Enticements of Solutions

Enticements Of Solutions
War-riven lands,
a temporary peace, an uneasy truce.
Catastrophic passions, calamitous love,
spinning of myths, old wives' tales,
mathematical calculations of possible equations
of relationships gone haywire on dreams,
satanic revolts and barred pigeonholes,
holding aloft a disinfected faith,
sermons on the futility of  keeping alive
the already enfeebled will to live,
macabre visions offered on a platter
 to entice into a faith
that leads to death
of the spirit that once was the essence of life,
I have travelled all the roads and came to nothing.
Yet it's a long way,
weary and tired.
of the enticements of solutions
sold, bartered, stashed away
for some future time of the Paradise Regained

Aquarian Song

The Aquarian Song

I The Aquarian, the lost antiquarian,
 sing for you.
Just for a moment close your eyes,
feel the body of the dark,
feel the presence, just the presence,
my presence, close by.
This darkness, a warmth, a love that guards and preserves
the strength, the power, the mankind's treasure,
the instinct of survival, acceptance and growth,
and that constant light
which shines in the dark
upon many a causeless fear,
many a midnight panic,
many an upsurge of vehement passion
flung up from the depth of the dark sea,
the slumbering, awakening, and sleeping again
on the waves that rock the consciousness,
be a witness to them all.
There is a throne, a seat all your own,
and I will be standing by,
my Aquarian jar of water,ever flowing, never dry,
will flow into your spirit, and I shall pick you by
on the wings of my strength, and let fly again
the atrophied organs of intuitive knowledge
once more into the clear sky.
The doors of the old homes, chambers of hope
will open again.
Walk in and out, to and fro,
and see the thread
between the Silent Watcher and his Shadow
grow ever more radiant and strong.

FIFTH WALL

 THE FIFTH WALL

Empty pages, empty canvasses
stare , draw you in.
A willing suspension of disbelief.
The walls collapse, build up again;
the roof flies away.
I lie on a wall
like a cat at noon
basking in the shaft
of a broken sunlight, a broken beam.
Houses, seen against the sky,
in the twilight gleam,
in the aroma of time,
letters scribed
on fluttering leaves...
There are people living,
merging with life
living, feeling inside the veins,
soaking rains, sunlight and the pain
of loving without a name and a face.
The canvas calls them and they flee
in despair; the walls around them crumble
and they startle back, stare back
at the life they lived, no longer a secret;
the willing suspension of disbelief.
Archaeological sites
brought into relief.
The collapse of the fourth wall, then the third,

the second, and the first one is the last fall.
How do I build the fifth
to capture it all again?



Man Lying On A Wall  :  L. S. Lowry
image credit: +Kostas Michalis 

THE LAST RITES

The Last Rites
Away from the bank of that bloody sea
where his descendants fought and lay massacred
by bloodied hands of each other;
their Karma led through the winding maze,
now worked out to the logical end.
He , the witness, the Supreme Lord
who knew the intricate ways of destiny,
knew, now the moment had come
when his own Karma had come to an end,
the reason, the purpose for which He came
simply to hasten the processes of Karma
that found no way
in the midst of the ignorance, the confusion of minds,
in the midst of the long journeys of lives,
relationships caught in the vortices of the essential strifes of the humanity.
He viewed the panorama of His own life
as he sat, his back against the bark of the tree,
laying down arms with which he had killed
in a divine wrath, his kith and kins.
Yes, He was Krishna at the end of his life,
resting quietly and starkly alone,
counting his last breaths
as he sat at the foot of the tree,
shot through in his foot by a mistaken dart
of a hunter prowling in  the dark.
Neither thoughts nor feelings crossed his mind,
the days of childhood bliss in the midst of
the innocent cowherds who did not know
who their playful mate really was,
all the memories of love and war
now erased like a dream out of the sky.

And thus he died, alone and unsung by his tribe.
And the legend I heard was that
some tribals came and saw him dead,
a tired old warrior, too smeared in the face
by dust that had covered the dried up blood.

Not knowing what kind of final rites
the man deserved,
they carried the corpse to the sea
and let it flow with the rising tide
where its destined resting place was going to be.

After days of a voyage on the back of the tide
the body touched the shores of a distant southern coast.
At night as the body was floating in the sea before it landed
on the southern coast,
a priest of a temple on that shore
dreamt of a divine being
wanting to be heard by him.
"Go and seek the coastline,
the first thing in the morning as you will wake;
I shall be there lying in the sand.
Lift me my friend, with gentle hand
and place me on the pyre, give me the fire I am thirsting for all along!"

The morning led the priest to the shore, and to be sure,
there he was lying in the sand!
The priest did what he was told,
holding the sanctimony of the words of the dream
close to his heart through the task.

Today there stands a temple in the name
of Krishna who came
and rested for a while
before the body was cast to the flames.

WHISPERS

My little girl, my love,
as I caress your soft and curly hair,
cradle your head on my bosom soft,
God forbid, why do I recall
ancient memories from lives of other times?
Memories of how I had to fight,
keep a vigilant eye
lest the hunters, the wolves,
coyotes lurking in the dark,
come to pounce upon
unsuspecting trusting hearts--
the memories I try to dust off from my wings,
when I lay in a dungeon
for the crime of using my hearts and wings.
That's not for real now, I know;
you and I inhabit a different world,
with our third eye lightened we must see
and draw the 'ring-pass-not'
for the strangers who try to invade
our sanctuaries and they have
gall and venom which they spit
when ruthless instinct drives them to hunt and kill.
We are no angels come down from the heaven
to save this world, we are little girls who are left
to their own devices in times of trouble
when no help is there at hand
save our wits and human skills
to defend our being and dig our roots
deep into the earth where we are born.

And I say all this silently
so as not to make you hear
the thoughts of fear which make me shiver,
I want to pass on only the strength
which draws me to you and weaves a shield
and give you an armor that will carry you through
without ever having to use.
May your paths be full of love;
the love that will transform coyotes in men
who have their hearts and heads in the proper place.

The Dog And The Dreams

The Dog And The Dreams

In this land of viral dreams,where the seeds have a life that wilts
before a season of growth arrives to carry it in the wind.
I watched from the periphery.
I watched your autumn slide to winter and in the blast wait
for the sunshine that may bring
those who climbed the ladder and flew.
Your lavenders fade, your roses shed
their petals and speak of the beauty
that in fading survives
the blight of winter.
You take your dog to the grocery shop and he waits
patiently in love
when there was no need to tie him
to a pillar or the lamp-post
where he had to brave the winter wind
and survive the indifferent passers-by
on the pavement where life was all a procession on a blind man's street. 

Untitled with a Forgotten Number

All that was gathered,
assimilated;
the pains I suffered in this body
may become the powers I wield in the next;
lessons of mistakes transmuted into prudence,
changing suffering into endurance.
The riddle of love and hate,
the laws that govern, that cannot be broken,
manifest slowly one by one.
After each brief plunge
a diver rises from the sea with pearls
drawn from the oyster-bed.
The dawn waits on the horizon as the glorious sun
squanders his wealth on the crests of waves
 coming unbroken
to the lap of the shores