One tiny fiery ant
with a tiny wand,
deftly conducted
a grand orchestra of
ants with varied talents,
resulting in a musical storm,
unheard of in the
craggy ant world before.

The ants with diaphanous wings
smug, complacent dandies
that counted themselves
nothing less than regal
buzzing above unaware
of  this magic electrifying
the land of ordinary ants below,
but had a hunch somehow
wondered:
"Are we missing out
on some fine thing
ants like us should aspire for
or is it just a feeling
without any basis?"

This effulgent, white  cactus flower,
a bright thought, a creative impetus
from an eternal source, ever present
in spite of the  callousness all round,
emerging in the whistling desert of mind
like it happens after a single day of rain
tells me how beautiful things would turn
when within a bright thought blooms
defeating all thorny fruitlessness of life.

At certain intensely
solitary hours,
when the journey
to the center of the self
brings awareness to a level,
where  duality is intolerable,
my bold **** self
with nothing to hide,
haunts the other:
the one merely dressed to ****,
challenging time and again,
for a wrestling match
--a fight to the finish.

The hesitant shadow
of a melancholy poet,
while walking on it's
wobbly undefined legs,
result of light losing to darkness,
speaks to the alert poetic self,
listening with perked up ears,
in a strange dialect of darkness
about 'being in nothingness'

Enchanting twilight hour-this is!
A Tiger spider of lethal
allurement,she is basking on
this hour's sweet ambivalence,
while,drinking me with her eyes --intense.
To be her mere companion
for the  night,or be the purveyor
of delight to her continuing forever?
A choice  depends upon her
kaleidoscopic  predilections,
than me a hunter in a disguise,
a time traveler from far galaxies.

Each night is
precisely set
like a  gem
within  a dream.
Immersing in
the fluid grandeur
of darkness,
the night
swings  around it,
when one
looks back---
the day has
already become
a past dream
in an irretrievable realm.
The excesses
darkness commit
in a frenzy
in the night's geography.
excites me.without an end.
And what the moon
does to annul the
handiwork of darkness too
fascinate me.
Night is the story
of contrary crafts
calibrated to perfectly fit.

You see a lust incarnate in front,
this body I wear is just a flimsy dress
a casual wear for the worldly jaunt,
a passionate lover of life is my role.

With her I daily dance, Samba the best,
but this isn't really me, if you ask.
A passing bird this, a swirl of smoke,
when the call comes to go back incognito,
I'd turn a blue bird, sitting on eternity's branch,
even if you see me here, wallowing in
all kinds of  pleasures temporal,"I am that"

A total renunciate remains awake ever in spirit,
"There isn't anything I wish to posses or embrace
Just an inn for union,I should leave this place soon"

I repeatedly tell myself, as my ancestors said
Lest I forget,"I am that; the absolute which ever, is"
equally fit, am I to sit cross legged
in the rough forest floor and chant
"Shivoham.......Shivoham"1

By and by I'd hear the hum from within
the song eternity gently rings in my ears
my desire runs deep to cut the Gordian knot
of duality at one stroke and be one with the absolute