What will i find in your Silences
What will you find in mine

Silence - is'nt an obsession...but my true state of being

Though, 
At this very moment as i write about Silence....
i'm anything but like it.

There,
Comes a dove from an unknown sky
From far above for any eyes

In a wink it's there
In a wink it's gone

But if it stays
it fills you - you're filled with it....

No matter what you look at
Or what looks at you

You're hit by its light

Undoing your body - giving you its own
it says; 

Take it
and become a gleam

A flight 

a flight into your darkness

Let go the things to think - for what is there to think

thinking is noisy ; 

Here,
thinking is pointless

What is of thought cannot take you there
but
What is of thought can come in

this path is 
outside thinking

You can take it if  you can fall....

falling is the closest you can do to be with yourself

 So fall into you.

Can you fall like a flake of snow.

Can you hold 
what cannot be held 

Can you let it 
 fill you

Fling...fling into that flow
where things seen are'nt seen in the usual way..

Fling into your consciousness
Into its wakeful Silences
Into it's cosmic volcanoes

And witness the glory of seeing

Misery is a name you give: 
to what you can't see
If it were mere opening of the eyes you'd have seen it.

Touch

To touch that which is sacred
which is even closer to your skin

Hear

To hear , not by means of  your tympanum
To taste what is but not
by the mere tip of your tongue 


Taste


what taste has that 
which Wisdom has  put on your tongue

The perfume that haunts you so madly
 isn't in your nose .

how will you describe it

How will you describe the perfume of silence.



Words

the words that you seek ceaselessly 

the words only true lovers know

it isn't in your silence
it is'nt in your words
but in that trembling that penetrates you
when the arms of the sacred gathers you.

Silence 

Silence isn't the absence of noise 
but the hushful awareness of the presence of your self

The unbecoming of words as the meaningful moment of that instance fille you.


Your silence unavail

Your unavailability in listening to yourself 
leaves it unavailable.

The self is full: what it is full of.....  is silent...

It is silence

in such a silence you  hear the heart of all things


Hearts

beat
to that one heart


When you hear your silence 
you  hear the heartbeats of every word 

said 
and unsaid.

This is 
the sunrise you 've been waiting for

Your own sunrise.

This is 
where your first  poems rise from

The poem and the poet  both arises

The perfume of words : their taste, their touch
released from the tongue of your soul.

How will you write them.

Write them ,  
if  you know how they ought to be written

Write it 

write it in the other

the other who is looking silently at You

The unity that holds everything is now holding me.




It held me
Bringing the light over the sky to
the fields
Birds flew in translucent wings
And on that spot was that day 's heaven

The Sky didn't need to find its words

And i didn't need any to understand it's utterance

All was said, so very well said
in this language of Silence.


Sitting as any student
In a classroom of the universe
i sat learning
About the things that won't ever be repeated

Taking notes
I wrote 

i happened to be there
And being there was happiness.

Death visited me the first time when i was a boy.  i watch'd the ants carrying on their backs the dying worm.
i felt something sad cried for the worm
for none of its family was around.

i felt the same when they cut down the huge tree I used to climb . Later many others would fall. 
i realised it was there for so many years before my  forefathers and i.
It housed so many birds, insects... i used to look at it all along my boyhood years, but, really 
' saw it ' when they cut it down.
That tree gone. A part of my childhood gone. A friend gone. Maybe parts of it has become a roof  to somebody's house, maybe furnitures, firewood and other things.

The space where it stood 
stood bare 
No more of the greenish blue light of the mornings 
No more evening chirps i used to know.... and to this day i think of it. How fulfilled the land looked when it was there. 

The sunlight split into the pits where the traces of the roots remained, the rains fell, as many as the seasons..

i ve never been there until the other day.... And i recalled how that boy felt.

Memory of a silent friend - a memory that never left me
reminding that i too one day will be gone.

Ever since  Death has visited me many times, through so  many ways.... From a boy i became a man.
Then, the day i lost my father i felt the chop on the trunk of my soul.
A bleeding.
An ordinary light became immortal.

Then 
From that day I never went to look for him else where other than in my heart, where also was the Tree. 

A light burning in my wound 

asks the Sky,

'Are you my face'.

A face burning in my face asks,

whose face  my face has become.

Who is it who looks outside....looks at which universe 

and what is it that he sees

A light, burning within my chest

intense than the sunrise.

Words, my tongue afire.

Words on my tongue are'nt words

but the footsteps of love walking in, walking out

silently than silence.

Speaking -- it becomes a Rose.

It says, 

' Wake up Beloved...

Become empty

Become Space for my fragrance ' .

Is this why my face is not my face,

 a piece of the sky is sticking out .

§

Nights i've walked
within me

i've sketched my maps 
in half understood géographies 
of my childhood, my adoloscence, 
my more or less adult life.

i gather my words - from my wounds
from the memories of the rain, 
from the mornings and evenings of continual starlight falling on the ground

The shadows of the woods stood so still
opening doors to finding out 
who i 'm

sufficiently enough 
to unload the weight i 've been carrying

to transform my silence into words

Words i learnt 
to wound 
and be wounded.

Words
that destroyed the walls 
of your heart and mine 
at the same time.

The same words  
pushed me 
held me
burnt me, 
smothered me
have now become saviours.

Once, i heard 
them

now, i can see , listen, touch, and smell them.

Their bitterness 
become Nectar.

i donot speak them out on my knees

They 're the endless rivers of my body.

i harvest 
their throbs.

This new silence sitting in our thoughts

This new silence sitting in our thoughts

gazing at its own wandering
slides like clouds from
one sky to another

Words washed away of its weight
spreads like snowflakes in the lamp lights of our listening.

Our eyes full
of what is full in our hearts.

To write to you is not easy.....

.....Words 

engorged with desires

Like nipples

Hardens 

slips into a playful stream of verbs

Between the thighs of my silence...running 

Moan my Sufferings , since you're so determined to make me suffer....

This breath 

warm

between my lips

sad

because i cannot speak.

This  wind howling 

how they bite

how they blow me into pièces.

i eat.

I drink 

from the stones and rivers 

of  sorrow

my handcuffed feelings losing their voices in your meadows.

Tiptoeing 

 my eyes understood 

watching a few 

trees....

the solitude of the half lit winters.

Waiting for the sun

waiting for you

if you might come....

if you might come

i write , 

but to write to you is not easy my Darling,

 Words sink like Titanic

in your cold waters.

No matter how i speak

your anwers deeply haunt a silence to which i cannot accede.