pretending we are body-mind
we allow web of thoughts to bind
which they do but not for too long
since we are with bliss beats aligned
dance of consciousness is our song
drenched with love taking all along
as this dream unfolds as ordained
where all we sense is bliss beat’s gong
pretending we are a soul stained
in make belief realms we are chained
by our hand that we understand
how light innate may be regained
we are here but wish to be elsewhere
not in space but in orientation
as presence self-aware
vibrant in the void of cessation
what we seek is in timeless time received
though intent takes time to crystallise
so with wayward ego aggrieved
we resist magnetism that seeks to rise
we wished to know the truth so were shown
eternal light beyond space and time
but one with oneness we are alone
whilst on earth we dance to bliss beat’s chime
the flavour of our muse we ourselves choose
but descent does involve separation
so oh hermit let love ooze
that each breath intake is a celebration
A calm current passes by
in one easy endless flow;
time does not stand still.
All cares vanish in a world
that does not care
about petty grievances.
A hypnotic lull pacifies my spirit
as I freely abandon my thoughts
to a wise ageless river.
AP: 3rd place 2026
Identified with form, we dream,
transfixed by mind’s restless thought stream,
so we heed not God’s wake up call,
working not with Him as a team.
God’s light is veiled by ego’s wall,
so who we are we don’t recall,
which is the sole cause of heart’s dread,
stance crouched, unable to stand tall.
On choosing to be by love led,
bliss pheromones in us are bred,
whence concepts dissolve, we evolve,
living more in heart, less in head.
The extended hand was soon retracted,
signalling perhaps that it is not time,
in life’s lucid dream being enacted,
which caused no tremor in heart’s bliss beat chime,
dancing in moonlight, conjuring a rhyme.
We are the void, to outcomes nonchalant,
presence free from taint and immune to taunt.
Be this as it may, we may pause to ask,
the aim to continue this game inane,
yet there is learning even when we bask
in warm sunlight or while watching the rain,
bliss caress freeing us from ego’s chain,
in a dance of delight in slow motion,
as we partake of love’s magic potion.
Vibrance of our emptiness has no name,
since our true being has no location,
there now remaining no tempests to tame
and since we are here on a vacation,
flirting with dream forms is our vocation.
We swim in the sea without getting wet;
that we’re living light, we never forget.
Fort Crown Point sits on the big lake
that’s long been called Champlain,
its broad earthen walls left open,
thrown up, but built in vain.
Its roofless barracks give no warmth,
just gutsy shells of stone,
unlike its more famous neighbors
no story here was known.
Ticonderoga, near the south,
battered by history...
and Saint Frederic, just steps away
still got a chance to be…
But Crown Point never was a fort,
never besieged or wrecked
before that old war passed them by,
and redcoats took Quebec.
It makes it strange to see it now,
unfinished, yet preserved,
a monument to a place where
no great glory was earned,
no battle raged, no people died,
no purpose did it get,
like a life with great potential
cut short by early death…
Can that apply to a building
if in serves not its task?
But then, it was designed for war…
maybe there’s good in that.
Yet still I get a forlorn sense
on seeing it because
I’d hate to be remembered for
something I never was…
immersed in a garden of curiosity
the soul allows the heart to bloom
in an emotional flowering sanctuary
where poetry rises on the tongues of poets
trying to capture the essence of each thought
that glows in the dark of the mind
there, seeds are planted
from passionate reflections
burning inside a poet's imagination
seeking to express a sense of understanding
carried onto pages written and shared
by the soul
opening a door to a world of dreams
living quietly within the heart and mind
patiently waiting to be revealed
disguised as interpreters of each word
sparked from the darkness
Even in blasts of winter, I never lose hope,
I wait for spring to come when new sprouts pop
When leaves appear to crown every treetop
When autumn in turn brings a bumper crop.
Even when my sky turns dark, I clutch on to hope
In all adversities and heartbreaks, it helps me cope
I nurture trust and dream big dreams, nonstop
My trip into a fantasy world, none can stop.
In sultry summer, hope falls on me as raindrop
Cooling my mind as morning’s lustrous dewdrop.
When my days grow darker, still I cling onto hope,
As the drowning man holds firmly to a dangling rope.
Through shadowy nights, like the blind as I grope,
And when my feet stagger, hope becomes my prop.
It, thus becomes to every man a powerful dope,
Lending dreams a new horizon and wider scope.
When we are present we seem free
and when in trance, we appear lost,
yet are not all moments carefree,
witnessing awareness defrost?
As the substratum always still,
weaving our way through dream domains,
our playful heart employs no will
and is yet free from ego’s chains.
Why would you ever want to stay
the same when you already know
that you're meant to change?
Why refuse to let your flames grow
when you yearn to spread your wins
and want to reach the sky?
Why stay where they don't want you
when you can just create someplace new
and live a life that's uniquely true?
Why give up hope for a better future
when the signals of a brighter horizon
shine forth in every soul that sees you?
Gathering nuts like a squirrel,
we too are driven by instinct,
knowing not in truth who we are,
from truth of existence delinked.
Breaking our habit borne routine,
by shifting into silence staid,
in the vast void of no-thingness,
we enter God’s heavenly glade.
The seeker who sought is no more,
in blissful stillness vaporised,
yet our formless presence remains,
as the light of Self realised.
"Flowers are kissed by the rain as they get a bath." By Poet
Today I kissed the rain,
said one flower to the other.
Oh look,
the storm is letting up,
now we will be spellbound by sunlight.
This day is all most over,
But to be your Moon,
must I wane?
Did you know,
the night holds many secrets?
Watch out for Mr. Poison Ivy.
He says,
I am a dangerous dream.
I kissed the rain~
not for its taste,
but for the way it softened the world,
loosening the hard outlines
of everything I once believed.
Spellbound by sunlight,
I rose into the shimmer,
a silhouette stitched from brightness
and half-remembered longing.
I am a dangerous dream~
soft as sleep,
sharp as prophecy,
a threshold where shadows
learn to glow.
But to be your moon, must I wane?
Must I thin myself
into a silver whisper
just to orbit your gravity?
Rain on my lips,
sun in my bones,
danger in my dreaming,
and a moon that refuses to dim~
this is the shape I make
when all my selves
rise at once.
The twilight of my life glows like a quiet moonrise—slow, silver, and certain of its own beauty. Quote by the poetess
Now that I’m seventy,
I ponder~
have I become a sunset,
slowly slipping into the stillness
between day and whatever comes after?
Some evenings,
I feel the sky settle inside me~
a quiet quilt of coral and copper,
stitched with the softest seams of surrender.
Shadows lengthen
like long-kept questions,
leaning toward the edges
of what I thought I knew.
Yet there is a glow~
a gentle, gathering gold~
that wasn’t there before,
a light that lingers
even as the horizon holds it.
If I am a sunset,
then I am also a threshold,
a tender turning,
a slow-burning beauty
the day could not contain.
And maybe this is not ending
but unfolding~
a final flare of wonder
before the stars
begin their speaking.
Dream forms orbit our heart’s core
but why do we keep a score?
Knowing no wave can endure,
let us make presence demure.
Unending celebration
on the path of cessation,
mood and mode, embrace-release,
transforms us as the sea breeze.
The spider has no fixed prey;
to remain still, is its way,
whence in time fed by God’s hand,
His love it does understand.
Caged in space and mocked by time,
heart desires and so we climb
but never become the sky,
from birth till the day we die.
Though we are in maya’s snare,
our mind can go anywhere,
so why not then pierce the veil,
seeking nothing, just set sail?
The worlds vanish and we too,
yet strangely bliss beats renew
and as we become the flame,
we are what mind cannot name.
With the very source we pair,
as awareness self-aware,
poised thus at a stillness point,
soul’s light we ourself anoint.
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