Left
in the lurch

Time
       flies
Bye
Free for
the taking
But
Words fail
of their own account
To redeem
   Themselves
       In the
Wake
Of their
binding reality

The wanderer follows
No hallowed path
Set forth for her
By the sagacious few.
Nor does she live
To build her past
For far off futures
Whose seeds are sewn.

No familiar face
Has she ever seen
That greets her where
She decides to sleep
But travels with
The wind in her hair:
The only companion
She chooses to keep.

All empires return
To dust that birthed
Them from the nothingness
Of barren ground,
And push the ambitious
To build them tall
For fleeting futures
On foundations unsound.

Such men still laugh
At one like her
Who possesses nothing
In their eyes,
And lives in chaos
Of shifting destiny
With no respect
For human lies.

But no future goal
Controls her fate
Nor worldly tethers
Bind her past
So she is free
To contemplate
Her relation to
The earth so vast.


She is the dust
from God’s fingers
that’s fallen on
Ungrateful land
And shows the blind
And sinful people
Their origin from
The present at hand.

They deride and mock
Or at best ignore her
And value what God
Did not confer
But she is more
than the earth and sky
And none can take
What belongs to her.

city night,
speaks
in million
discordant
neon voices.
                   night in village,
                   has lanterns
                   shedding  soft yellow droplets of light,
                   here and there;
                   singing solemn
                   hymns.
city knows no silence.
it's music is cacophonous;
pain is its sweetness.
when silence descends
city is stifled,
looses its color.

village absorbs
it's wisdom
from deep dense silence-
the color of green foliage.

for the village,
grass is green
on the other side of the fence;
but city is coiled in itself.

silence slowly looses ground.

Sitting at a café
Over the smell of coffee
Scents of car fumes, ***** and ****
Worm their way into your nose.

The men, women, children
Pass you by without a glance
Each one on their own way
As uncaring feet pound pavement.

Indifferent people in expensive suits
Walk by tourists objectifying with cameras
Who accidently capture in their frames
The cold and the old slouching through the streets.

Even relaxing at the table
You feel caught up in the streaming crowds
As if you were being swept away
By these forces fighting for control.

As you sit as idle observer
To the worried pace of the city streets
You can sense the blind and frantic power
Of those who feed off our illusion.

(This illusion lies in each of us
When we close our eyes to the waking world
And believe that we could be happy
In our isolation from reality)

You can see it in the passers-by
Whose eyes focus intently ahead:
Afraid to look at other faces
As if they feared the connection.

Many imprison themselves in aesthetics
Of glass steel towers looking down on the earth
And drive isolation’s grim repetition
In a hopeless effort to make their own world.

Our illusion puts them there
When we do not question the surrounding order
Whose existence allows us to live in comfort
Insulating our delusions.

Our ignorance demands their ignorance
Which caters to our selfishness
And divides the passing days
With the rhythm of their control.

Their thoughts structure steel geography
That dreams that it could scrape the sky
And make its mark on the heavens
By countermanding nature’s will.

But nature stands indifferent to
Man’s attempt to supersede
Its will that gives to him his arrogance
That leads him towards his own destruction.

But I call you from this nature now
To return with me to where I stand:
On this mountain with the trees
Who beckon with their open branches:

Do not fight against nature’s rhythm
That springs the flowers from the ground
As it wills the sun to set upon us
And gives us the food to carry on.

I see myself as this reality
As feet take care to tread on soil
To avoid crushing the delicate petals
That smile upward towards the sun.

Time provides the future harvest,
But of its success, time will tell.
So I stand here with my garden ***
In loving silence, tilling the land.

To breath the air the sky provides
Takes me from my restlessness:
Watching the ground provide the future,
Submitting myself to nature’s pulse.

But the scenery of planned geometry
Which covers soil with concrete slabs,
As if embarrassed by earthly origins,
Tries to move to a different rhythm:

The glare of halogen eyes that stare
In unquiet nights in impatient lines
Find their way towards distant houses
That protect their owners from working lives.

This world screams out from its distortion
Of nature’s will that lies ignored:
It lays the path of its own destruction
As it claims its own power to endure.

But nature’s spirit will always triumph,
Whether through man’s self-inflicted end
At the hands of his selfish illusion,
Or through his careful heeding of the truth:

This world that’s lost its quite places  Demands we become its place of quiet;
To silence the thoughts that construct man’s world,
So that we absorb ourselves in nature’s will:

The heart that beats inside you now
Beats not for the one in whom it dwells,
But allows nature a fleeting glimpse
Of itself through conscious human eyes.

This truth whispers even now
From the deafening world of the city streets
That hurries towards its ignorant end
As it attempts to escape its fate.

Do not forsake the earth in waking life,
And wait for death to pull you into the soil
To meld with nature’s majestic cadence
And be one with your reality.

Poor appetizer;
Longing to be satisfactory
As the main course.

this bar is a cacophony of voices and sounds-
here, we all are in each one's world
when i jump inside me,
though right here, every thing is obliterated
i understand
a bar is a place to seek truth.

Sorry, it's difficult
to make you believe,
that not allways a ***** is a *****
it could take you to the truth you search,
if you take it as a tool to go farther.

it's complex like the life itself--
most simple lives cut that confusing knot,
with the sharpened edge of their tranquil minds.

let me explain this , situation in this bar-
the bartender, moody and extra quick
is really a seeker (of truth)
observing human nature at places of vices
and making amends is his real job,

the bar maid has an equanimous mind,
no one ever suspects here what she  really is
a yoga guru par excellence, by compulsion of life
accomplished, she could reach Samadhi
which means touching the superconsciosness,
(if you would believe)
she has zen awareness,
effortlessly trvels the path of enlightenment,
amidst serving concocted drinks,
hearing sozzled rants,
swaring and evil chants.
she could easily be a saint!

do i look soaked in liquor?
i come here to let myself go
like all of us here, but with a difference,
i liberate my self, shaking off my pretensions
(all through the day, i live in formality and pain)
by acting a common drunken man,
not the one questing for the elusive meaning.