Best Transmigration Poems
Onyx
dark silicate,
descendant of agate
echoes inspired by nighttime sky;
a calming focus of the deepest void,
spiritual transformation
awakening the soul,
translucent black
onyx.
Black hole
transmigration,
transformational sight,
the never ending seeing eye
vision of Tetragrammaton essence;
majesty of heaven’s splendor
enlightened souls will fly
darkness alight,
black hole.
If Brahma is Brahma I also am Brahma,
then why am I wandering on a not real way
holding something I don’t know in my hand?
I can lead my life toward good
because everything is Brahma, but I can live
an evil life as well because everything comes from my ego.
If Brahma is Brahma I can cross over the ego
bury myself in meditation,
though it may be a lonely
and a trying way.
Gather ashes from six* burnt senses
and walk on the nonexistent way
because I am a naught substance,
though to be in a mode to attain spiritual awakening,
my ego, stands in the middle of good and evil
unable me to shake off tenacious carnal desire,
it compels me to keep walking on the path of evil passions
and if the terminal goal of life’s never ending circle is
an attainment of spiritual awakening,
and spiritual awakening is to walk in light,
the brightness is the way;
however, paradoxical, in a sense, is also true
stupidity and ignorance though lay in the darkness,
it may also be the way. Yet, the problem of life is
still laying under my foot; and that is the chain of anguish
which would never, ever, be cut off;
I, therefore, collapse on the way
while dragging the chain of a great weight
it may be the end of anguish, a knot of a life’s circle,
or a moment of a pause in the ever changing world,
or it may well be a renewed life in Faramita the world of Paradise,
or the beginning of another anguish in the transmigration of the soul,
and that’s why I believe the nonexistent substance is the way
to Brahma which is one same substance.
Tat tvam asi, I am the Brahma
Tat tvam asi, That art thou
*Six senses: five basic physical senses plus soul or intellect.
I stopped by your desk to say hello today
As I so often do
To a lovely, young secretary like you.
Others may have thought something was amiss
Because I’m an older man and therefore,
My intentions must be nothing less
Than stealing your sweet kiss. But of course,
You and I know better than this…
Our conversation centered on the very stuff of stars: Creation Itself,
So near and yet so far. We wandered through the labyrinth of
History, time and space; debating transmigration
And the nature of God’s own face.
You quoted Jesus perfectly
As if you knew Him sure as rain;
While Plato, Philo and Pythagoras
All joined in our coffee break game.
Until we both agreed in the mystery
Of love, life and death;
Then saying goodbye with a twinkle in the eye and
“I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”
Just another day with a beautiful girl
With a soul as wise as the wind…
Secrets revealed from invisible fields
Where beauty lies deeper than skin.
So forgive me if my intentions
Look less than they truly are.
But beyond the smile lie miles and miles
From the soul to the first bright star.
"On the Transmigration of Souls"
Wordless.
Music speaks.
Angels sing
to remind us
(LadyLabyrinth/2021)
September 11
John Adams - On the Transmigration of Souls (2002) [Audio + Score]
https://youtu.be/oNTBzkpnKfk
"A World Inside - Love's Glamour"
See the golden chord
it extends beyond,
resides inside your world
you remain connected
the true Love
never lets you go
somersault backwards
then forwards like a child
rolls down a lush green hill
towards
the next exit
tomorrow
blue sky above
a world inside, rosy
opens through soul’s eye
you're kicked like a
rolling stone eventually
from Hell then out through Bardo
light refracted
dilated tunnel
through amygdala chambers
a journey, there are battles
within heart marrow
lost is found by those past sorrow
barefoot in wet grass
smiling gently, heaven-like
a known angel pulling you in
towards
towards
towards ...
Love's glamour
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
b. 29.8.1935 vcb
d. 29.8.2010 lam
b. 2.3.39
b. 2.3.64
d. 18.9.71
b. 18.9.99
“On the Transmigration of Souls” / John Adams, lyrics, music composition
https://youtu.be/bwoasXzLdVY
John Adams/Composer
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/On_the_Transmigration_of_Souls
On the Transmigration of Souls/
First performance:
September 19, 2002 Avery Fisher Hall
New York Choral Artists
Brooklyn Children’s Chorus
New York Philharmonic, Lorin Maazel, conductor
Sound design by Mark Grey
partial Lyrics.
https://www.antiwarsongs.org/canzone.php?lang=en&id=3843
MONITOR'S PREMONITION
Your heart is the size
Of your fist
Is it a hearsay?
A tell tale
A belief-
He is booked
Tentacles arrested him
With vacuum locks.
Lying pale in blue open coat
Chest, right and left
Ankles, wrists and abdomen.
Lines on screen dances
With eerie steps
Primitive dance of aborigines.
Is he sleeping
A dreamless sleep,
Lustreless, but final
Dripping capsules locked.
Succession of births
Immanent sense of sin
Of births previous
Last step to transmigration
A drop of blood
Libation and flood.
Graphic lines weary
Ending up
Straight line to infinity.
A muffled cough
Chocked
Bladders pumping, shocks
A tornado, frightened silence
Hush-hush-
Tentacles withdrawn,
Mummified in sleeping bag
Alarms, sirens
Traveller to Zion
A long ride, the last.
With icy hands laid
On prey
LCD is switched off.
next time you look at those twinkles in the night sky
and sigh, there'll be a glimmer in your eye ...
what if light is the language of Star
and Star is the language of night
and night is the feeling of ineffable space
where the infinite writes insight,
with plasma roiling from its transmuting pen
into particles 'n photons that zeal;
that seems to me, to be so very real ...
then our shadow we see,
slow diving on the ground,
is a reminder of the night we carry,
everyday around
*
*
*
on journaling: if you don't know where you've been, you'll not see where you are and can't
get to where you ought to be - the transmigration of writers is with ink - then there are
curious circles that fill our days and when we write them out and really look and see, a
turn of phrase that changes us conceptually, as the circle becomes spiral, a vortex to the
sky, where the Stars of hope wink 'n blink, and beckon us to fly
Rushed along to triage
with time storming out
despite the flow within
just dying to spout.
Memory wraps its bow
with ideals devout
before launching a berth
along a fresh route.
The cold sweat bead
slow-trickled down my spine,
fears in transmigration,
yours then mine.
Imagined kisses lingered
twisted mouth,
as the house of waxing lyrical
rotated south.
The fly-trap night gave
terminal time to think,
as poison wine
became your favoured drink.
nostalgic times strung up,
no more remain,
pray God they never haunt
my mind again.
The self absorbing words
the stuff you write,
the doggerel of self pity
black and white;
a blind beholder’s eye
no tears shed,
a love that never was,
forever dead,
The churning bile I feel,
when rears your name,
hypnotically revolts
and bucks with shame,
repulsive sickness stabs
my fevered brow,
enough is quite enough,
forever now.
Well versed person in never enamored,
As Mithya consorts to transcend to childhood,
Youth or the aged physical consciousness;
Neither affected by good or bad in life.
Joys and sorrow like cold and hot weather,
Touch not creative or destructive senses,
Residing as unique undefined being,
Within our soul we garner to suffer.
Atma plays with Maya in novel rebirths,
Dons different wombs to one's salvation?
Ref:-
Gita Chapter 2 verse 13
Oh Lord Buddha relic of art
Wise man of clairvoyant awareness
Your charge is to discover your rareness
Give yourself to it with all of your heart
You have images and colors for each day of the week
And the day you were born is a color unique
This Sunday is the Day of the St. Valentine
Will you wear red or that of Capitoline
Sunday’s red tone could suggest suffering
And Monday’s cream dispelling our fear
Tuesday’s pink means Nirvana is near
Wednesday’s green respects each living thing
Thursday’s orange indicates meditation
Friday’s blue - thoughtful contemplation
Saturday’s black or purple is for protection
For all Buddha’s people colors impel transmigration
When were you born? - a Buddhist will ask
Meaning the day of the week is your task
You will be colored by the day you were conceived
Have we ever asked what Buddha believed?
Day crackles clean and warm like burning coal
A new passion swam his veins, they bonded him
For that pheromone was strong in him, and abrim
The pack bayed towards the sunlight burning gold
And welcomed a brave brother wolf into the fold
For he who before the bear stood calm, his noble
Suit displayed, found his totem in a moment bold
And transmigrated his soul to the new realm possible.
He could not make destiny again, but destiny chose
For him, the wolf man everywhere was known. He
Was the hero wanted, yet scorned with circles closed
Like doors against him, for all his deeds of mercy.
But the dog gene made him a man's best friend still
And howling he brings the pack always to his will
Neither did they sit while any child or innocent ached
With fear or pain, and from the malice of evil intent.
The wolf man knew but little thought how each act
Propelled him to a higher level and another death sent
For seeds all die that spring to trees, and the same fact
Was true for him every new level he was to attain
While propelled upwards greater animals to become
He knew the bear level awaited him next in the chain
Of cycles. But for service alone his heart still hummed.
Nor did he know hes was hunted too, for one man firm
In his conviction to repay, the thing that from forest came
The thing massive in muscles, humble in every term
That dared the forking tongue of a livid flame
To retrieve a child, the only child the mother left behind
The child that was enblem and memory of that love
Whose death would perish his flesh and torment his mind
The wolf-like thing, the man beast on wings, dove
In from above, and came out with life between his jaws
Hair fried, and limping as if with injured paws
And the throng of them that rush upon the scene then
Making a barrier between it and curious but cruel men
And how it seemed in thin air he vanished without reward
And cause a grateful father to follow the trail full and hard.
Did he have the hours to find him still, to meet the kind
That make us wretched because our hearts are blind
Did he with ego melted, and with a different disposition
Qualify to know and taste the foreign truth of transmigration
To destinies on the brink of fate, and death at the gate
Gasping and gulping, still in the grasp of time we wait.
A Follower of Pythagoras
and the theory of transmigration
wish to prove to his friend
the fact of reincarnation.
Although the man presented
how life to life was sewn
his trusted old companion
wished he’d just go home.
Yet, he persisted
“I can prove
that you have lived before,
You were a miller that I knew
from the town next door.”
Feeling injured
the old friend agreed
with his patience all a scoure
“I was the Miller
and you were the ass
that carried my mill flour.”
Coldly chiming beyond the veil of rain, how hard
It is the shut out the refrain,
Of bells in echoed discord on the mossy wall, from the
Chapel in the graveyard in the fall.
How the village seems to welcome autumn chill, and home
Creeps the darkness from the hill,
As it rolls with fluid stealth into the trees, and whispers
Rattle branches in the breeze.
The resonance of ages sweeps the grass, with breath and kiss
Of times that come and pass,
Where spiders spin their webs that turn to frost, I fear
The transmigration of the lost.
How long will it continue in this vein, the appetites
Of love that must abstain?
And how much will the hungry heart endure, the tainted
Fade of echoes sad allure?
In the beginning of the end of this life,
I shall say to you, as we go into the Light, hand in hand,
“I told you so… Now, let’s go.”
In the very end, the truth is we can always begin again,
Simply because life never truly ends.