I have been writing poetry since i was 5 or 6 years old (I believe my mom still has some of them locked in her archives)My soul has always needed to express itself and how it perceives the world.. and the mystical world of poetry and music were my main avenues. Even in my early days, my poetry leaned towards a deep questioning of my existence and the nature of reality..
As i have grown, my poetry reflects my expanding worldview which is in love with existence.As i orient my consciousness towards self-realization, all the beauty and ugliness of the world manifests in my poetry.. it is the poetry of a seeker, a comedian, a friend, a lover, a tantric, a mystic and a madman.
The Beloved – 3
In the longing for my beloved there was a point at which I grew sick of all humanity.
I wanted to hear not a single worldly thought
I wanted only to discourse about my beloved, yet my words and song quickly grew stale. Old.
The love was heaping yet the emotions limited.
Then I woke up from a deeply moving dream one day and saw that all of god’s qualities were embodied in real human stories.
That all the faults, failings, struggles and breakthroughs in the human journe were the true nectar of her grace..
It was then I became a bard and a teller of story, for truth is sweeter when shared and real when won.
Stay a while and listen to this fool bard attempt to piece together a few of his best stories for you 🙂
Something pulls me back…Into this world of falseness and delusion.
Something makes me walk among the indulgent lovers of illusion to connect
As I was walking on the streets, a drunkard came out of a bar swerving this way and that. He saw me in my dhoti and mala beads, with my white clothing dressed as a holy man, and staggered towards me. When he got close, he put his arm around my shoulder, breath reeking of alcohol, eyes red and bleary and looking into my eyes he said
“You are a religious person. Righteous, just and pure. The highest of the high. I am an idiot, a fool.. I am nothing, I’m the dust of the earth, the lowest of the low.. I am a drunkard, a true drunkard!”
I edged away disgusted, trying to get away from his filthy embrace.
“But the alcohol?”, he continued “That’s just an excuse to share this drunkenness with other decrepit fools like me”
And he winked in a fiendish way, then burst out laughing . a maniacal laugh of pure joy!
Immediately, I dropped to the floor and touched his feet.
My beloved wrought me with his own hands!
Oft time l forget this incredible miracle as I languish in the false wound of separation
This feeble mind being overcome by the simplest of sensation.
Yet when the spark hits. I remember!
That those things which I take most for granted are the masterpieces of my beloved
So humble is he in his master poetry that he does not even ask for appreciation!
In fact, he tolerates the outright disrespect and abuse from fools like me who forget their very speech is powered by his rays of light.
His compassion is endless
His love is eternal
Realizing this makes Raamayan weep in gratitude and joy!
A thousand rivers shall I weep before these tears, soaked into the earth and filtered and purified by the soil, make their way to the ocean.
Yet once they arrive, you will only see the vast ocean, and I will be surfing with laughter as a rolling wave of pure love crashing upon the shores my beloved.
Meet me there my friend…