"highlighting" poems
Back in the days of old
when knights were bold
who with a sword or lance
in armour sought romance.
It was the age of chivalry
long ago in man’s history
when to fight for a righteous cause
one did gain considerable applause.
It was mainly for show, love and glory
they deemed themselves being worthy
to capture the heart of some fair maiden
which was the most desired prize laden.
Oh, they would strike heavy blows
on all of their opponents and foes
in a one to one combat defying death
as crowds watched with abated breath.
Yes, it was far back in those days of yore
that courage and strength came to the fore
where there was this life and death struggle;
such issues at hand the knights would juggle.
And in fighting for their country, faith and king
noble impressions on people’s minds would ring
that even through the ages are held in high esteem
those knights in shinning armour do now all seem.
There are many legends based on their heroic exploits
a legacy of tales which have been told with much adroit
highlighting aspects of human wisdom related to virtue and vice
and the lessons to be learnt are those of goodness and sacrifice.
History usually repeats itself time and again
as it often happens a situation comes when
we’re asked to do something for a just cause
and acting with chivalry we shouldn’t pause.
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 10:20 AM UTC
the sunlight gazes down upon your skin
highlighting the speckles in your eyes
you embrace them with a caring grin
while staring with the ocean tides
you shine like the sun on a stormy night
nonsensical yet charming
and when your eyes gaze so bright
the warning bells scream, alarming
your heat is a soothing fear
drawing me close
blinded by your debut premier
i could only throw a single rose
my light may not shine like yours
and my heat be as striking
but love, this warmth has been through wars
waiting for you, hiding
you are the beauty of my doubt
and the rose to my thorn
to you, i am devout
and by love, i am sworn
Mar 14, 2022
Mar 14, 2022 at 11:59 AM UTC
And when I dream of you.
The pages turn.
Highlighting a million and one things.
All captivated by the sound we touched with our eyes.
Each played in beautiful melody.
I'd chase behind you.
Playing a symphony each time you'd smile.
Between the pause we were soft.
Supple.
Forgetting which one of us was sleeping.
Revealing all of our secrets.
You taught me how to sing.
Forgetting to move my mouth.
Each emotion thrown from my stomach.
When I dream of you,
I see all the colors.
So vividly played in beautiful color
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 12:29 AM UTC
I peruse exhibits through the modern art museum
Nails hammered into wood
And trash strewn on the floor
I couldn't help thinking
What the **** is this ****
These can't be the champions of modern art
Moonlight and Arrival morphed my empathy and perspective
The theater is fine
Music is there for those inclined to discover it
So what about visual art?
I know a few things for certain
Nails hammered into wood never changed my perspective
Nor does seeing a garbage can in a museum affect my empathy
Trash is not art
Trash is trash
Waste meant to be thrown in the proper receptacles
So as not to obstruct our view of true beauty
I will concede that
Beauty can be found in everything
Depending on analyzation variation
But those that live an examined life
Constantly see silver linings and sour grapes
Experiencing comfort in tundras to the point of banality
Those visions are much more interesting
in their organic state anyway
As opposed to an interpersonal expression of the seemingly obvious
So what to hang in an art gallery?
I have my own opinions
At this point in time
No visuals elicit more emotions
Than dank memes
When I'm consuming art
Questions are innate in my consumption
Is this a vessel for empathy?
Is this examining the human condition?
Dank memes meet those criteria
Satirizing the powerful
Highlighting emotions and virtues in ourselves
That we're either proud or ashamed of
Memes share a common thread with poetry
In the sense that everybody can create memes
Or be a poet
I get the impression that
Universality of art diminishes it's importance
In the minds of patrons
There's an element of truth to that
But what makes art special is quality
And what makes art truly special is high quality
And that's what belongs in museums
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
*By no means is this my work, I’m highlighting this in celebration for Black History Month
————————————————————————-——
Southern trees bear a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to ****
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
-Abel Meeropol
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 11:34 AM UTC
Social media, can make you.
Or break you.
Take you from a nobody to a somebody in seconds.
If not minutes.
Many talented folks has been found.
While surrounded by clowns.
We don't need to name them.
Cause we'll be highlighting them.
But some are too drawn to them to enjoy life.
Long before social media came around.
We were the vocal type.
Now, we hide behind our fingers as words.
We see evil also exposed.
Sometimes right under our very nose
All because some on social media lose their control.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
I'm all too used to the touch of your absence. Your mother's wrath in that time can be a death sentence so tragic. But when you come back, Demeter returns to her senses expressing light magic. Life springs through the darkness, and flowers race to see who can reach the farthest. Lovers emerge to nurture their gardens, and soak in sun to thaw out the hearts that hardened. Birds sing songs highlighting your arrival. Trees breathe easy seeing what their last set of leaves died for..
Yet when you retreat, mother again takes away her warmth. The high-flyers no longer soar, and some paths feel too bitter to explore. Bone-chill zones, a frozen reality stream. I can't blame anyone for what's a part of me, as we fall into winter's annual dream.
Queen of the Underworld, I appreciate your harmony. Thank you for teaching me to see the depths of my own duality. Still, I can't help but wonder how existence would be had you not eaten those pomegranate seeds. In the darkness of winter I want to curse Hades for his greedy need to leach on life through trickery. Though to curse him I'd be cursing myself and ive had it with the blasphemy. Besides I too know what it's like to rely on the dead as your only company. I ride ebbs and flows of loss and hope, but I know your presence promotes healing. So again I'll remain as the seasons change, taking layers and peeling. I've found in light and dark we can succeed in setting our bound spirits free. Communicator of both worlds, I want to Thank and honor you, Persephone~
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 10:21 PM UTC
the crickets have arthritis
so we're stuck here in silence.
no melody to lead us to our way
no morning song to wake up the day.
so the sun sleeps in
for the first time in weeks
and i wake up to darkness
resting on my cheek.
i untangle myself from
under this blanket
i turn to you and smile
a soft whisper lost
a cry that didn't make it.
restless eyes fight the stupor
through this obscure enigma.
my mind’s overwhelmed
my heart in a coma,
I’m trying to sort myself out
gather my words
when a kiss, simplest of sparks
turns into kinetic chaos launched
to the basement of my heart.
you stroke my face, a
hidden tear you smudge
i open my mouth to speak
but you’re too quick to judge.
so i bite my lip and
lie next to you in silence,
moonbeams highlighting
the empty space inside us
inside me.
all because crickets have arthritis.
Aug 27, 2011
Aug 27, 2011 at 3:14 PM UTC
Fireworks!
In such a razzle dazzle fireworks flash and bash in vibrancy,
In a spectral aura of contorted colours,
Stars sparkling, noisily highlighting the sky,
Release the Gods of chaos, as on the sparks they fly,
Amid a colour scheme supreme, a total fascination,
In an argument inopportune as fireworks hit home,
In a firework of a love-struck soul my body is vibrating,
Travel on a firework fly beyond the moon,
For on a pyrotechnic dream, embark beyond those stars,
Saw rowdy fireworks the day I met you,
Still seeing them now, those flashes,
For in my heart those fireworks are popping still,
Wish I could ride upon a rocket to be with you today,
Make the fireworks flash in procession,
Let the marching band play on!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
There's a certain condition known as losing connection
involving people, places and things of strong affection.
The phenomenon is marked by one or two parting to separate ways
and a feeling of disconnection is experienced highlighting the days.
Where the people concerned, in the past, were once close together,
are all now, due to a lack of communication, more apart than ever.
Once good friends, close relatives, associates and even lovers
have all fallen victim to the malady of estrangement as others.
We should never underestimate the effect of the passage of time
especially when augmented with distance that determines clime.
In this case the distance between the minds and hearts of all those who
have so drifted apart from each other no longer holding the same view.
It may also be a case where people have outgrown or transcended themselves
and do not identify any more with what was once regarded as familiar delves.
The vicissitudes of life can also be a major cause and often very decisive factor
where on the stage of this world one assumes or takes the role of a different actor.
Who knows to what degree a situation can change or influence the course of events
and leaves those alienated, that were once close together, now with different intents.
Another very obvious aspect is the physical departure because of death
of all those who, in this life, virtually shared the same space and breath.
It has also been written that, the soul of a person gone, sometimes tries to revive
or contact those whom it had most connection with while it was physically alive.
The same can be said of some of those who are still in their earthly ****** form
and cannot cope without the assurance or connection that before was the norm.
__________________________________
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
Donald Trump's presidency
Is one of the greatest achievements in art I have ever experienced
And Trump is a true artist
He takes words from the page
Like corruption, disenfranchisement, xenophobia
And brings them to life
Highlighting fear and paranoia so clearly
Contrasting the blacks and whites
Emphasizing anger
While reminding us we're mere infants
In the digital age
And warning us of our seniority
And capitalism's
We all like to think life has meaning
Until we hit an animal with our car
Then that's just the way things are
And I'm staring at an absurdist painting
Of a child driving a car
Through a herd of sheep
As I watch a heist film
Where the robbers turn their guns over
To the mentally unstable guy in the group
Trump is a national artist
Placing riots on the map
And drawing infernos on the Internet
His art forces an opinion
Everybody has something to say about him
And it's all true
Even the pages he ripped from his own cabinet
Tried to villainize him in their script
But he was already an anti-hero
The humor is that the mud slung onto him
Is dirt kicked up from his own tires
I guess if you surround yourself with hateful people
You're surrounding yourself with people who probably hate you
Trump's art is deeply conflicting
He reminds me of the people who want me to live in shame
Yet he embodies the individuality that separates me from that shame
His insecurities remind me of myself
High school is the White House in the eyes of a kid
And I had secrets I wanted to share
But felt I couldn't
I learned things
That changed my entire perspective
And didn't think people would understand
Afraid of being assaulted for my indiscretions
I hid behind a boisterous personality
And a nonchalant attitude
Trump's art evokes sympathy and hatred that feels so strong
When he holds a mirror defining our worst qualities
To a man viscerally opposed to his own reflection
The confliction of emotions
Is the hallmark of great art
We are all artists
The lines we write or the strokes we brush
Are in our actions
And Trump's canvas displays
A life filled with accomplishment
Inspiring me to live my own life
But I still wake up in cold sweats
From the American dream
That anybody can be president
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
I can't remember ever wishing I had lighter skin.
I was always amazed by the way they glowed;
all of those beautiful black women.
I observed other women, and yes,
they were beautiful too. They just....
Didn't have that "umph" about them.
You know, the way beautiful black women do.
I have endless people to thank,
My mom being on top of that list.
"Mini-me, you're so beautiful,
and don't you ever forget this."
Society is constantly throwing shade,
highlighting no one but the "Arian race".
Leaving beautiful black women embarrassed
and too ashamed to even look into the face
of the next pretty girl, and most importantly herself.
Spending countless hours comparing,
and harping on the imperfections.
Too big, too small, not good enough.
Never pointing out the features that she loves.
Let me be the first to tell you
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. And
YOU ARE WORTH IT. And
in case you haven't heard,
YOU SET THE STANDARD.
Beautiful black queens, and
Black queens in the making, This is your world.
Everyone else is just living in it.
Love the skin you're in, because
truthfully, they'd love to be in it.
Rock your crown with confidence,
I see you shining from afar. And
if you don't love You,
Today is the perfect day to start.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
Red Velvet has been lauded for breaking stereotypes
among popular girl groups in South Korea, whose concepts
tend to fall under two categories: "cute, or "pure" and ****
to fulfill a certain fantasy; in a country where girl groups'
fan bases are typically male, according to Taylor Glasby
of Dazed Digital, the majority of Red Velvet's fans are young
women and commented that "They {Red Velvet & ReVeluv}
are neither **** nor innocent, the band's music videos are often
dark, trippy, sinister, or haunting, even when they're flooded in
pastel colors". In 2017, IZE Magazine named the group
as one of the successful female figures who helped transform
the passive image of South Korean women at a time when
feminism had risen as an issue in the country. The group's music
also sets them apart from other K-pop artists. K-pop idols in general
suffer from a prejudice that they aren't considered real musicians
by music critics. But because of the group's diverse musical
inspirations and styles, these critics have since claimed that Red Velvet
has pushed the boundaries of music in the early 21st century.
In February 2018, Time magazine named Red Velvet
as one of the best K-pop groups ever, highlighting
their versatile musical styles;
Red Velvet was recognized
for their brand recognition and marketing power,
having topped _'Girl Group Brand Power Ranking'_
published by the Korean Corporate Reputation
Research Institute for three consecutive months.
Red Velvet performed in Pyongyang on April, 1 2018.
This made them the fifth idol group to ever perform
in North Korea. They performed "Red Flavor" & "Bad Boy"
at the East Pyongyang Grand Theater to an audience
that included Kim Jong-un. The concert was billed
as "Spring is Coming" and is part of a wider diplomatic
initiative between the ROK & the DPRK
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
Dear friends , this is an old poem of mine which was composed after I learnt that one of my favourite Hollywood actor Richard Gere had become a Buddhist and believed in Zen Philosophy. So having read about Zen, I composed in a simple format about the same. Hope you like it. Thanks, - Raj.
ZEN PHILOSOPHY
With roots buried deep in soils of Ancient India,
And watered by the exotic blend of three different
cultures;
Reflecting the mysticism of India, the pragmatism
of the Confucian mind, and the Taoist’s love of
naturalness and spontaneity,
Buddhism bloomed and blossomed into an exotic
flower called 'Zen Philosophy'!
In 475 AD a pupil of Buddha called Bodhidharma
went to China.
There the Mahayana School of Buddhism mingled
with Chinese Taoism, which evolved into Chan
Philosophy!
'Chan ' derived from the Sanskrit word 'dhyana',
which meant 'silent meditation', -
Through which the Buddha attained enlightenment
and salvation!
Later, in 1200 AD this Chan philosophy travelled to
the shores of Japan,
Where 'Chan' got translated to 'Zen' by its many
followers and fans!
ZEN is the art of meditation to achieve inner awakening,
To gain intuitive knowledge, highlighting the inadequacy
of logical reasoning!
It therefore advocates the practice of 'zazen' or 'sitting
meditation',
For acquiring inner awakening through silent
contemplation!
ZEN could be practised in our daily life,
Without entering a hermitage, leaving behind your
family or wife!
'Gain the naturalness of your original true nature',
- preaches the Zen Teacher through meditation,
'Rather than through mere faith and devotion,
which is contrary to Zen notion.'
'One must awaken to this present moment to feel
this life,
And not waste time in speculations of an Elusive
After-Life’!
The 'Enso' or the ‘circle’, is the Zen symbol which is
often deployed,
Symbolising Enlightenment, Strength, the Universe,
and the Void!
With this 'expression of the moment ' the Zen Philosophy
starts,
And today the ‘Enso’ is also the symbol of Expressionist
Art!
Never ask the Zen Master 'What is Zen, when, or how? ',
For he will always tell you, - 'Zen Is The Instant Now'!
- Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
from your eyes, springs forth juniper
carefree and warm like waves of summer
glittering rays of gold frolic through the blinds
highlighting you, every perfect curvature
eager, but steady, your lips invade my body with purpose
gentle, but sure, your hands explore my entire surface
as if I were created solely to satisfy your need for rapture
when you enter my world, time stills – thunderous and deliberate
yet, like lightning, you electrify my entire being
I sigh at the exhilaration, my fingers clutch the sheets beneath me
I yearn for them to travel to your favorite place within me
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 2:01 PM UTC
Paint me on a canvas of the most brilliant white.
Make my body of the most magnificent colors.
Paint me with the best of brushes,
the finest of paints.
Make me worth something more,
than your average human.
Stroke my face with the stillest hands.
Create my appearance and complexion with the most delicate of details.
Make my body the utmost of accurate,
please no enhancements.
Make me love myself,
make my body worth loving,
highlighting it with the most beautiful colors and shades.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
Round it is,
her hair,
pink,
baby pink.
Round like the three clumped vegetables in your mother's basket by the stove,
Supposedly,
white,
but on her head turned pink.
These garlic hang down at the side of her face.
These are not garlic but hair shaped like garlic,
defining the shape of her face,
highlighting her high cheekbones
highlighting her innocent glazed prideful eyes
._. ._. ._.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
My god, your beauty is bright
I can see the halo radiating
though the clouds at night
my heart hastily pulsating
whenever we're in the same room
my eyes only gravitate towards you
I recognize that lovely ambrosial perfume
when you glance, my cheeks take a different hue
I have immortalized you through my poems
but I rather spend this mortal life
basking in your lissome arms
a drop of you cures all my strife
I want you in the flesh instead of dreams
but any thought of you is okay by me
look how the moon thinly beams
highlighting my idiosyncrasy
You move my pen, dear
and you don't even know it
to you I owe this writing career
and I am scared that I might blow it
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
Sometimes after Lisa and I do our early-morning 4 mile run (we treadmill in the basement fitness center if it’s under 43 degrees), I come back and lie on my bed, for just for a moment. This morning it was just as the sun broke over the horizon and a pink light crawled across my ceiling, highlighting every imperfection, like craters and mountains on some distant, barren planet. My Apple watch went chikle-inkle-lnkle. Ok, Time to start the day.
Later…
Leong got a new ‘Girls Life’ magazine, those always seem packed with the latest scientific info.
“Studies suggest that you and your deepest friends may share the same blood types!” Leong read aloud.
“I’m O-negative,” she announced, “What blood type are you?” She asked me.
“Red,” I revealed (I am, after all, pre-med).
“DElicious reddd,” Lisa updogged in a Bela Lugosi vampire voice.
“Americans are never serious,” Leong whinged, her voice rising and falling on the last syllables.
“That’s what makes us what we are today,” Lisa asserted, “a slowly, steadily, declining superpower.”
“We could join the military after Yale,” I suggested helpfully, “I bet they’d make us officers.”
“Oh sure, I heard the army’s making men out women these days,” Lisa agreed.
“Sounds messy,” I said, wincing.”
Jan 22, 2024
Jan 22, 2024 at 3:23 PM UTC
The world’s on a street,
on a string, running
at incomprehensible speeds-
well it’s a 30 zone
but it might as well be
a highway for the kids-
those who pray on their knees on Sundays to please their mothers.
*Mouthing lyrics against the pillow
your lips skimming the linen,
the blinds are half cut
letting light in, highlighting your out-of-the-bed foot.
Alarm clock call was late as we relied on the front desk,
the telephone wire twisted behind cavity wall green,
so we wake together to inner city rooster roar
with the traffic tearing past and the cafes opening up to more coffee drinkers and business smokers.
We’ll get our to-go coffees
in a spree of NFC later,
watch sons saying to dads that they need to go wee
and start our day again with a hotel cup of tea.*
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
In the ***** fields the red plant glows
Shining bright row by rows
Highlighting our opiates blight
Soldier by soldier I save tonight
Ease their pain do it right
For they may stray towards the light
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 1:38 PM UTC
And I have this strange feeling.
Memories of us,
Margaritas sipped slow.
Comcast commercials played on repeat.
The weather mild.
First in line.
Patiently waiting to board a flight
Without need for debit card.
Inspired by the look in each other's eyes.
Beats by Dre sponsored by the throb of hearts.
Wandering the gap between songs.
We sip, no longer the ones that got away.
Our silent trips planned moments in advance.
This strange feeling soaring over patio tables, beaches.
Flying away with you in mind body soul.
The many oceans to come.
Highlighting the glare that reflects off our window.
This strange feeling
Becoming more and more familiar
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
Pearly white keys,
Hammers,
And strings.
All laced together in a mahogany symphony.
A piano.
Melodies dance through the air,
Spinning circles round my head,
Making me dizzy with joy.
A tiger dances across the keys and into my ears,
Putting memories of a zoo in my head.
Remembering walking down the tiger habitat.
Hand in hand with my father,
Tugging at his shirt.
He wore green that day.
Images of a butterfly landing on my finger prance through the space between me and her and land on the tip of my nose.
It is pure happiness.
They say a butterfly will land only on someone pure with bliss,
It lands on me as I look over at her.
Her fingers gliding so effortlessly across the smooth ivory,
This song is music to my ears.
Her hair falling so effortlessly on her shoulders.
She looks at me and smiles,
Her eyes crinkle at the corners as music flows from her fingertips.
She is her own symphony.
Her laugh the drums,
Her voice the flute,
And her singing a chorus of violins.
She is a symphony to make Beethoven blush.
I gape in awe at her beauty,
At the beauty of the music,
The music filling the space between us.
She looks happy.
Her hands dancing over the piano, A smile lights up her face.
Highlighting her grin
And her chocolate brown eyes.
The dark brown curls flowing down from the top of her head.
Our arms touch.
I can feel her symphony in my bones,
One of sadness.
One of hope.
I feel her happiness resonate through my arms and send chills down my spine.
The sound of her fingers running across the piano keys are drowned out by the pounding of my heart.
Bump bump.
Bump bump.
I can feel it in my throat,
And I lean in.
The music stops.
Our lips touch.
I can feel her beauty resonate through my body.
Pearly white ivory teeth,
Perfectly parted lips,
And breath.
Laced together in un pelle symphonie.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
Dear Friends , this is an old poem of mine which was composed after I learnt that Richard Gere, one of my favourite Hollywood actors had become a Buddhist and believed in Zen Philosophy. So having read about Zen I composed this simple verse. Hope you like it. If you like it kindly re-post this poem. Thanks, - Raj.
ZEN PHILOSOPHY
With roots buried deep in soils of Ancient India,
And watered by the exotic blend of three different
cultures;
Reflecting the mysticism of India, the pragmatism
of the Confucian mind, and the Taoist’s love of
naturalness and spontaneity,
Buddhism bloomed and blossomed into an exotic
flower called 'Zen Philosophy'!
In 475 AD a pupil of Buddha called Bodhidharma
went to China.
There the Mahayana School of Buddhism mingled
with Chinese Taoism, which evolved into Chan
Philosophy!
'Chan ' derived from the Sanskrit word 'dhyana',
which meant 'silent meditation', -
Through which the Buddha attained enlightenment
and salvation!
Later, in 1200 AD this Chan philosophy travelled to
the shores of Japan,
Where 'Chan' got translated to 'Zen' by its many
followers and fans!
ZEN is the art of meditation to achieve inner awakening,
To gain intuitive knowledge, highlighting the inadequacy
of logical reasoning!
It therefore advocates the practice of 'Zazen' or 'sitting
meditation',
For acquiring inner awakening through silent
contemplation!
ZEN could be practiced in our daily life,
Without entering a hermitage, leaving behind your
family or wife!
'Gain the naturalness of your original true nature',
- preaches the Zen Teacher through meditation,
'Rather than through mere faith and devotion,
which is contrary to Zen notion.'
'One must awaken to this present moment to feel
this life,
And not waste time in speculations of an ‘elusive
After-Life’.
The 'Enso' or the ‘circle’, is the Zen symbol which is
often deployed,
Symbolizing Enlightenment, Strength, the Universe,
and the Void!
With this 'expression of the moment ' the Zen Philosophy
starts,
And today the ‘Enso’ is also the symbol of Expressionist
Art!
Never ask the Zen Master 'What is Zen, When, or How? ' ,
For he will always tell you, - 'Zen Is The Instant Now'!
- Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
Mahayana in Sanskrit means 'Great Vehicle', and is the largest major tradition of Buddhism existing today. The other branch is called Hinayana, meaning the ‘Lesser Vehicle’.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 8:02 AM UTC