Light Dazzles

Light Dazzles

The flame that turns to a violet blue
if it dawns you in
my job is done;
it will be my time from this sphere to fly
Light dazzles;it blinds;
I temper it with a mist
and hide the flame.
The flame I hide behind the glass
and it's the lantern that you see in my hand.

Not easy to carry the flame of the mystic lamp,
A flame is a flame and scorches those who carry,
The reason why the sage longs to reach the bank of a lake
and throw the baton in the waters of the rippling lake.

The Language of Myths: The Morning : A Crystal Held In Hand

The Language of Myths: The Morning : A Crystal Held In Hand: THE MORNING : A CRYSTAL HELD IN HAND A blessing in the morning shone; and the reason? Not known. I saw her dreaming the scent of m...

What's In A Myth?

What's In A Myth?

The morning brought dew-drops
and several suns
multiplied
and dropped their images in every petal ,
clinging lightly at the end
and the petals held them the longest they could;
after all they were meant to be suspended between the night and the dawn, ready to drop any moment when the leaf and the petal stood heavy with the weight of love they could bear no longer.

Eyes, there are eyes everywhere if you would care to see.
Eyes in the dew, in the grass blades that shine
in the petals and the leaves.
They are all your eyes,
looking at me wherever I go,
to the sea or sky or the river,
to the mountains, the plains and the fields of grass.
Their shadows spread like the shadows in the woods;
their nuances deepen like the voices in a dream.

It's not love ordinary;
it's an invitation to partake
in the synergy of the flow;
a hint to follow till the horizon's end' till the sky's space that never ends;
reminding : life begins always at the edge of everything that seems to have come to an end.

The Morning : A Crystal Held In Hand

THE MORNING : A CRYSTAL HELD IN HAND

A blessing in the morning shone;
and the reason?
Not known.
I saw her dreaming the scent of mango groves
and beneath each tree i saw
the marks just left
of her footsteps
catching the light of dawn in a surprise!
A surprise, all surprise,
and I rushed to open the window to see why,
the robin said, "I know; but I don't know how and why!"
The notes of the prayer from the mosque
and the temple bells from the east and the west
mingled, the soul was rested in a dream
and the morning was a crystal held in the hand
of a child looking in wonder
at all those things which surprise.
Looking at beauty and sensing it
is a wonder, not surprise.
The child touched my jaded being
and I closed my eyes to hold the dream.

Sushama Karnik

Image Courtesy : Sonali Dalal

Just dreaming 

Written In A Sleep

Written In A Sleep

I always see and am tempted to steal
that giant needle on your tools-board.
Such a big nose that can hold hundreds of strands of silk
flowing from the moon and brought by her beams
straight to land on earth.
Rainbow colors shine and refract in a spectrum
all the possible hues
of love and hostility
from the cold invisibility
to the red hot intensity.
What will the stitches when tightly held
 look like on the fabric of the patched up quilt?
Somnambulantly bright
and streaking lines of moonlit paths
under the bridge which we might one day walk

Kevin Walsh's photos

Tonight is no urge

Blessedly Sad

Tonight, is no urge left towards flight,
a time to sink low,
lower than the lowest depth,
and wallow in the voluptuous flow,
lying in peace, or be buried in the waters all around.
It was a wonderland, the magical reality
so long as I was there,
elephants ambling across watery streets,
deluge where sadness sank and sang
dirges about the dead and the gone
cats and puppies and human beings,
as the trees grew stronger in their roots and the branches taller in majesty.
And sadness, tears were no embarrassment,
such ease of acceptance,
truly a magical reality!
No sermons , no spiritual harangue thrown
about the need to renounce the human bondage of love
in the name of some imagined glory of walking away on the world of tears and love,
the despair and frustration coming in the wake
of all the love that came to me.
I am so glad and sad, blessedly sad,
sad, sad to my very bones,
and yet so glad that I found my soul

Humour Random 2

THE FACE OF GOD

What I have is far more profound.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A sense of humor.’


Jaz looked at him, trying to find a clue in his gaunt face, in the clear gray eyes watching him with such - what? Amusement? Condescension? There was something about the man which brought on a sort of hermeneutic despair. He was a forest of signs.

‘We’re hunting for jokes.’ Bachman spoke slowly, as if to a child. ‘Parapraxes. Cosmic slips of the tongue. They’re the key to the locked door. They’ll help us discover it.’

‘Discover what?’

‘The face of God. What else would we be looking for?”