body is an experience centre
lower mind acting as an interface
so we but watch thought forms as they canter
as clouds in the sky we need not efface
wafting as they wish at an easy pace
and as for our senses externalised
they are silenced that God be realised
In time stretched staid stillness sedate,
ascend, pause and consolidate
tranquil poise as our default mode,
mindful that thought forms do not bait.
Though long and winding is the road,
resting mind, we let soul decode
God’s pulsations of love and light,
breath by breath lightening heart’s load.
Deeming fears and desires as blight,
in repose by day and by night,
we embody the boons of grace,
blooming and garnering clear sight.
With no earth bound goals left to chase,
all attachments as we efface,
as we shine in our inner glow,
we’re held by God in close embrace.
My life feels like an undetached magnet.
I do run, yet I recoil and reset.
It's like addiction with no use of drugs,
Or a trap made by the users' warm hugs.
My dear Owner! Release me from this cage.
For I am sealed inside my own bondage.
Deliver me! Lift me up from this place
Of squalid magnets that do not efface.
tide retreats
waves efface proof gone
crabs sketch trail
The sheet is blank, and so's the mind
It's hard to think it so unkind
That friend that's been with you so long
Declining now to come along
It was not always thus, and so
At times so willingly to go
It led some place you'd rather not
Wondering just how you got
From here to there and back again
But still you treat it like a friend
Sometimes one that's led astray
Sometimes the one you hope will stay
For friends are dear, we know that now
Another hand upon the plow
Another shoulder in the trace
Which pulls its weight in that hard place
Aligns us there within the race
Drops us right into that place
Where furrowed brow relaxes now
And finds the rest none can efface
"She reassured me with an unfamiliar line."
Love is a mystery school, yearning for sages
well able to reckon sixes from nines.
True wits should elect sin's disbursements
rather than reflect on love's scenes of rushing bunglers.
Love is sick, blind, unkind. Aren't we cruel?
She chided: brush your flapper, dying blue
between that pair of cheese crackers.
Remove the Devil's Pitchfork from your hair.
Doubling as Dracula, your zeal repealed
by loving an unpersuaded other.
Stay not inconsolable, my weaning one!
She knelt beside me, interpolating my orations.
Entreat for veritable blindness to take better blame.
Apathetic to any flame, resisting even sipping sunshine
interred in the long night of voluminous drapes,
pray for cardiac arrest to efface 1700 hours of shadows.
Perhaps, pray you would love me, and I shall say something of it.
in mode embrace, release, then pause
we review lust versus God’s laws
with love being the litmus test
our soul’s light revealed, when heart thaws
nestled deep within our heart’s nest
breath by breath we are by God blessed
wherein all we do is renew
throb of magnetism, whilst at rest
rapture rises, each hue is new
nectar drips, fresh like mountain dew
God’s grace in-pours through pores in space
mysteries our mind cannot sew
tango dancing at a slow pace
form a temple, where we efface
the false self, our wayward ego
to behold clearly, our true face
there’s nothing we do, save let go
that as we do so, we then know
body will die but not our soul
we have come here to feel love grow
Come
Ye all
I must feed
My gall with bile
As a narcissist
Enthroned as populist
To efface you in your face
Constantly relentlessly there
Everywhere and wherever you look
With pills to relieve your suffering ills
With no jobs or money to pay the bills
With calls that you will be better soon
Despite inflation price rises
Despite the job cut losses
Despite hurting our friends
Which you label worse
Than enemies
You befriend
For deals
Done
bliss dewdrops sprinkled on our head
signal we are by God’s hand led
holding our soul in close embrace
as we mindfully on earth tread
steps toward heaven we retrace
that here now we may see God’s face
for tomorrow may be too late
since ego we’ve failed to efface
though strobes of bliss do not abate
strangely uncertain seems our fate
since our focus tends to waver
thus we dwell not in the fourth state
Strolling through the Clubhouse 3 gallery,
Plenty of pretty pictures for me to see,
But one that especially caught my eye
Was a curiously attired bulldog guy.
I gazed closely into each brown soulful eye.
Is there some story that they might bely?
Was he a jester in a Pikachu hat?
Were his yellow shoes untied as he sat?
Was his costume designer a small boy?
Where’d he get his little Pokeball toy?
Why’d his artist give him a cute pink face?
If not for those two, might he self-efface?
As he sits in a foggy purple mist,
He’s as cool as anything that might exist.
Cheers to the artist and the costume boy
And to the mellow bulldog who gives me joy!
Love's tender warmth I forever trace
In their laughter, I find solace and grace
In their presence, worries I easily efface
Through trials and triumphs, we stand as one
Beneath the golden rays of the sun
Their love, a bond that can never be undone
In their arms, life's battles are won
With every hug, a universe unfolds
In every smile, a tale untold
Their support, more precious than gold
In their love, my heart finds its stronghold
For in the sanctuary of family's embrace
I find my peace, my sacred space
In their love, I forever find grace
Bound together in an eternal embrace
The tiny specks grow titanic tension.
They’re often harmless,
Google consoles her.
Yet a rare chance burns beyond solace.
Is it a harbinger of retinopathy?
Will her eye-LEDs illuminating soul be burnt out?
Will tomorrow be void of light and colors?
As she moves her eyes,
the eye floaters drift,
weaving a cobweb of questions.
If the sense dominating her brain fumbles and falls,
the eye sockets will be graves.
Precious sights from her memory lane will haunt her.
She loathes retreating into the dark burrow
like a greater bandicoot rat in the daytime.
Later,
an eye chart and a slit lamp efface her optical anxieties.
‘Life floats across a variety of blurring things,’
she muses and smiles.
Eye Floaters are spots in vision, like black or gray specks, string or cobweb.
First published in The Literary Hatchet (Issue 30).
How magical is lovely wintertime.
Myriads of flakes efface drab terrain,
creating an appearance that’s so sublime
I want to sleigh ride on a country lane.
Imagine riding on that one-horse sleigh
cuddling with your sweetheart right at your side -
a panoramic snow scene on display.
Just think of the pleasure this would provide.
Oh, to take delight in this winter scene,
inhaling quietude and feeling bliss -
the world encased in white with satin sheen.
Pristine and splendid – magical is this!
Alone…so lonely in this place,
Like the pages of my life erase,
As I look in the mirror, unfamiliar face,
I see the pain, as I see your efface.
I went to sleep, went out for a stroll,
I live a daily battle for the salvation of my soul,
Look inside me, look into that empty hole,
Waiting to be filled, waiting for my purpose to unfold.
Round and round I go, on this evil carousel,
My spiritualality is so unwell,
No one is ever themself,
Like Lucifer himself,
I have found that from grace I fell.
I miss my Angel, so far from me,
Emotion are a mental tsunami,
Future is dismal, can not foresee,
My inner church, I stand in its debris,
Forgetting my own decree.
Tired of feeling as though I am dumb,
Tired of feeling the unsettling numb,
Anxiety kicking in, my heart feels like a drum,
this ! I am so done!
But I live in a giant wheel, around I run.
Remembered the 1940s, the season of the holocaust.
Six million irons, disjointed from their ores
Were forged in bottomless pits of anvils.
The swarming bees in a ceremonious buzzing
Were uncoupled from their hives through Reichsbahn.
However, a tensed, stale wind of discord swivel
On the creeks of Dachau, Auschwitz, Treblinka
And other shores of darkness.
Never shall the bloody sky efface again
The innocent faces of seedlings in chains
Suddenly transformed into smoke under a silent sky.
For not four thousand micrographic scrolls
Of antique Pharaoh, hieroglyphics could symbolize
The petrifying carrions glutted by black vultures.
Two rivers parted by mountainous fiend
In no time of twilight
Laid eyes into the seas.
Two branches glued to tree trunks
Would in a bit of an eyelid
See those white balloons.
The mockingbird is set among the pigeons
And doors of golden rainbows
Crept in the fog.
Everywhere, the white dove’s skull
Is at the bottom of the picture
While the frogs and wasps play their lyres.
But, the wild hyacinths grew among Linden
The lion; among hummingbirds
With every twist, Lynx's eyes.
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