The mango tree knows it’s time for spring.
It blooms before we’ve even noticed the warmth.
The parrot sings exultingly,
Wheeling in celebration.
Go tell the cold night air,
The summer smell is here!
From afar I watch a mansion crumble,
I watch the inconceivable take shape,
And somehow, I am strengthened in my self.
Somehow, I feel the essential taut granite in me,
The one that holds up the truth.
Today I know that if there is to be any hope,
We each have to ascend.
Find our power, flex it,
And go heal this earth of ours.
In the crevasses of our world,
Where we’ve allowed one, maybe two lines of trees,
Birds live out their epic lives,
The orangutan withers.
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?
What is there within me today, that is deep and dark?
Complex chocolate foamy loam,
Worm dwelling, corporate shelling,
Ruined lives buried in glee?
What in me was dark is grey under siege,
In moments of such madness as these,
A poem is a silent angel of futility,
Parading unpretty in the hall of shame…
What is this world of melee?
What is proven if anything of fire?
There is but a chink of gold,
In each pearly sunset mound of flesh.
What is my glory, my honor?
Through words hot and cold,
I fly in incomprehensible circles,
And make my futile art of—
My phone made a movie all by itself! It’s got the most amazing yellow roses in it!
Please watch: The Beautiful Yellow Roses (Real Beauty Series, 3)
Come now, it isn’t so bad!
Didn’t we just decide to emerge?
Didn’t we just say, we would reach — high?
Don’t hide now, don’t fade.
It’s our time to shine.
It’s terrifying, yes; what if you get seen?
But darling, how will you see yourself unless you open up?
None of it matters, none of the hurt.
Just call out to the dawn moon,
Dance in starlight,
Trail a little of the ocean on your palm…
All our ashes will whirlwind in rainbows,
And we will be, what we were meant to be:
Sometimes, the simplest of equipment, the most basic of setups suffices to produce something marvelous.
Presenting: a phone camera macro, of a flower, a bee and even a tiny little golden ant!
The whorl of flowers seemed perfectly poised and then as I was taking the photo, this tiny feisty black bee landed on the petals and completely unconcerned about the giant with the phone filming the scene, it went about its vital job of nectar hunting!
It was amazing!
Found on a silver-golden morning walk.
In the middle of a bustling suburb in Pune, tucked away within a broad, quiet street lined with flowers, lies a patch of wilderness.
It’s a glimpse of what used to be, before the buildings rose up; brightness and shadows kept contained by corrugated steel.
Four trees, twisted by fate, prowl around each other among the defiant green:
Bougainvillea tangles into furious knots, warning greedy humans away:
And a young tree, full of foolish hope, dances along to the beat of the flowing creepers:
You stand entranced. Compelled almost to tears by all this primordial intensity. Till the spell releases you, till your gaze shifts, to the road, to sweet green innocence:
Just a collection of reactions,
Just a rapture felt far off.
Awake sometimes upon the ether.
Humming to a rhythm unfelt.
What’s to do with this bag of wishes,
This chitinous tentacle of need?
Words spill in a variegated tangle,
Stain the mouth they cannot feed.
There is no ‘I’ here—
Look under the chaos,
There is no one here to answer:
Your outstretched hand,
Your everything smile.
There are shadows though,
With them will you dance?
Would you clasp close, these discarded images;
That could perhaps pass for a self?
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Hold up the sky.
Channel the sun.
Encircle the earth.
Lead us from sorrow to light!
Through tattered sleep,
Through realities you can only make with words,
Through a long lost radiance touched once—
There are eternities to ponder
There are aeons left
The rainbow-self sights itself.
Oh so soft!
Goes the world.
Oh so slow!
Fall the words.
A ballet of blown leaves,
A flower springs from the hand.
In the ocean which leads to the Heart of the World,
All may flounder,
But all must surrender.
There is a jewel everywhere you look,
A glowing sunset trapped in each fragile moment,
In each hour whiled away in noise.
Treasure the rare moments of silence,
The chance to dive deep—
Into the truth.
Into the absoluteness of the self,
To the heart of the world.
Beseeching the Universe,
For light and glory.
How many times does the wave have to lash the shore to wash my mind clean?
There is a secret buried deep,
An enchantment dark and proud.
Here, in the space between infinities, awash
Was perhaps a space of rest,
Of respite and resolution.
The quiet lull I sought,
Not your shatter,
Not my noise.
The dark beckons a little too deliciously
A little too dangerously,
The melody sweeps me up.
Clothed in the lightest of gossamer
That wants to melt away,
I welcome the unknown, unafraid.
Dark and light all mixed up
Half magic, half hope,
In this twilight land, we can finally become us.