This Something  stirs in 
silence 

And as often i begin my phrases with ' This'.

i wondered why

i wondered if or as if
the god in my heart bid me to dispose of everything else

in order to be in the immediacy of the moment
discarding everything, stop the overlooking
skipping, hopping....

This is what  ' This ' means to me.



To summon the totality of myself
without leaving a single particle behind

to summon myself to the vortex of the Present.
With the same straightening obedience 
when the grass sees the Sunrise.

And Today,
This sunlight playing in the meadows of my Solitude
i cannot tell how beautiful it is....

If dying is like this
let me tell you
Let me die.

What has been taken from me comes back
with different faces and voices
It comes back through the
sunshining on the green leaves
as it might in winter
when the ground is cold and frozen on an
unknown day.

what has been taken away from me
whatever i thought i had lost
comes back with so much beauty that it hurts



i still see it
my childhood walking in my fully adult feet
eyes dazzled by whatever
it saw then
still sees now dazzling

with its happy smile given from nowhere or perhaps
from God's own infancy.

Whatever has been taken from me
shows itself
peeps out from soothing rocks and waterfalls of my soul

At times after a tired day
i sit on the porch
the evening light comes in
and i fall asleep
it is there i am
in the music
within the quietness awakening from another dawn.

You sprinkle in my thoughts today

Spring sways deliciously in the wind  
And 
my thoughts fly yonder to you, 

 Faltering 
amidst the fondest memories 

of how strangely we 
have given our love to each other, 

 How the farthest and nearest bonds are entwined... 

wondering ridiculously why these unmet feelings still have meaning.

i reckon somehow 
some kind of your beauty still continues to haunt me,

Have i known you  from beyond  
the timeless designs. 

 Solemnly, hither i walk 
amidst the tall grass of these flowering woods 
whilst thoughts of you fills me with all kind of aches.

Towards you i come and go 
without your knowing.
while whispers pine within phrases and i can't pen

Sighingly I tell the stars that your light is 
far too sublime than any 
arising in my knowing.
 
May these words bring something of who i am at
 your doorstep though ghostly they might be. .. 
as anything interfered by light would be.

In the meanwhile we both shall meander, 

each
in our garden of Silence 
just wondering about each other 
inspite of the naught around us

For You my Love 
i 've untied the sun today 
and bound them in my words 

so you might behold this heart 
vain of any shadow.

Be safe, Be loved...

This is  your mouth i kiss it sumptously, 
Sumptously , your soul i kiss.

this  garden -- on your skin
these drops 

i collect.
the dew.

The flirtful air , the pure blue sky
April blooms

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.