It ain’t nothing but some galactic mathematical equation being played out,
In backwards time.
Everything is wrong. All told and telling.
Genocide on my plate.
Raw feeling overspilling—
Genocide small and large everywhere.
Eco-terrorists, the lot of us,
“Progressing” by chocking earth and sea in plastic.
Exiled from balance,
From the core feminine.
How is this chaos rendering?
Why are we led?
Are we even seen?
Why do we even act?
What can it all possibly lead up to?
Can there really be meaning, at such scale?
Even if there was, would it ring true?
Or, as Terry Pratchett implied—
It’s all a game.
So which side is winning?
Just a walk in the park in the evening—
The chaos in the mind melts away in the cooler breeze,
Summer flowers layer the air with heavy sweetness,
And the streetlight plays a game of golden shadows with the trees.
There are still blessings,
Wherever we may see,
But time, it runs and leaps and bounds away—
We have to do,
We have to dare,
We have to save the Earth!
In 10 years we may not recognize our lands and seas!
What will you do?
So it’s very simple really.
I’ve discovered that of all things, what the human system most needs is rest.
If you’re spinning round and round, just take a little time for you.
Don’t pack in a vacation or an experience or an activity.
It’s time to BE.
Feel the softness of life,
Feel the essential sweet touch of each day,
And come away grateful and renewed,
Ready to dance in the world again!
Where is Life to be found?
Out in the world, in the melee,
Or is it still a full life,
If it’s books and flowers and the sun,
That you choose?
Green Magic (By Radhika Mukherjee)
Nature still works!
It’s March and right on cue, there’s brilliant green everywhere,
The trees have woven beautiful new foliage for themselves.
They know it’s time,
They read the wind and earth and water,
And this is what they say, ‘We will uphold nature, will you?”
A Dream of Pink
Who will notice the light on the flowers,
But for the quiet ones?
Who will think of the green we need,
But for the dreamy ones?
Why then is the world tilted loud?
Why doesn’t love trump fear?
When will the healing come?
There is an edge to hope,
That even when it floats away,
Clings as a shadow of wonder,
To the corners of the spirit.
Let it flower within you today,
Let it rise.
Smile at hope,
And hope will smile upon you…
Who knows what the two of you can do?
Did you know that blood smells of rust?
That our starburst mangled bodies die to awaken?
That in all the liminal space of time—
Truths unfold in ontological puzzlement,
Amazed at their own impertinence?
For what is anything amid infinity?
And where’s the space for infinity in our small is?
The renderings of visions wild,
All these data streams of forever dreams—
Will we ever truly reconfigure?
There is a silent, screaming, streaming smile—
There is a thunderous rapture building—
Just out of reach.
Walk into the whirlwind—
Is that the shape of heartbreak?
Is that an angel that ascended?
Or the whisper of our hidden wings?
If there’s a dream review, this is IT! @saket71 has shone a piercingly poetic light into the heart of Our Particular Shadows and really, truly SEEN. I’m in utter bliss. Such a generous blessing this review is!
Read the full review: Book Review: Our Particular Shadows
Some of my favorite parts of the review are:
Radhika writes prose but it is so near to poetry. … It has the magic, the vigor and the flow much nearer to spoken-word poetry. The magic of experimental prose is in the honesty it carries. It is as if the writer decided not to let his own consciousness stand between the page and his soul, as if the medium merged into the creator and they are no longer two distinct entities.
And who can ever forget praise such as this?
I am totally in awe of Radhika Mukherjee’s talent. She is a mystic poet who camouflages herself as a story-teller. Her writings are not for you if you are looking for trendy stories. If you want to read something timeless, something which will survive both the reader and the writer, do read this. I am greedy. I do not know if Radhika plans to someday write a full-length novel. If she does and if these stories are any indications, we might have a writer penning something like The Waves of Virginia Woolf someday. Her writing is experimental prose which is so rare to find these days. Dive in to discover the divinity in the magical world of words. This is the book you will keep coming back to, whenever your soul is bruised by the brutal world we live in, and I am sure, it will always soothe your senses.
Here’s the full review again: Book Review: Our Particular Shadows
To take the journey, at $0.99 for the eBook of Our Particular Shadows, go to:
Amazon (all territories): getBook.at/OPS
B&N, Apple, Kobo, Scribd: https://books2read.com/u/38DxMw
Happy soulful reading!
When you see me, think of words.
A swaying mass of swirling rainbow words in tangible girl shape. I’ve become indistinguishable from the resonances in my mind.
I am my words. Words are me. They make me, just as I make them. That’s my space in this world!
Words to wonder.
Words to heal.
Words to lay down and cry.
Words to comfort.
Words to whisper.
Words: the most precious of them all.
Words = Rads! 🙂
Bright Joy (By Radhika Mukherjee)
We do a great disservice to the world, when we describe it, perceive it, classify it only through an evolutionary paradigm. All around, there are birds flying for the sheet joy of it, looping across the sky; monkeys whooping and playing and taunting dogs; there is a cow and a cat making friends… And the sun, great fiery ball of hydrogen though it may be, is smiling across to us from that unimaginable distance this fine end-of-summer day.
Even in our ‘modern’ ‘scientific’ minds, surely there is some space to expand our perception of this Earth, this Universe, to include love, the play of the spirit and sparkling, connecting joy?
Irrespective of species?
The mind extends beyond the body, it has to. If we can accept wi-fi, why can’t we think of our brains as being able to transmit waves of thought and intention? It’s all the co-mingling of matter and energy and vibrations, isn’t it?
What if the purpose was not to merely ‘evolve’? But to experience? To add? To feel?
What if each life, each rock, each drop of water, was an end in itself?
If I can’t dance,
My world stops a bit.
If I don’t dance,
My universe shrinks a little.
Any stillness achieved is stale.
Dance is primordial joy given form.
Without that joy, what’s meaning?
The IS will flow back.
Flow with vibrant joy.
Reach for bliss…
In the last few years that I have been writing, I have tried to listen to that small inner voice of inspiration as well as mold myself into a disciplined artist. To varying degrees of success!
Through all that, I have learned that the essential self is paramount, no matter what you try, and that:
There are productivity days, there are insight days, then there are rest days. We need to welcome each kind of day.
I know a lot of us struggle with the prescription to write every day and to produce X number of words, etc. per day. To that I say:
Welcome every sort of day! See what you can learn from it, what riches it brings you.
The journey is the reward after all!