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Vanished are the veils of light and shade,

Lifted the vapors of sorrow,

Sailed away the dawn of fleeting joy,

Gone the mirage of the senses.

Love, hate, health, disease, life and death

Departed, these false shadows on the screen
    of duality.

Waves of laughter, scyllas of sarcasm, whirlpools
    of melancholy,

Melting in the vast sea of bliss.

Bestilled is the storm of maya

By the magic wand of intuition deep.

The universe, a forgotten dream, lurks
   subconsciously,

Ready to invade my newly wakened memory divine.

I exist without the cosmic shadow,

But it could not live bereft of me;

As the sea exists without the waves,

But they breathe not without the sea.

Dreams, wakings, states of deep turiya sleep,

Present, past, future, no more for me,

But the ever-present, all-flowing, I, I everywhere.

Consciously enjoyable,

Beyond the imagination of all expectancy,

Is this, my samadhi state.

Planets, stars, stardust, earth,

Volcanic bursts of doomsday cataclysms,

Creation’s moulding furnace,

Glaciers of silent X-rays,

Burning floods of electrons,

Thoughts of all men, past, present, future,

Every blade of grass, myself and all,

Each particle of creation’s dust,

Anger, greed, good, bad, salvation, lust,

I swallowed up – transmuted them

Into one vast ocean of blood of my own one Being!

Smoldering joy, oft-puffed by unceasing meditation,

Which blinded my tearful eyes,

Burst into eternal flames of bliss,

And consumed my tears, my peace, my frame,
  my all.

Thou art I, I am Thou,

Knowing, Knower, Known, as One!

One tranquilled, unbroken thrill of eternal, living, ever-new peace!



Not an unconscious state
Or mental chloroform without wilful return,

Samadhi but extends my realm of consciousness

Beyond the limits of my mortal frame

To the boundaries of eternity,

Where I, the Cosmic Sea,

Watch the little ego floating in Me.

Not a sparrow, nor a grain of sand, falls

    without my sight

All space floats like an iceberg in my mental sea.

I am the Colossal Container of all things made!

By deeper, longer, continuous, thirsty,
  guru – given meditation,

This celestial samadhi is attained.

All the mobile murmurs of atoms are heard;

The dark earth, mountains, seas are molten liquid!

This flowing sea changes into vapors of nebulae!

Aum blows o’er the vapors; they open their veils,

Revealing a sea of shining electrons,

Till, at the last sound of the cosmic drum,

Grosser light vanishes into eternal rays

Of all-pervading Cosmic Joy.

From Joy we come,

For Joy we live,

In the sacred Joy we melt.

I, the ocean of mind, drink all creation’s waves.

The four veils of solid, liquid, vapor, light,

Lift aright.

Myself, in everything,

Enters the Great Myself.

Gone forever,

The fitful, flickering shadows of a mortal memory.

Spotless is my mental sky,

Below, ahead, and high above.

Eternity and I, one united ray.

I, a tiny bubble of laughter,

Have become the Sea of Mirth Itself.
wind cutting through my hair
and my expressionless face is still
while nostalgia overcomes me.
what have we come to?
words of hatred once spoken to one another,
followed by kind, apologetic letters,
and pure innocence engraved on our faces
turned into hangovers,
excuses and more excuses.
the worries drag my eyebrows down
like bent, rubber arcs that have been straightened
and are moving slowly back into formation.
am i the only one?

am i the only one?

i grab a pen and paper and write
the words inflaming my throat,
the visions in my eyes.

everyone moves.
everyone moves on and grows
with intoxication in hand
and fire
burning through their sockets.
is this growing up?
to enjoy and to live;
is it necessary to poison one's self?
what have we come to?

why, a different location
will not change the way they act.
am i the only one?

it's peer pressure what they do,
it's peer pressure.

but i am left,
because i refuse.
does that make me wrong?

my friends; their love and trust
bestilled in my heart;
it's weakening, it's breaking.
i shouldn't feel this way.
what have we come to?

is a dream of sanity and beauty
not enough?
because that is all you need
in my book.
you step in my book and see
a bird soaring
a flower blooming
an idea growing.
it's beautiful.
you step out of my book,
you don't see.
you're trapped
in the fumes, in the heat
of the crowd, in the smell
of the liquor.
what have we come to?

love is not an object.
it cannot be thrown around
and pestered with whenever you
please. it cannot get
carried around to become
an STD.
it cannot.
why?
it is not love.
it's hurt, it's stupidity.
the love is the feeling,
the lights,
the faith.
where is it?
lost,
disease has taken its place.

what have we come to?

it's what is inside, it's in
your soul, not displayed
on your skin.
what you are is not a material
thing, so why don't they bother
to take
a
second
look?

all walk with a label
instead of a name.
what have we come to?
Danny Beatty Dec 2013
she does not speak to me often in this way
she is the virile silence of walking truly like meadows

their time is always perfect and infinitely perfectlessness
how skies do not sing birds but are only masters of truth

but she is tender and fierce she shows me that they are innocent

when, I, confounded, aswirl with origami of things past,
she shows me a bestilled flapping silence of forgotten things

she does not speak often in this way

when her hands are like eagles tending planets
there is a secret river her eyes are filled with

these pupils of newborn seeking first sight
its graves and their strolling kisses no clock dares lie another tick

she is brightly curved; night seeks to master her sleeping motions
there is the skin of all salads I imagine I came from

when she is gone I feel  rain graveyards feed to oceans
when water braided through myths and legends and lies
is truest perfect lover, but no perfect lover is so tender and fierce

she has taught me in this way how I am
if I am a perfect child, then I am a perfect man

                                                but she whispers to me
"this is why the wind is so filled with sleep"

I know why the wind is the slave of kites
and why balloons are thoughtful, secretly joyless,
but filled with bad dogs and hope

when she touches small flowers and leaves them be
I know why birds are most beautiful in flight
gracefully jetting terrifying rivers

she walking strums wild instruments into me
I wish to play like birds but only newborns are masters of truth

                                                but she whispers to me
"this is why the wind is so filled with laughter"








.
JP Goss Mar 2015
At the swell of music I can fell the intersection of screaming of voices
They, like me, have been waiting for years
The plentitude of the thousands’ cadences
Are for the hunted, are the hunted
United, we stand in. This is unworthy, unworthy
Bestilled, we are here, standing like statues
Quietly, unquestioningly, indebted to ourselves
They said that, they said that: the mother voice
The mother’s voice
Oh, in the change of meter, she laughs and coos the answers
Your answers: we’re eying,
I’m the umpteenth man. Always. To ask,
Uncontented by the simplicity of the question, or the answer
Struggling for its complications, so, at least,
It can be done, it’s yet complete.
Wish against wishes, a silence doesn’t care
Then again, neither does the noise. Neither does the music.
If it were but love that made the moon rise, the moon rises
The ******* moon rises, it would be sorry night
A sorry state of affairs. Rest knowingly, and endure
The calamities of waning stars, twilight, and the coming day,
Marvel in the complexity of speech, and twine my fingers,
We’ll make it through.
Roberto Carlos Feb 2019
And whence the Vogel sang its song
awoken from my dreams
my flight against my destiny
prone helpless doth it seemed

I sat bestirred my heart afire
life's echoes raged in my mind
to rule what once - the best of me
oh..  so treacherous bane's design

I fell upon my knees in vain
screamed hoarse into the night
the rhythm of my blood, drained full
... ne'er concede the fight

All through the night my heart, bestilled
love's ichor 'pon the floor
my head held up, I would not yield
to lose her...

my soul abhorred



* A recurring dream


An Awakening © 2017  Roberto Carlos

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