Saturday, 10 October 2015

A Secret


Formless water, transient sand
They whisper in unfathomable cries
Crooked lines around age-old eyes
Make mocking maps of unseen sights
They hold a secret too…

Unwritten epilogues of open ends
A da vinci smile, a lie
An eraser hides the trivial truths
And highlights the marks it couldn’t hide
They tell a story too…

Walls broken, words decoded
The door will finally yield
But how will you tell with finite words
The infinity of what you feel!

Are secrets even a choice then?
Or as natural as the unseen breath?
As transitory as the growing space
As sure as the passing time
As obvious as…

So let me end my thoughts here,
Before words lead me astray,
And give your secrets a chance
To fill the empty space…

It is not mine to take



“Bury me, but leave my hands outside, so that the people would know, the man who conquered the world, had nothing in his hands when he died!”

It does make you contemplate on your content of your desires, when the one who uttered such words did actually win the globe. Alexander, The Great! The world obliged him with a glorious symbol of “the great”, and remembered him for his victories. It then moved on, like the mighty river gives its signature to some colossal rock in the way and flows away. Nothing is for the river to hold, nothing is for the ocean to preserve, even that big rock would collapse one day, even Alexander would be forgotten one day…

Doesn’t then, any desire to be known to the world, any aspiration for fortune or fame becomes horribly misplaced? In fact when the very changeability of time assures each ones oblivion, no desire makes sense…except when the man wants to touch the lives of people around him through what he does, not for fame, but just because of the fact that he understands he is not just an individual living a solitary life with desires not attached to anyone he knows or doesn’t know of. He realizes his connection to the universe and everything that exists in it, that he as an individual does not exist, although as a universe-dweller nobody is more powerful than him. He understands his dependence on almost every living or non-living entity, but in that dependence there is no servitude. It’s like being dependent on the lungs to breathe; they are a part of him. It then makes sense to desire something that would affect every being and take them towards happiness. And here, it does not take the form of a moral dogmas, it logically becomes the only way for fulfillment! But then, doesn’t possession lose its importance?

Perhaps when the child first clings to his mother, natures gives him the first lesson on the very falsity of it! Its human to desire, to grow and satiate himself in any way possible, he lives for that, and builds his life on the very foundation of it, whether fulfilled or not. Is wanting wrong? No, it’s part of mans’ most innate and primitive character, you can’t get rid of it but isn’t it the only reason for sorrow? Think…and if it is true, should we discard it completely, proclaim ourselves ascetics and lead a complacent, meaningless life? So should we desire to forgo our desires?

Vivekananda once met an accomplished scholar, a sort of person who had it all planned. An exemplified education, work, wife and so on. “But isn’t that what animals do? What makes you human”?, and thus asking the man, our learned leader successfully shook quite a peaceful oblivion. True! What makes us human? Quite a well-known difference is our ability to choose, to change what is around us, and thus to create, destroy and create again. It’s abnormal to not desire, but it’s equally abnormal to not recognize our true motive to be alive as humans, and do what would really make us happy. Somehow, possessing becomes the goal, but all that matters on your death bed is how you possessed it. Possessions, in their raw form were never ours to take…

We tend to link possessions to desires, that’s where we go wrong. Desire to change the world to a better place, and each being would help you in it, desire to uplift your soul and infinite hands would support you, they will not let you fall. But try to possess, and it will be snatched from you eventually, death will ensure that!



I don’t want the fruit of my action, it isn’t mine to take..but I do wish that beggar sitting in that dark corner of that far, far land, smiles because I worked today…that joy will I take, and it will be mine forever…

Friday, 9 October 2015

The Sand, The Sea and The Feet



The magnanimity of the horizon stood defeated in the moonless dome of the night. A familiar landscape, the sea and the shore, yet hardly anybody dares to come near it when the power of the moon calls the tide to rise. Tonight, it has been robbed off its voice, delivering to man liberty to see the starlit ocean so rare.

Ah! The sky misses an orb, and where the expanse flows till infinity, the eyes do miss light. Without that, the herculean stillness, save for some roaring waves, scares something in you. It reminds you starkly and rudely, that you exist, you breathe and you do make a mark in the sand. It stays till you stay, is washed away when you walk away, but now the ocean holds a part of you in it, and that is perhaps permanent, so permanent that you are scared to be a part of it. You want to stay, and preserve the mark beneath your feet. But you can’t, it’s not in your nature, you have to flow, you have to change.

And water does wash it all…filth, wound, tears and milestones on sands. The bank it not meant for permanency, nor are the feet and marks they make. Millions of drops make an ocean, millions of tears drown, and tons of mud settles deep below. Water keeps it all. It takes, holds, and preserves it all. It preserves the drop.

The crest and fall of the waves purge the soiled feet you see not. The black tar rages in front and you suddenly wish it would cease to move, or at least not be so turbulent and powerful that it drives and drowns your soul in it, trying to take even that one drop of life which you possessed so rightfully under the sun. But now it imparts to the drop an insatiable wish to expand…so much significance to one meek drop!

It is true. Your darkest hour reveals the most in you; it is then that you light the inward candle and the little light in that meek drop is enough to show you your feet and a step ahead…which you know is all you need for now. Night is not so cruel; it is just a dependent slave. It wouldn’t even exist without light. And so it waits for an order from the ray of light in that candle it can see. It is true. The hours, ecstatic or melancholy, filled or solitary, never did exist before you created them. And the feet stand near the deserted ocean, waiting for a light that in turn waits for them to take a step ahead…