Saturday, 20 December 2014

Dinner with Jesus

Dinner with Jesus

Dinner with Jesus

This season of Christmas I happened to see
a humble cottage nestling among trees.
It did not shine; it simply appeared to look out for someone silently.
I couldn't help but peep inside when I thought
no one was around looking for me.
Inside was wooden floor, unpolished,
windows veiled, and a table laid
with dinner plates taken out specially for the day.
I couldn't see what food was there and which wine
sparkled in the glasses twinkling in the light.
Someone had just thrown in a shawl on the back of the chair,
and that was the only sign of someone being there.
A pair of twisted branches of a pine tree
hung over the scene
and cast a sheen
with little lamps suspended on their jagged bodies.
Nothing else was there to greet the eye
and yet a warmth of a presence proclaimed ,
it was the solstice,
a night which needed the light of the sublime!
Waves of darkness were spreading around.
But I had no fear; there was joy in the air.
I smiled and said, "Jesus would love to visit this place"
Someone was there to hear as I spoke.
I heard those words; yes, I did.
"Wouldn't you like to have dinner with Jesus?"
That was a miracle in this lonely place
and I had been arguing with myself endlessly,
"Miracles do not happen any more".
I turned around and looked at her,
wondering how and when she saw me there,
and heard me calling, "Jesus, come, the table is ready!"
I will not struggle any more to deplete the beauty of her voice and words.
Let the miracle be alive.



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Branches

Decorating with natural elements such as stones, plants, flowers always creates at home a very relaxing mood and makes you feel close to the environment even living in the center of the megalopolis. Though it might seem difficult to find them during the winter period, there is one thing you can always get for sure in the nearest park or forest – dry tree branches. Recently I have collected several of them and just put them in the vase and they instantly transformed my table vignette making it look very Zen and winter-inspired. Apart from this easiest way to use dry branches, there are so many other creative things you can do with them:  whimsical candle holders, hangers, wall art, etc. Using them untreated will bring a rustic feel to your home, while painting them or covering with lacquer will highlight their unusual shape and you can coordinate them with the colour scheme of your room.

I strongly recommend you to collect old branches avoiding cutting them from the growing trees: thus you will not harm the nature and you will not need to dry them afterward but start decorating immediately.

Below are some wonderful DIY ideas of decorating with tree branches: I hope it will bring you some inspiration and desire to create.

1) Collecting some big branches and simply hanging them on the wall will help you to hide unattractive empty space and create unusual wall decor. Remember though to fix them properly, especially if you hang them above sitting area as we don’t want any accidents to happen. Another thing you can also do is to paint the branches in the same colour as you accent pieces – vases, rugs or decorative cushions to create complete and coordinating look. In one house I have seen entire old dead tree put upside down with roots supporting the ceiling: it looked absolutely fantastic though this is of course a very difficult project to accomplish where you will require the help of professional carpenter.

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Thursday, 18 December 2014

A Page of no Consequence

A Page of No Consequence

The purple, the blue and the night
merging into a tide
of a gigantic flow
and the images drowning in the sweeping glide ,
a wall of froth and surf
rising in the dark.
And you said,"Images must shine; must make the unseen light seen;
that it must be seen with a brilliance which the eye couldn't detect and the mind couldn't suspect;
the most ordinary should suddenly shine when put into place."

I want the sun to stay a little longer in the sky
and the moon to trail behind;

https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-8N8mi8E7M6w/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAB9E/eeY0U7UCBTw/s62-c-k-no/photo.jpgand the hand of Time
withheld and kind;
kind enough to let me hide
behind your gentle presence
before the twilight is flooded by night.

Wednesday, 17 December 2014

Sakura

Sakura

You bloomed and blossomed and fell on the ground
and as your petals flew around in the wind
they greeted your ephemeral smile as you fell,
with the war-cry : 'Sakura, Sakura'

They made out of you an emblem of war, an emblem of a fierce identity.
They carried you painted on the side of the bomber
reminding them of your frail and fragile hold
on the branch of life.

"Sakura, Sakura , you are the love that blossoms and lives for an instant.
You know not how you stoked the fire of war and taught the soldiers to die,
their bodies strewn all over the land
like your petals strewn in the ice below.

'Sakura, Sakura, your destiny, a strange destiny it was
to live embedded among the emblems of ferocity : dragons and tigers, submerged in the belligerence and the atrocities of war,
silently witnessing the carnage, and that too in all humility!

'Sakura, Sakura,  in your name the emperor was honored
and the youth disregarded their hold on life.
Sakura, your beauty overwhelms me.
I stand before the tree that blossoms and holds you on its jagged branch, delicately poised and alive.
But I do not know the burden of the song I should play for you, for I am devastated as I face your blossom.
I am devastated
by the weird aesthetic in which they framed you
and am helpless as I bite my lip to control my sorrow
and the tears which I cannot hold back.

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

A Particle of Love



A Particle of Love

I have longings I cannot restrain.
My heart is the battleground of passions at war.
My purest action draws strength out of the agony of defeat before the ravages of Time.
Unskilled in the art of love,
that precarious balance, the dance of life and the conquest of Death
has left me out of breath.
I could never be the Lotus Leaf that stays untouched by rain and thunder.
I accept the way I have been made: a particle of sand that rises to meet
the sun in the sky,
light and of no consequence to the earth where it tries to pray,
unable to find a place to stay,
until the storm comes and lifts it up,
ravenously at first,
and then carries it gently in its upward flow
whispering strength and erasing fear.
The particle of dust never knows the beginning, the origin of its home.
It is the storm that knows where to carry
this ignorant burden of love.
I will learn to trust the storm;
the storm must know the way.
I will land in the heart of peace :
the peace that is known to the storm alone.

Monday, 15 December 2014

An Ode to Time : Dedicated to Carl Jung

An Ode to Time

The secret unrest grows.
Time: you are a monster.
You know this heart is a flame that flickers
at the slightest hint of your word
and yet this lamplight
quivering on a wick
aspires to grow into a luminous glow.
Time, will you ever stop being monstrous?
I know you will if you can! But you are helpless like all of us!
They say you are stillness at the heart of your being.
And they are the wise ones ; they know the truth;
but I don't trust them.
Time, I want you to be my God, my beloved, my lover!
Time, I want you to teach me all your secrets;
but I am a jealous lover.
I know you wait for none.
I know you belong to none.
But what do I do with this gnawing pain that I carry at the root of my being?
It is the gift you gave me when you whispered to me,
"I am the spark you carry. Let it live till eternity."
This pain, this spark. this love I carry
will never let me be at peace.
I have no power over it;
It is an erasure of all that I call my own.
Time, come and claim this spark.
Time, be not the ocean on fire.
Be the silent river and take into your flow
this little lamp that flickers and yearns to be taken into your fold.
They all tried to decode your mystery
but none held the answer for me.
I have learnt to flow
into your silence.
It is beauty and terror,
a quest and the goal.
I am at peace with you.

Friday, 12 December 2014

The Mall-road in a Hill-town on a Winter-evening


The Mall-road on a Winter Evening

Memories orphaned,
wandering in the market-place and crying
to be held,
crying and lost
as they cannot find the way to the heart that held them close,
will not let me sleep.

Walking through the mall-road of this hill-town
as the evening listens to the sounds
of children crying in the dark,
sticking their stub-nose against
the locked glass-panelled windows
that show-case the  toys they cannot reach,
my heart cries though I know,
these children will vanish from this town in a day or two.

They have to grow up while their mothers will age,
they will carry the burden of time
on their broken backs, tired of sadness and tears.
In this growing dark on the mall-road I hear
the lament of hunger and and the children longing
for the things withheld--
things of all sorts that lack a definition today
in this lost and fleeting hour.

Go away children, the mall-road is not the place where you should linger long.
You are not yet ready to pay the price
 for the things that entice and
swallow you before you know
the difference between that which calls you
and that which sends you off
in an endless pursuit of the toy you could not reach.

The mall-road is a fairy-tale that hides the truth
which your mother holds back from you.
She does not want to see you cry;
she does not want you to learn
the truth of the mall-roads on such dusky hours;
she does not want you to let go of her hand
and lose your way back home.

Friday, 5 December 2014

A Carol of Bells

The Carol of the Bells

The carol of the bells
goes unheard on the beach
where the notes float
on the wind and the waves;
they spread to unseen lands and reach the distant shores.
Certain of reaching the heart of the desolate lands
in distant climes
in distant ridges of mountains and the hidden creeks
they fervently sing
their melody of abundance and bliss,
while the earth sleeps,
 ignorant, dark,
lulled into a comatose slumber.
The last of the lullabies poured into the ears
of her war-torn progeny
has cast a spell.
Perhaps, the last of the notes
pouring forth
of the carol sung on the lonely beach
may be the one to reach the hearth of some early awakened soul.
Till then , let there be
a silence and lull.