The cosmic egg, Hiranyagarbha sleeps,
which simply means we’re yet to awaken,
in as hatch out of the womb, when grace seeps,
that balanced polarities when shaken,
recognise that soul’s never forsaken,
descending to heart, which is God’s abode,
imbibing bliss, thus paying Him an ode.
In case these terms mystify, just know this,
that our soul’s light, is in form crystallised
and when so graced by Divine Mother’s kiss,
objects on earth no longer weighed and sized,
our true presence, is in heart’s realised.
Along kundalini’s blooming process,
whilst awake, we make in our heart ingress.
Our blue planet, the epitome of primal beauty,
a unique dot of singularity within the celestial infinity,
revolved in the astral space, spinning nature’s splendors,
until on the evolution trail the hostile species of man arrived.
The creeping swarm of greed, called progress
devours the green blanket, thriving for immeasurable eons,
constructs the toxic greenhouse on the planet instead,
extreme climate events trace the global warming trajectory.
The upholding limits are being infringed ever so rapidly,
so, after long summer the planet might freeze in extended winter,
caused by the catastrophic climate change looming large
to initiate the apocalyptic period of the fifth season.
The gliding glaciers and ice sheets melt at an alarming rate,
rise of sea-level is unparallel in the human history,
makes the ingress of oceans onto the land, shaping as a future reality,
time would come to create again the modern Noah’s ark.
The pristine nature was once in the realm of grandeur,
in harmony with its stable innate equilibrium,
the stride of wanton exploitation marches on and on,
if unheeded, it’ll soon cross the sustainability rubicon.
Glimpses of truth revealed from time to time,
whilst useful, does not signal soul’s ascent,
having neither etched in heart God’s love chime,
nor granted bliss our unreserved consent,
onslaught of lust, unable to prevent.
Flickering awareness, a half measure,
for there are attachments we still treasure
and so at best it’s still work in progress,
as we become nonchalant to pleasure,
God’s light making ingress as we undress.
Ecstatic eye of night
thoughts tangled tangent
tint of orange moon
slivers were just hazy
incipient learned launch
as the querulous quirk
indented ingress idly
still desperate to capture
though less likely
lavishness connoting mood
human forest focal point
I dream in dribbles soppy
though never flagged yet
as futile aspiration amid
hues strictly night bound
might benefit wistfully
when strident slumber
indigenous to townscape
has its muted rippled
riddle not tactfully
resolved due to blind
daylight tinctured template
aroused by the clangour
of mint medley lure of
Arcadia circus dangle
of inchoate promise known
as crystal carrot jewellery
box whose flecks fly a riot
before the milling cluster
who wantonly wonder
at collapsing fortress inside
whilst rugged resilience
that tower block of prime
revitalised endeavour bent
on a fantasy forage with
disposition a pointless block
though underbody wobbles
if left without the widest
custodial watch of the self
one might be elated finally
“We are almost there but not quite ~
Not yet graced with spherical sight”
~ quote by poet
Intermediate truths whence known,
in as seen because we have been
to subtler realms denied to most,
but it’s not yet wisdom full blown,
since karmic slate is not wiped clean,
last mile to heaven, yet to coast.
Wisdom downloads and divine light
are offerings of grace imbibed
and perhaps we have pierced the void
but we have not garnered clear sight,
though cravings of ego have died,
soul’s not yet pure and unalloyed.
Allow bliss mists to make ingress,
without self-appraising progress.
The roots of conditioning go in deep,
letting soul take not a consciousness leap,
so becoming slow and slower yet still,
this is the way to God we bend our will.
Refinement is an arduous process
but over time bliss mists do make ingress,
so though we oscillate, thoughts are distilled
and in time darkness is with God’s light filled.
Earth life is a school and we’re here to learn,
facing life’s trials and willingly burn,
for which steadfast must remain our resolve,
that breath by breath we may here now evolve.
Continuous consciousness correction
is the preferred path to reach perfection.
feeling, not thinking
awareness unblinking
as we undress
bliss makes ingress
as soma nectar flows
our heart glows
God’s magnetic storm
enables us to transform
A gentle breeze sweeps through our soul
It’s God’s sublime caress
Transformed as light, scriptures extol
Divine grace makes ingress
Drenched with magnetic heat
Head to feet, bliss replete
Rapture refrains repeat
We are at ease
A gentle breeze
our fontanel glistens
it is the tenth door
which now open
it is from this portal
peak of mount Kailash
Holy Spirit makes ingress
love drenched clenched eyes express ~
vibrance of bliss ingress
My veins are the schematics
My conscience the pragmatics
A nuclear weapon that’s omnifarious
Self destruct the one that’s multifarious
Many parts no two the same
Doesn’t mean I’m not painfully plain
Nothing about me is distinctive
Identical and parallel, anatomy’s instinctive
So why am I so self-destructive?
You don’t need to be quite deductive
Deduce the reason and the people pleasing
My consciousness requires easing
Rhymes makes the feelings and words coalesce
Does it really makes you digress?
Words made up of morphemes
Feelings made up of morphines
Nothing without you has meaning
It isn’t held it’s given without demeaning
My schematics look better inkless
Don’t want my veins to circulate just ingress
Privileged is the right of ingress, bearing your beloved name,
To chambers of your heart, where burns a sacred flame,
Of inner sanctum divine, in sanctity of a heavenly place,
Strumming beats esoteric, vying ataraxis of ethereal grace.
Reserved for you and I, is a secret temple, tolling solace,
Where love and life embrace, in a sanctuary pure, flawless;
Where the bells echo, beckoning will of empathetic mind,
Affirming proclivity for affinity, aligned with motives kind.
When solitary thoughts linger on a grievous path of life,
When hurdles, detours of past, manifest anguish of strife,
When hurricanes and storms churn in destructive tides,
To shores of peace and tranquility, inner sanctum guides.
When life drives rudderless, perturbed in dubious plight,
Harmony of sapience and prudence transmit inner light,
Spurring verse of wisdom, as missives enlightened chime,
Defying apathy and ignorance, honoring virtues sublime.
Only you and I can soothe, troubled tears of grieved sigh,
Only you and I can fill voids, when vacuously life goes awry,
As dialogue of reason and intellect inner sanctum revives
Empowering thoughts so inspired, where sagacity thrives.
A Flow of inimitable care; is here' from where? My present
Is part of this ingress, and awareness? A seeping wave
A current from unconciusness, invisible non-physical pnuma silent silver silhouetted scenes screened
Glide my being whole' mind spirit body soul.' Not a
Wish drew such to me.' rather all un-heralded; does it be.!
Come to pervade, arrived to pursuede' dulcet whispers
That strengthen then fade..Once awake i hear their like.'
Yet my grasp is eluded..Though try i with mind; and all might.'
If I didn't drip honey from my tongue each time I drew you close,
would I still leave immutable marks upon your heart my love?
If this holiest of grail this mouth of mine
spoke the art of love to you with the ingress of a mime
would you feel the essence of what I was meant to say to you,
through this un-pierceable, silence;
If I never learnt to write a poem or share one single line
through yielding quill or bleeding ink,
would you allow me to show you my brailing thoughts
and take you to the summit, despite my unspoken word.
Would you still love me, if I wasn't a poet
or if my words were silent ships sailing through the open sky,
then would you accompany me mute, or whisper me goodbye !
If we touched the harbor of each other's thoughts,
could we then be love and share each other's truth,
unspoken side by side, like two silent masts.
Imperiling through the sky with blood settled on the tip of their tounges. They call out a cult of white hoods with the Illuminati eye on the shroud humanoids with red scaly skin 8 feet tall and burrow in the mesopelagic zone stationed into a temple full of books such as the Grapes of Wrath. One bat hovers over them in the dune hills of sand stepping upon the surface revealed to be a man in black who has a very spunky charismatic mustache. His however were full of curiosity but sinister intent. The creatures who took the very enfeebled shrouds covering their faces. Revealed was stone cold face of death glowing turning the bats into them as if they were a lighthouse herding them to the ingress of a new identiy.
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