For Sruthi

Mysteries  and darkness 

Twinned together 

'I know i m beautiful ' you said

And, silences became sensually erotic 

You turned the on switch ,you knew to use it

 it worked so well 

With precision your web pinned my attention.

A while later 

The monsoons burst out from the clouds 

Partially carried in your eyes. 

In that downpour 

I saw a little girl

Aloof, in her loneliness

She argued with the Gods that did'nt exist 

saying it was so easy for her to die 

There....silence again 

Whatever trembled on her lips 

Was no longer a secret 

Whatever made her cry

Made her into a Phénix.

As the morning hangs raw from the shoulders of branches.

a quiet walk in the woods is a moment for Self discovery 

There precisely, you come in contact with something totally new.

The soul grasps that which silences the mind

The soul,  the mind, the body unites.

Many call this healing.

Others call it awakening,

Perhaps Being.

Make this quietness a part of your own

Hold the Sky tenderly while you soak in its light. 

Be in the brotherhood of this light 

As you witness its infinity you realise,  its your own.

 I move with my eyes,  my feet obeys.

The breath and the sky

The spring trickles ...as if they all had the responses to my well being. 

 Even in the deepest forest,  the steepiest Mountains the Leopards have the maps in their paws, they consult them in the very instantly connecting as they put their paws gently on the ground. 

 To live life i had to ho beyond that which Men had to teach me. And without the intimacy of Silence and the surrounding of Nature i wouldnt get anywhere near to where the voices of my heart luring me. 

En douceur le doux soleil de septembre . Tombant doucement sur ma peau brun foncé. Je le sens jouer partout. La même brise, très légère sur les feuilles, se déplace légèrement entre la nudité et mes vêtements orange. Je suis agréablement témoin de ce bien-être si gracieusement offert par la nature. Que je pouvais passer tout l'après-midi sous les branches apaisantes des pins. Et dans un parfait silence - le calme chuchote. Le langage et les sensations ne font qu'un.

Et - en soumettent mon esprit Tout ce qui est poétique filtre dans l’état de ma conscience. Et… je bougerais à peine d'ici, je continue à écouter les frappes, les poussées silencieuse de la vie.. presque sensuel dans son unité. Les reins de la terre et les miens ne font qu'un. Je ressens un sentiment d'éveil. Lorsque l'esprit et le corps s'imbriquent spontanément,la profondément, les courants de conscience vous transportent à la source même où la vie palpite.  Vous palpitez jusqu'au bout de l'univers et vous pouvez sentir les étoiles respirer sur votre visage. Le soleil et la lune s'enfoncent dans vos pupilles et y restent .... en regardant autour de toi, ce n'est pas toi qui regarde à travers la félicité de cette solitude, mais le soleil et la lune ... dans l'allumage, assez attentif pour illuminer indistinctement comme si les lampes de la méditation expulsent les bruits de pensées.

Famished teenage days

even more famished 

post teenage days.

Were days 

where i was Unable to tuck my brain anywhere.

The hunger and uncertainity meant the same thing

I nibbled on bits of Neitzsche, Spinoza Schopenhauer and others 

like small convenient sandwiches 

Parts of life, ditched, in each days ditches, boring , blank in unfocussed spaces

From which i didnt bother to struggle my  way out.

Though i was tempted,

only Neitzsche committed suicide 

I prefer to say that Spinoza,  Schopenhauer  and the others, they all did,  in some way sorted out their survival.

And today, i hardly remember  what they said, nothing more than just their names.

And, their real or faked suicides helped me to live my life.

Walt Whitman,  the happy vagabond, sang songs like noone else.

And his beard grew into long leaves of grass

He threw truth like thunderbolts 

The Clouds of his words downpoured heavily 

Transiting the 4 seasons of my life

His old chants, twilight songs,unheard sounds of winter, the icicles and lingering last drops,  the dazzle of the day, left me looking for my own words, 

and, i sat writing .

flew like a Raven out of Noah's arch

And returned from God's opaque storms and bleaking skies

Without finding any land.

But, Noah got shipwrecked on some mountain top ( not me...i was boat less)

he couldnt blame  God for it

So he blamed himself.

The fawn and birds jerked out of his groins as children 

(God bestowed him with mighty balls)

And Noah, 

stored in them , each little secret of the universe.

i left Noah's arch, just walked away

as if the flood was a fiction of my own challenging life.

Somedays in which i drowned. 

i walked away till i did'nt know who Noah was

And now as it rains

It rains 

Oh how sweetly it rains.

How the springtime smells beneath it.

And sometimes it takes only a rain

arch to become , an undrownable arch on some timeless ocean.