Sunday, November 05, 2017

Only window knows

As you go
  The essence of me
Caught on the window
   A constellation

      Of condensation....

-MaryJane Doe

Sunday, October 29, 2017


Flowers never ceased to amaze me.

Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought.

Like a lover waits
With her calm presence.

Like a dancer
In the rhythms of breeze.

Like a scientist
With a desire to decode patterns.

Like a mother
In her glory of offspring.

Like the angel

With Her petals to embrace light.


Saturday, October 28, 2017

Saturday, October 21, 2017

The Final Analysis

People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered,
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives,
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true friends,
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you,
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight,
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous,
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow,
Do good anyway.
Give the world your best anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is not between you and them,
It is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway.

-The Final Analysis, Kent M Keith

Monday, October 16, 2017

Jungle of Words.....

Shabdon ke jungle mein...
Tu kyon phasa hai....
Parbrahm ke ras seee....
tera nus nus rama hai..

Anand tu hi...
Parmanand tu hi...

Om mein kho kar...
Om mein rum kar...
Ommmm mein milna haiii....

Shabdo ke jungle mein ..
Tu kyon phasa hai....

Maan Apmaan hota hi kahan hai...
Yeh to hai shabdo ki pakad...

Bhale bure shabd tujhe hila de...
Itna tu nahi hai kamjor..

Om mein kho kar...
Om mein rum kar...
Ommm mein milna haiinnn....

-Art of Living Bhajans

Thursday, September 07, 2017

Life as we experience it

Sometimes to progress you have to regress
Sometimes to win you have to lose
Sometimes you have to let it go and RISE!

Wednesday, September 06, 2017


And, one last word: you always draw your energy and inspiration from whoever is the center of your life. In love, you become the one you love. If it’s a materialistic person, you’ll find yourself becoming increasingly materialistic too. If he or she is a spiritual person, you’ll evolve into a calmer person. If the restless or narcissist type, you’ll feel restless and anxious yourself. If the center of your life is beauty, God, divinity, compassion or any of these, you’ll become an embodiment of that.

-OM Swami

Tuesday, September 05, 2017

Tea bliss

For the ancient tea masters, the drinking of tea demonstrates to people how to proceed in their evolution as human beings. This Way of Tea is one of the "right middle ways," that is, the way of equanimity and harmony. As the tea infuses in the pot, the bitterness remains at the bottom with the leaves, and as the tea is poured, each serving becomes progressively more bitter. To equalize the taste, during the second round of poring you need to fill up the cups in reverse order so the taste is evenly distributed. The principle of balance and harmony symbolically and beautifully represented the ancient tea ceremony reminds us of the importance of finding the right middle way and balancing all aspects of life.

-Tea Bliss by Theresa Cheung

Monday, September 04, 2017

How do I love thee?

How do I love thee? 
Let me count the ways. 
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
For the ends of being and ideal grace. 
I love thee to the level of every day’s 
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right. 
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use 
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. 
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, 
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, 
I shall but love thee better after death

-Elizabeth Browning

Monday, August 21, 2017

will meet you there....

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there's a field and I will meet you there.

When the soul lies down in the grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, languages, even the phrase each other
does not make any sense.



Come to the orchard in Spring
There is light, wine, and sweethearts
in the pomegranate flowers

If you do not come, these do not matter
If you do come, these do not matter


Saturday, August 05, 2017

A moment in silence

I have wandered in pursuit of voices that drew me yet led me nowhere.
Now let me sit in peace and listen to thy words in the soul of my silence.

Rabindranath Tagore


Sometimes the sky looks so beautiful and at the same time earth also looks so beautiful and finally we look so beautiful as well! By just looking at the nature you become the nature itself! Look at the beautiful full moon, you become a beautiful full moon!

― Mehmet Murat ildan

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Quiet afternoon

I have wandered in pursuit of voices that drew me yet led me nowhere.
Now let me sit in peace and listen to thy words in the soul of my silence.

-Rabindranath Tagore

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Scientific legacy

Food for thought: Suppose that some catastrophe were to destroy all scientists and all of our records of science but we had opportunity to choose one single scientific idea to pass on the survivors, what idea or equation, if passed down in this way, would give our descendants the fastest head start in reconstructing the achievement of today's science?

Sunday, June 04, 2017

Friday, June 02, 2017

Silent Spring

 "Man's attitude toward nature is today critically important simply because we have now acquired a fateful power to alter and destroy nature. But man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself? [We are] challenged as mankind has never been challenged before to prove our maturity and our mastery, not of nature, but of ourselves."

Rachel Carson, the mother of climate change movement

Thursday, May 25, 2017

Moon shines in my body

THE MOON shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it:
The moon is within me, and so is the sun.
The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it.


Sunday, April 23, 2017

Smell of your mouth

you look like you smell of
honey and of no pain
let me have a taste of that

-rupi kaur

Saturday, March 25, 2017


on days
like this
i need you to
run your fingers
through my hair
and speak softly

-rupi kaur

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Monday, December 19, 2016

Noble silence

The world needs you more than ever. In this time when despair is valued over clarity, anger wins over mindfulness we need souls like you who will not bow down to likes, legacy, and cultural creation. You alone could give voice to the dark times. But when I call your name there is only noble silence.
Inspired from Shozan Jack Haubner

Friday, December 16, 2016

Stars will return

One night I climbed the hill behind the house and looked down on a simple dirt road where I was surprised to see long lines of people shuffling into the distance. Their difficult breathing and their coughing were probably caused by the cloud of dust their march had created.
"Who are you and why is this happening?" I asked one of them.
"We are believers and must keep going," and then he added, "our work is important and concerns the self."
"But all your dust is darkening the stars," I said.
"Nay, nay," he said, "we are only passing through, the stars will return."

Mark Strand

Monday, December 12, 2016

the path

"Haven't we have been down this path before? I think we have. At the end of this path there will be a door. The door will open to a world with the old rainbows that we chased. We will find the bluebird singing to us by the moon river. There will be a little child waiting for us in the boat holding the midnight flowers."
"Yes, my dear, we have seen that too, but you must hold my arm and close your eyes."

Saturday, December 10, 2016

Beyond things

Become totally empty
Quiet the restless of the mind
Only then you will witness everything
Unfolding from emptiness
See all things flourish and dance
in endless variation
And once again merge back into perfect

Lao Tzu

Wednesday, December 07, 2016

Nocturne of the poet who loved the moon

I have grown tired of the moon, tired of its look of astonishment, the blue ice of its gaze, its arrivals and departures, of the way it gathers lovers and loaners under its invisible wings, failing to distinguish between them.

Mark Strand

Saturday, December 03, 2016

There was an owl

One summer when she was still young she stood on the roof and wondered where he had gone, that owl who sat by the tree, watching, waiting for something that would never arrive. Gone with the owl are the stories of the summer where he wandered out into the miraculous night, the memories of the traveler into the sea of dark or the idleness of the lonely soul.

She realized that the owl may never return back. Undone by sorrow, she found solace in prayer, and others, like ourselves, who lost their owls chose to follow wild dogs through the dark woods, nursing their bruises until they return to stars or ashes.

The birdman inside us

Gravity doesn't even apply to you. Wait till you see the faces of those who thought we were finished. Listen to me. Let's go back one more time and show them what we're capable of. We have to end it on our own terms... with a grand gesture. Flames. Sacrifice. Icarus. You can do it. You hear me? You are... Birdman!

Birdman, the movie

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Landscape of love

I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew,
The jealousy, the shyness - though in vain -
Made up a love so tender and so true
(Translated by Genia Gurarie, 11/10/95 , Pushkin)

In the empty hours of cold Sunday evening the thought of to be loved again the way it happened many years ago arises again. The desire to comfort the soul that lies beyond the mountains renders the heart again. The yearn to dive down with  the yellowing light that lowers itself in the hour before dark emerges again. The reflection to trace down the path that we promised to walk surfaces again. 

Again and again

again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky. 


Saturday, November 26, 2016

In the afterlife

She stood beside me for years, or was it a moment? I can not remember. Maybe I loved her, maybe I did not. What does love mean anyway? There was a house and then no house. There were trees but none remain. When no one remembers, what is there? You, whose moments are gone, who drift like smoke in the afterlife, tell me something, tell me anything.

Mark Strand, modified

Friday, November 25, 2016

Colors of mind

A round sound was polished until it became a smoother sound, which was polished until it became music. Then the music was polished until it became the memory of the night.....

"You do not know anything about music. You do not know ragas. You do not know mantra, madhya, and taar.  Stop writing about music, you fool." advised the pundit.

"True. Even the blinds do not know the color, until the night comes. Tarr of vivid red, madhya of remembered green, and mantra of boundless blue comes to alive in his mind when the darkness wipes the difference from  the pride and prejudice of the daylight. I will listen through the colors of my mind and scribble it in the paper. Forgive me." I replied.

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Once upon a cold November morning

I walked down this path before.

The cloud strokes the hair of the mountain before traveling to another country. The mountain stands still and wait for the cloud to return next time. In the perfumed heat of a summer morning the silent snow of thought melts. River carries the message through the ancient path to the cloud. The cloud returns back for a while with the mountain until she leaves again. The mountain stands still and waits.

"What can we learn from it?" asks the child.
"Wait, till the silence where we all meet." replies the traveler.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

All those unsaid words

Behind each word, there is another word. And hundreds more, behind that one.
All these unsaid words, he says, contain his true self, which has been betrayed by the superficial self before her. 

"Will you ever understand me?" asks the boy.

Mark Strand, modified

Monday, November 21, 2016

The immigrant

The king is upset. His room in the castle is cold, so was the room across the hall, and all the other rooms as well. He needs to blame someone.

"Why the room is cold?" he quizzes the servant.
"I am afraid the God is gone. The wind yellowing the trees, then baring them brown. We are at the end of our journey. World is going to end." the servant replies.
"You immigrants ruined this. You ruined everything!" the king yells back.
"Are n't we all immigrant on the face of the earth." the servant whispers.

The empty heart

The empty heart comes to a empty nest from a busy day at the office. And what is the empty heart to do but empty itself of emptiness. Sweeping out the unsweepable takes an effort of mind, the fruitless exertion of faculties already burdened. Poor empty heart, old before it's time, how it struggles to do what the mind tells it to do. But the struggle comes to nothing. The empty heart cannot do what the mind commands. It sits in the dark, daydreams, and the emptiness grows.

Mark Strand

Sunday, November 20, 2016


Sleep, shelter me.
Back into the promise of the dark
where I belong.

Sing, your favorite song.
Until I fall
into your empty arms.

And I promise to dream
old paths and white clouds
where we will meet

Saturday, November 19, 2016

The search for you


Bond breaks.
Bond forms.
You call it synthesis.
I call it construction-deconstruction.

 Lover departs.
 Lover comes.
 You call it life.
 I call it construction-deconstruction.

 Mist comes.
 Mist goes.
 You call it discovery.
 I call it construction-deconstruction.

 I search for you.
 I seek for the truth.

Scent of love

It was all there.
It is still there.

Luminous sunlight. 
Melted  teardrops.
Frozen forms.
Smiling flowers.
Knowledge of the unborn.

Nothing changed.
You asked for flesh.
You asked for future.
You asked for certainty.

I know the sun will rise tomorrow.
I know I will wait for you.

Monday, November 14, 2016

The enlightened

He has merged with the level where all experience is one. He is the solitary hero of that beyond essence, to whom all phenomena brought to silence, radiant with the vision of gnosis, who has realized the ultimate reality, who has attained the bliss of understanding, and who has relished the highest awakening.

Hymn to the five voids, from the book Tantra Illuminated

Sunday, November 13, 2016

Another love poem

And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.

Leonard Cohen

there is a dawn in me

To him whose elastic and vigorous thought keeps pace with the sun, the day is a perpetual morning. It matters not what the clocks say or the attitudes and labors of men. Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me.

Henry David Thoreau

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Queen of solitude

Queen of Solitude
I thank you with my heart
for keeping me so close to thee
while so many, oh so many, stood apart

Leonard Cohen

Live laugh and listen

Live. You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.
There is no another land; there is no other life but this, or like this.

Laugh. Laugh until tears come out of your eyes. There is no world for the penitent and regretful. Laugh in the virgin light of the morning. Laugh in the boredom of the afternoon. Laugh in the silence of darkness.

Listen. Listen to the sound of silence. Listen to the morning mist talking to the grass. Listen to the music. Listen to your inner voice. Listen before you speak.

Sunday, November 06, 2016

Come to me

I am there, waiting, still waiting, still. There beneath the stillness of water. There above the mountain where the cloud kisses its hair. There in the colors bleed through the leaves. There in the blues that comes before the black. I am there, still. Come to me.

Saturday, November 05, 2016

A Silent Walk

I like walking with her. A silent walk in my solitude.

She is my silent and sympathizing companion.  I walk with her in the mist of early mornings, in the tiredness of  twilight, or in the darkness of the night. She is beautiful. Yet not too distinct and obtrusive.  She will mesmerize you if you pay close attention. Yet not demanding any diligence.


Every fish that swims silent, every bird that flies freely, 

every doe that steps softly. 
Every crisp leaf that falls, all the flowers that grow 
on this colourful tapestry, somehow they know. 
That if man is allowed to destroy all they need. 
He will soon have to pay with his life, for his greed

-Don Mclean