where were you?" The young man asked.

"I was with you all through the journey," God answered gently.

"But then why were you silent?" The young man asked in pain.

"Because I was listening."

The young man stood with God for a while in silence. "I thought you did not care," the young man spoke up presently. God looked into his eyes for a while and then turned to the west. With a flourish of his hand, the western skies flared up and brightened. 

God turned back to the young man and smiled. "I will always be with you."

The young man looked to the west with immense relief. With  a rush of emotion he realized that his life was now meaningful. For at last the western skies were as bright as the sunrise. This was not the end of a journey, but a new beginning.

I will always be with you.

The Moon

The moon was sure it was made of cheese

But a bit confused at it as well.

The others said it was made of rock

That didn't sound attractive

But was it true?

One year past, it is just as confused

And just as indecisive.

Perhaps the earth is flat after all

Perhaps it is turtles all the way down

Who knows, maybe the sun rises in the west,

And sets in the east

Maybe clouds are made of cotton,

And the sun is made of gold.

Maybe all that we see is not as it seems.

Who could prove right or wrong?

Does anyone know the truth, the entire truth?

Morning

In the blinking of an eye

Before a tear slinks by

All the dark clouds of your sky

Will fade

Hear the sparrows sing

And see the sun rising

With morning, everything

Will change

Plague

We stay within our homes in silence

Sadness walks outside our doors,

Through the empty streets,

Sometimes with sirens that sing of anguish

When will this river of tears, broken dreams, and coffins cease to flow?

When will hope visit us?

When will a smile touch our vacant eyes and static lips?

When will the bronze serpent be raised in this desert?

When?

The Cabin

Here we are in the deer farm, hundreds of us,

Waiting one behind the other to enter the cabin.

Men with axes waits for us there,

To cut our antlers,

Skin us, 

And pack us as deer meat to luxurious restaurants.

We enter the cabin to wreck our lives

We do not raise our voices against them

Why should they care?

Vous Ne Savez Pas Comment Les Papiers Brûlent

Jacques:

Sit here by my side awhile, 

By this newly lit fire

In the middle of this forest

Over which dusk has crawled over.

Look into the skies,

Wonder how the bright stars burn

Forget these crackling flames

And do not wonder how they burn.

Do not look in wonder

Past the dancing flames 

Into my hooded face, mon cher ami,

Look into the twilight skies instead

Mon ami:

Mais comment les papiers brûlent-ils? 

Et pourquoi?

Jacques:

Do not ask how,

Do not ask why

Non, je ne regrette rien

Laissez ces papiers brûler

Et tous mes souvenirs avec ça

Enjoy this warmth in silence,

For I have a long way to go

Miles to go to reach my dreams

I do not not know to where,

But I have already left