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 Nov 2015 vamsi sai mohan
Sana
It always hurts to turn and finish last pages of the book.
 Nov 2015 vamsi sai mohan
Sana
O’ bewailed seeker of the seeker
Wandering in the corridor of tenet
Yet opening doors as a blind valet
To the master of secular need
That materialistic greed
On your slumping soul it feeds
Won’t you lift the veil from your heart?
For the doors are new yet all the same
To the rooms of silken gold of shame

O’ lamented!
To annihilate this lust and moist your lips
Don’t cup your hand, nor take the sip
“To quench this thirst, be the sea”
Your heart is vessel so sail THIS ship
Cruise the waters; sail wide and strive
Dig the hole deep, drown and rise

O’ grieving self
Now you conserve the flame of “fikr”
You are the sea yet how good is
When contained in self, veiling the bliss?

“To quench your thirst, be the rain”

Sprinkle the leaves and be that trail
Of lush green ivy once livid and pale
Undone the knots and unlock the chains,
For the dust, for the smoke and the fading lights
Aren’t those ones who have most right?

“But to be the rain, must be that vapor”
That gazes at “shams” and let it burn
The glistening surface of its being
Surrenders its berth of cradling sea
And submits its sole to the Highest being

A sage once said Fire and Rain
Are in unison;  are one name
Immortality!
"Shams" is the Arabic word for sun
"Fikr" is Arabic word, the literal translation is to think, to ponder over, however it has a deeper meaning in Arabic that also combines concern with deep thinking and reflecting on a subject.

Rivers of information run through you as your being flows through time, places and people. When you ponder over, connect the particles and let these gushing streams diffuse into your soul is when the rivers become the exalted sea of knowledge, and yet what good is this mighty sea if it’s merely contained in your sole self. Is not existence due to nonexistence? Is not nonexistence immortal existence? How good is your mighty settled sea if it doesn’t propel you to the shore of immortality? Where your oneness ends and the only remnant is oneness of the One. However vain the knowledge if not practiced, but it is in that containment of knowledge the flame of “fikr” can survive, it’s the womb of knowledge that can conserve the flame of “fikr”.
The application of knowledge is submission. It is when the flame of fikr ignites and becomes the celestial sun that consumes your worldly self. It is when you start sacrificing your fortune, your desires, your relations. It is when you start spending your wealth in the way of God, It is when you start spreading and sharing your knowledge for God, It is when you start living in the way of God, it is then that you turn yourself in the blissful rain of love for humanity, it is then that the endless shower of God’s blessings commences on you.
 Nov 2015 vamsi sai mohan
Sana
Against the gentlest ashen bones n’ flesh
I brush my skin and devour this gest
Driveling to stretch these moments last
For let me relish this spell afore;
My beloved becomes my precious past

On this illusory floor of lustrous dreams
I smash the glass of self-esteem
Tapping and whirling until I’m bereaved
For let me evanesce in pulse afore;
The hour is struck of my beloved’s leave

I pluck the leaves of my insanity n’ grief
And brew it well with my rusty belief
On this unsullied tongue I taste the wine
For let me drink before they lift;
Walls around my beloved’s shrine

Over the tormented waters;
I build a wharf and cast my woes
And I lay in peace as a sleeping child
Whilst averting noises n’ my cries
For let me rest in peace afore;
Veils are laid as my beloved dies
Every weekend I just rush back home to spend whatever moments I am left with my family (God knows). There is no greater blessing than love of our parents. So in the poem I just tell myself that its ok to be carefree at times, and its ok to run after your foolish desires at times as long as you can cherish those; for once you are deprived of the greatest love (for death is inevitable), none of it would ever be the same again; what pleased you once would never please you again as much. The music I listen to with my father; the taste of food I enjoy with my mother; the same food and the same music would always be accompanied with pain.
Give me an acre of forest
Beneath an acre of sky
Where a million stars look down
And the earth in contentment sighs
 Aug 2015 vamsi sai mohan
Natasha
A
 Aug 2015 vamsi sai mohan
Natasha
***
It hurts to see your feeble bones draped with colourless skin,
your eyes sunken back into your soul,
your smile withers at the edges and theres a tremble in your talk.

I miss you although your not gone,
I miss the way you only ever rotted on the inside,
I want to reverse the evil axis of time.

There is no sympathy without loss,
and without loss there is hope,
a dark deathly tale of hope.

a rain shower will not mend your wilted flower so I keep dry,
whilst onlookers fail to understand why my heavens wont open.
I remember you, the way the sun still shines.
 Aug 2015 vamsi sai mohan
Natasha
My poem is a topic of sadness wanting and emptiness, if my heart breaks it's not the way you envisage.
You reached me with your verse a tide connected my topic out there to yours.
Our letters and words entwined like I felt something as you did,
In a time or place we don't know. Out of prose. I saw your wisdom and it inked my page.
There's a train of thought that carries words from one to another.
I was at the station patiently waiting for it to stop.
You got off.
I wrote this poem for a friend who is by far the most talented poet I've ever come across. She inspired me.
 Aug 2015 vamsi sai mohan
Onoma
As stars uncuffed from

their silver circuit...speeding

off into a legendary openness,

to long live a single look

of no return...

man o man, woman o woman.
 Aug 2015 vamsi sai mohan
Onoma
There's a being seated
at the window...the breaking
ends of perception mothering
their pearl.
Its prayerful poise electrifies
the passing light of day...
hideous and beautiful
blending blindly.
Purple with majesty, as a distant
mountaintop crammed through
the eye of a needle...pointedly
soul through the driftings of its
original score.
Unlit senses that can't place
their miraculous conveyance...
entering and exiting the same window
simultaneously.
Aware that it's aware...there are troubles
in paradise of only supreme Authoring,
as latent creation forthwith heartbreak.
Pounding its very chest...with oceanic
spanning--faces upon faces of The Deep,
Diane Arbus photoing a featureless form.
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