More than Words !

resplendence of the universe,  she kisses,  all atmospheres,  which is near to her eyes her curvature,  the horizon and  offshore,  OUTBURST,  poisonous lips  soothing skin  burning vent  careless, yet careful  hands and hairs WONDERSTRUCK now- trivial motion,  speed sensors,  words,  sentences,  pages, books of love,  but nothing,  absolutely nothing  close to home  multi-layered  multicolored  bed-sheets  adiabatic souls  transfusion  sonic burst her endocrine glands,  working up late  warning signs ahead sorcery of ancient forefather  primordial force arch of existence  symmetrical loops time travel body organs cells chromosomes  genes  consciousness  universe  godliness  abstraction stars making love  obvious errors  hydrogen converts to carbon  to nitrogen  to oxygen  to poetry of life  to imaginations but all is but a dream  of cosmic manifestation 

Dear ones, Jump now,  in this abyss of absurd mind process,  JUMP NOW,  JUMP IN, JUMP OUT,  to your own heart,  bearing light,  Come now, COME OUT OF YOUR BEING, COME TO LIFE,  COME TO DEATH,  COME IN, Just be Drop Dead,  no motions, no silence,  nothing just come,  with naked mind,  Jump Now,  deep within,  to the grace of living,  ask again, WHO AM I ? WHOOOO AAAM I ? JUMP NOW,  into the space craft,  get yourself together, release all that you have kept hidden, all burdens, all fears,  all anger, all jealousy,  all sadness let it flow, release them,  be naked,  be a child,  you are just born,  you know absolutely nothing come now,  to this voyage of eternity,  to god,  to all pervading divinity JUMP NOW,  JUMP INTO YOUR SPACE SUITS OF EXISTENCE  JUMP NOW,  into the alchemy of holy trinity,  you are the primordial man,  you are the primordial mother,  YOU ARE ADAM, YOU ARE EVE &

In Plato's Republic,  poets are banned  and banished  'Homer' the first official unsung hero of western literature. Yes, in Plato's Republic, he is left out of all literary rows,  Plato says,  Iliad and Odyssey are not for good men. Who are those good men, I wonder.  Poetry, He says,  is the empty 'eloquence of fools' and Poets are those,  who can corrupt the best soul.  Poetry in Greek  means 'to make' (poiein) Plato says, truth is the act of becoming,  not making,  So poets are deceivers,  liars,  Trompe-l'œil, meaning,  making an imagery look real in all three dimensions,  but are just mere illusion.  Trompe-l'œil of forced perspectives.  Poets he says,  are no philosophers but  just imitators.  But what is philosophy,  if not subtle universal poetry. Philo meaning Lovers Sophia meaning Wisdom.  And 'Poets' in ways are lovers,  sad lovers,  angry l

A million miles  away from home,  my shoes got torn apart, so did my heart,  and mind,  and eyes,  and  ears, but I walked and walked,  I walked when  I was sad, I walked when  I was happy, I walked when  it rained and snowed, I walked when  it was scorching hot  home was always  a million miles away,  but I walked,  Winters  Summers  Springs Autumn  I walked,  as I died,  and then just rewind ! Home was always,  a million miles away !

As the faulty path, of dammed men stretches,  to those innocent lives,  millions are lost,  millions are shot,  but hope is constantly in the edge,  through tears,  through blood,  through sorrow,  through hunger,  hope is again seeded in the gut,  a boy, hears his first gunshot,  and encounters death he also dies,  he becomes a man,  of the cruelty laid upon him,  his sister is taken away,  he needs to remain calm,  he needs to focus  and remain a man,  the book says so,  the lord has demanded that,  it is not his fault,  he died a long ago,  now, its just a zombie,  so what can be expected of him,  he learns to cherish death,  of those who are supposedly,  the evil doers,  he becomes the hunters,  he is expected to be,  so he preys,  millions of Hindus die,  millions of Jews die,  millions of Christians die,  millions of Muslim die,  but he remains a man,  he remains calm,  the book says so,  the lor

My Dear Trees,  do you hear the world talking ? do you hear them shouting ? asking for some love for some reason to be ! Dear Trees,  do you see humans anywhere? surely, I dont ! all are but a distant memories calling,  some memories of when I was named some memories of my mothers smell some memories of my first kiss some memories  of my first feeling of bliss some memories,  that speaks of sadness some memories that soothes the soul ! Dear Trees,  are you listening ? when I am not talking ? Dear Trees,  do I exist or am I just memories ? Dear Trees,  if tomorrow,  I forget everything,  who would I be ? may be someone again  making memories to be ! Dear Trees, will you know me then ? without my memories  what would you call me ? when I have no name,  just like you  Dear Trees,   would you still be listening,  when I have nothing to say !! Photo Credit: http://foziaiqbal.blogspot.c

Being Spiritual, is taken as something unscientific and unessential. Our mind system is constantly taught that we are defined by the metaphysical laws of universe, and something out of that box is entirely unreal. So, most of our life, we are constantly searching for some evidence to make our-self believe that this is it. Birth, schooling, employment, children, money, luxury, philanthropy and death.  Similarly, those of us who tag our-self as being religious,  are also just there because of fear, of illness, of death or of hell. Or we are trying to escape the dilution of the metaphysics.  What the world needs is Yogi's. Those individuals who are connected.  In the constant here and now. In strings of joy and bliss. Being a yogi, is being open to the possibilities of universe, and accepting life to the fullest.  The word Yog itself means connection, a communion. The very connectivity of our genes, to the conscious flow of relative livinghood. Be

for those long hours,  he waited, and she waited, for that moment to be hands on hands,  eyes on eyes,  smiles on smiles,  memories on memories,  lying just beside those- crystal clear radiance touch me she says,  he does,  this new found glory,  she wants more he wants more  but time, it never stops it moves,  she moves along he follows the plane, that took off lands now its just her its just him  and memories, comes and goes like fireflies !! Photo Credit: http://thekdu.net/blog/tag/art/