The willowy woman,
clad in a red, red sari,
that makes her look like
a challenge so difficult to meet,
in an imagined island of her own,
enveloped by thick whiskey vapor,
sitting on a bar stool, precariously
in an attention catching posture,
complicates the prospects
of my white night, getting dense,
as the moon beams start to peep down,
I intuitively sense
from my table afar.
I am inward looking silence,
but why did her voiceless shouts of
frequent glances, come in search of me,
as if i am wanted in her court, for some mysterious purpose.
Like a curious fish, that swim around pecking and tasting
something she has got interested, in her underwater world,
her eyes roam, so far to my lonely corner, a sea weed filled depth.
This busy bar has an inner silence
i realize every time i enter here,
i often get the feeling,
that Buddha sits somewhere and meditates
in disguise, i am all eyes,
let me surprise him
before he decides to tell this secret,
-i am almost sure
in my ear.
I expect this to happen,
for a while now,
this bar is esoteric, conceals many things
though darkness concentrates and celebrates
as often as it could,its motif is gleaming white
-reminds me the thousand petaled lotus
and it makes my consciousness tingle,
even in tumult, like two hands protecting
a flame against the wind's onslaught,
this bar preserves its silence.
Every time I get in, it embraces me
like i was a long lost prodigal child.
Moonlit night brings mystical moments,
the universe has so much to communicate,
the galaxies distant, resonate with silent symphonies
eternity conducts only for the ears that hear without a sound,
the consciousness is all ears and listens like a child in its cradle,
straining its ears for mother's lullabies.
Enhanced by the bar's background music
i was getting immersed in a conversation with the moon,
rising above the sea of undulating coconut palms.
She sat alone shouting orders,
an unknown landscape,
an island melting in to sea,
none could reach without,
a boat that could cross rapids,
She sat with an imaginary baton,
imagining she conducts with perfection,
Fighting rough waters
seemed nothing new to her,
' haven't i weathered many
cyclones, day and night?'
she wordlessly proclaimed.
Four gentle men on bar stools near her
busy finding their own wonderlands,
with their combined body language indicated,
'she doesn't belong'
Forced to break my cocoon,
-you drinker of distilled silence,
-lover of primrose moon
my white night
was taken over,
by this dark cloud
that wanders many skies,
'lend me your time
and those patient ears' she whispers
'if you don't know my mother'
No mother should become a shackle to her daughter,
fathers should be the key syllables* to liberate children seeking their own distant sun
Here she goes-
taking me along to the road of her past,
dodging shadows of
a mother, wayward.
-men are cowards they never accompany me all the way-
i hear she secretly wail; who cares about self inflicted pain?
the hood of darkness
stood behind her
framing her face and mind.
i let her walk, run and feel free like a peacock
that badly wanted to see a dark cloud to feel the mood to dance
a wild dance it was, untill
'do you see the army of ants, that are behind,
feeding on the dead,
that want to hunt you down?'
She didn't seem to hear
or anywhere near the mood
not to dance.
Sahasrara Padma symbolizes the detachment from illusion.
Key syllable---"Bija mantra' Premordial sounds that energize different 'Chakras' in human body to stimulate self realization