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The Good Pussy Sep 2014
.
                                
                             om mani
                          padme  hum
                       om mani padme
                       hum   om   mani
                      padme  hum   om
                      mani padme hum
                      om  mani  padme
                      h­um   om     mani
                      padme   hum  om
                      mani padme hum
                      om  mani  padme
                      h­um   om     mani
                      padme   hum  om
                      mani padme hum
                      om mani   padme
                      hum   om     mani
                      padme    hum  om
            mani padme hum om mani

        padme hum        om mani padme

          hum om mani        padme hum
* om mani padme hum " is a mantra.   It is Sanskrit.  It means " I am a servant of god."
jd Jan 2018
*** var en fløjlsblød stemme i kakofoni, en rød rose i regnvejr, smeltet ost i en french toast. Creme de la creme de la creme de la creme de la creme… I et flygtigt øjeblik var *** min. Jeg gav slip, da *** lod facaden krakelere. Der var mere larm, mere regn og mere tørt brød. Det glansbillede, jeg havde malet af hende, var en parodi af virkeligheden. Jeg forelskede mig i en forestilling – en opdigtet person, der stadig lever i min fantasi, æder mine minder og erstatter dem med forvrængede forestillinger.

Så jeg savner hende. Jeg savner hendes ustabile psyke – at *** måtte indtage **** piller i samme mundfuld som morgenmad, at *** blev syrlig uden grund. *** var forelsket i mig i et øjeblik, og smed mig ud det næste. Jeg savner hendes vanskabte krop – hendes korte ben, der ikke kunne holde hende stående en hel dag, det skæve øje, der fokuserede på det, *** ikke så, hendes store tæer, der trods al plejning aldrig så pæne eller tillokkende ud. Jeg savner hendes barnlige opførelse – *** snakkede i høje toner, kunne ikke undvære sin mor i en længere periode, *** kommunikerede med alt omkring hende, objektgjorde alt.  *** kunne aldrig skille sig af med noget – bamsen der var en dåbsgave, bøgerne der kun havde været åbnet én enkelt gang, kattefigurerne fra Italien, der egentligt kun bragte dårlige minder om et forlist venskab og en lang ferie med krops-, familie og varmekomplekser. *** græd ved tanken om den svigt, de måtte føle, hvis *** forlod dem. En spøjs idé, *** sjældent havde om levende organismer såsom mig og de to kaktusser i vinduet, der visnede bort. Ligesom jeg.
Jeg savner hendes selvbillede – hendes dybe selvhad forplantet i enhver celle af legemet, men også den paradoksale tanke om at være noget særligt. *** så sig selv som unik – et unikum af et væsen med unikke problemer, unikke tanker og en unik livsbetydning. *** gravede sig selv ned i takt med, at *** så sig selv som værende højere placeret.

Skulle jeg vende tilbage, opleve dette igen, ville jeg vende hurtigt væk igen. For jeg savner det ikke. Ikke oprigtigt. Fordi jeg ved, jeg kan få det igen – fordi jeg ved, *** er lige præcis der, hvor jeg efterlod hende – *** kommer ikke videre. Gjorde ***, ville jeg savne det. Der er noget behageligt og bekræftende i at vide, at *** for evigt vil vente på mig – at tankerne altid vil vandre tilbage på mig, hver gang *** kommer forbi det hvide slot i skoven. Jeg vandt. Og alligevel ikke. *** fik plantet sig i mig – og *** vil for evigt vende minderne og tankerne, så jeg vil være i en konstant tvivl om hvorvidt, *** er den reelle vinder. Og om *** stadig venter. Jeg ved, at *** venter – *** vil altid vente. Men jeg kan være nødt til at være sikker – se, om *** venter. Om *** venter på mig, som jeg tror – eller om *** endnu er en udefinérbar skabning, som jeg igen har skabt min egen version af.

Måske er *** hverken den fløjlsbløde stemme i kakofoni eller den ustabile kattedame. Måske er *** begge dele. Måske var *** min i et flygtigt øjeblik – måske var *** ikke. Måske er *** altid min, måske var *** det aldrig. Jeg ved kun én ting sikkert, og det er, at intet er sikkert. Det hele foregår i mit hoved, i mit sind og min fantasi. Virkeligheden er fjern, måske endda urealistisk. Var du her nogensinde? Er jeg? Tænk en tanke kan erstatte en tanke med en anden tanke. Tænk, du kan erstatte dig med en anden dig. Tænk, jeg kan erstatte jeg med et andet jeg. I så fald, erstatter jeg hele jeg’et eller kun dele? Jeg skulle spørge for Freud. Ville det ikke være komfortabelt, hvis jeg kunne erstatte et jeg med et andet jeg? Så ville jeg være det jeg, jeg gerne vil have, jeg er. Det er en god tanke, som snart bliver fjernet for en anden tanke, der skal have plads. Er dette en monolog eller en dialog med mig selv? Snakker jeg med andre sider af mig selv, eller findes der kun denne en kendte side? Hov, det var vist den næste tanke. Hvor
Star BG Mar 2018
OM Shanti Om
I radiate peace
in breath in moment
in actions as I walk in grace.

Om Shanti Om
I echo with peace
as I take meditative stance
to align with heart.

Om Shanti Om
I emit love
into the world
so it awakens
and we all live in peace.
Inspired by Oprah/ Chopra meditation day three
Hazel Aug 2019
De spørger om alle mine digte er om dig?
Jeg svare altid nej, men det er de måske lidt alligevel...
Men mest om mig selv, mest om mig selv dengang jeg var med dig. Mest om mig og mig selv og om dig og om hvordan du gjorde mig kantet og skarp.
Handler det om ham? Hvem ham, svare jeg? De griner, for de ved godt at jeg ved hvad de mener. De mener ham der bringer mine tanker i kog, ham der udkogte og udkørte og dæmpede mig, og dampede ud over alles forventninger, for bare at få en dråbe accept på sig. Ham der ikke tror han er god nok, men god nok til at fortælle at andre er gode nok, når han har brug for at få af vide at han god nok, og flot nok og høj nok, og....Ja. Det er nok ham, og hvad så, hvis det passer mig at skrive om en spasser, der har kastet mig, ind og ud af hjertekar, ind i en blindgyde, af blinde svar?
De spørger om alle mine digte er om dig?
Nej men det er dette digt, SVARE JEG.
-Hazel
Abelonia Oct 2014
træet står så bart udenfor, de få blade der er tilbage på det fine lille træ har den flotteste røde farve, de minder mig om et eventyr. Bare mit liv var et eventyr. Jeg ville være et varmt sted, min hud ville være gylden og mit hår ville være lyst efter solens blegende stråler.  Ved min side ville der står en mystisk fyr. Høj, slank, gyldenbrun hud og mørkt pjusket hår. Ja, det ville være et eventyr jeg gerne ville være en del af. Men sådan er livet bare ikke.
Lige nu sidder jeg midt i et skriftligt modul. Vejret er gråt. Varmen er forsvunder og erstattet med bidende kulde. Hvorfor sidder jeg her lige nu? hvad skal jeg overhoved bruge det til. Han snakker om fremtiden, lige for tiden, er det det eneste alle tænker på. FREMTIDEN. Du er ikke noget hvis du ikke har en fremtid foran dig bla. bla. Jeg fatter ikke hvorfor det skal være sådan, tænker du nogensinde over hvor meget vi glemmer nuet. De ting vi elsker er væk på få sekunder, og de kommer nok aldrig tilbage igen, men det værste er ikke at de ikke kommer igen, men at du ikke nød dem da du havde dem. Vi nød det ikke fuldt ud, vi er så grådige, vil vil have mere og mere og til sidst har vi intet. Jeg har ikke lyst til at tale om min fremtid. Jeg hader det virkelig. For jeg ved virkelig ikke hvad jeg vil bruge mit liv på og jeg har faktisk heller ikke lyst til at vide det. jeg vil gerne have det kommer, som det skal komme. Så plat som det lyder, vil jeg bare have at skæbnen skal lede min vej, for vi alle har en skæbne. Noget vi skal udrette i livet men som vi ikke selv kender til. Hvis vi vikrleig vidste alt, hvad var der så at lære og hvad kunne vi overhoved opleve? Den største ting vi glemmer er at tage chancer. Vi går og er bange for alt og alle og derfor tør vi aldrig gøre noget ud over det sædvanlige. Jeg tror det er noget som medierne har skabt. Medierne har fået os til at blive vanefaste mennesker uden personlighed og egne holdninger. Jeg hader det. Det er virkelig gået op for mig at der er meget jeg ikke kan lide ved vores samfund. Alt handler om status og om hvad folk synes om en. Men hvad nu hvis ingen synes om en? Hvad gør man så? skal man så bare lægge sig til og dø… Døden er en ting jeg har tænkt meget over på det sidste, men grunden til at jeg har tænkt over det er fordi jeg ikke forstår livet. Hvorfor lever vi overhoved. Vi skal jo alligevel dø og livet er sku næsten altid noget lort fordi vi ikke kan finde ud af at fokuserer på de små glæder og levet i nuet på grund af medierne som kun fremhæver alt lortet. Livet er ikke forståeligt. Det bliver det nok aldrig og hvis jeg skulle være ærlig ville jeg også være ligeglad om det sluttede nu, for jeg ser ikke frem til fremtiden og jeg kan ikke engang leve i nuet. Jeg skaber en silhuet af det jeg gerne vil. At gå hjem til en fremmede og ryge **** er nok  ikke at tage chancer og leve, selvom at jeg prøver at gøre det til det. Jeg troede virkelig ting som det ville gøre mig lykkelig og det gør det da også, men kun tildels. Jeg føler mig så tom, jeg føler ikke jeg har noget at byde verdenen og mine medmennesker. Jeg  ser virkelig op til de folk som gør det, folk som gerne vil være et forbillede for andre. De er sku cool. Men jeg har det bare ikke på den måde. Når jeg tænker over det, minder jeg nok meget om Hassel fra the fault in our stars. Døden er intet jeg frygter og jeg er egentlig også ligeglad om jeg bliver husket.
ungdomspoet Feb 2018
føler mig atter gennemsigtig
med hud lavet af nylon
et punkteret hjerte
der bløder igennem
den sarte overflade
så jeg kan ikke skjule
at jeg stadig elsker dig
det er tydeligt for alle
med blod der drypper
ned af maven på mig
du står bare der
og lader som om at jeg ikke
eksisterer
for det er nemmere
så gør det ikke ondt
du lader som om
at du ikke kan se at jeg bløder
at du ikke kan se at det stadig
er for dig
dine øjne er stadig grønne
som smagrader
så dybe at jeg kunne forsvinde
i dem på ny
og din mund er stadig
sart og fin
minder mig om dengang
den rørte min
så mange ord jeg gerne
vil høre den sige
men tavs er du
og du kiggede lige igennem mig
som om jeg ikke fandtes
som om du ønskede
at jeg ikke fandtes
min hjerne krøller
og spekulerer
om du overhovedet
stadig syntes at jeg er smuk
nu hvor du ikke vil se på mig
trods der var engang
hvor du slet ikke kunne lade vær
kun du har set på mig
med de øjne
ville ønske at du kunne læse
mine utallige digte
der fortæller historier
om en dreng med et skrøbeligt sind
en kompleks psyke
som egentlig helst
ville være alene
men havde brug for en at holde om
så han forelskede sig
i en pige der løb lidt for stærkt
og snakkede lidt for meget
og lidt for højt
historier om langsomme
søndage
forsvundet under grå dyner
kroppe
der lidenskabeligt var flettet
ind i hinanden
din hud mod min
dit hjerte der bankede
min tungespids på din mave
dine kys i min pande
hænder overalt på nøgen hud
som jeg stadig kan mærke
selvom det ikke længere
er dig der rør mig
vil ikke være gennemsigtig
mere så jeg maler min krop
i regnbuens farver
jeg vil ses
jeg vil betyde noget
og det kan du ikke hjælpe med længere
Dis nou die tyd om te babbel
En my mond verby te praat
, want hulle sê mos
A drunk man's words is
A sober man's thoughts...
En wie weet dalk vind ek
Die antwoorde in ń diep gesprek met myself...

Sien ek is nie een van daardie
AA lappies wat skeinheilig
Sit en slukkies suip om
Geluk onder in die bottel
Op te spoor nie.
Ek rook skaamteloos en
Omhels die intense stank
Van 10 jaar se lewe wat ek
Mors en longkanker, want
Dit herrinner my an oupa se
Skoot en *** veilig ek was
In daardie asbak woonstel
Waar ek soos white-trash eers my brood moes inspekteer vir
Indringer kokkerotte wat ook
Maar net teen ons kompeteer het
Vir ń krummeltjie kos.

Ek babbel, want wat anders kan mens doen as vrees jou aangryp as die koue staal jou hande brand -
En nee ek praat nie van lemme en inspuitings nie,
Want lemme maak merke waarvan ek reeds te veel het wat nou oor my polse uitgesprei lê en my herrinner *** swak ek was, maar *** sterk ek was... en inspuitings los ek vir die dokters en susters en die bloeddiens
Wat my leeg wil tap om een of ander sad case se lewe te red met bloed van ń bloedjie wat self nog in die verdoemtenis rond dwaal.

Ek babbel, want dis social anxiety en scary stuff om in ń kring te sit en Russian roulette te speel met al 5 van die mense wat ander van jou verwag om te wees. Want wat gebeur as ek myself in hierdie hoerasie van persoonlikhede raakskiet. *** weet ek watter een is ek as elke een die sneller swaar trek en hoop en bid vir ń blank... *** weet ek.

Kliek...
Kliek...
Kliek...
Kliek...
Bang!!

En nou babbel ek maar weer
...
Want ek het so pas agtergekom ek weet ook nie juis *** dit voel om dood te wees nie.

Wie is ek...
-*** sal ek weet

Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
...

Ek weet.
Ek kyk na die wiskunde geletterdheid vraestel
wat uittartend voor my le en skreeulag.
Elke vraag is nog 'n klap in my gesig
nog 'n uur wat ek in 'n warm stort moet gaan sit
om myself weer moed in te praat.

Ek het lankal reeds al die stetoskope
van my kinderdrome ashoop to gestuur.
Die laaste bietjie hoop uit my onskuld gekerf
toe hulle se dat ek die masjiene moet afskakel
en vir my spieel gaan se, dat ek dit nie gemaak het nie.
"Gee eerder op" lui die pedagoog se kreet.

"Jy hou ons terug seun" , vertel jy my
"as jy nou nog nie verstaan nie, sa jy
ook nooit nie. Gee maar op."
Ek was eers die boogseun.
*** verder jy my terug getrek het,
*** vinniger het my pyl op die teiken
af gestraal...
Nou is ek die rekseun... ek hou jou terug
en as jy trek, breek ek.

Jou ekstraklasse was te duur gewees,
ek kon nie my wiskunde angelegdheid bekostig nie.
Ek moes maar terugsit en kyk ***
ander skole met onderskeiding by jou deur uitstap.
Ek kon ongelukkig nie bekostig om slim te wees nie.

Onthou jy toe jy op daardie koue wintersdag
verby my gejaag het en my verskree het
oor die missie en serpie wat my net
aan die lewe gehou het?
Ek is jammer dit was nie jou kleur nie,
maar probeer verstaan...
ek is nie 'n onderwyser nie.
Wanneer jy huistoe kon gaan
moes ek my studentlike pligte uitvoer
en tot laatmiddag by die skoolbly.

Ek is jammer dat my ma werk.
Dit is tog so ongeskik van haar.
So selfsugtig om kos op die tafel te probeer sit
en so my verhoed het om aan sport deel te neem.
Ek weet tog *** belangrik sport vir jou is.
Jammer ek kon nie 'n meningvolle bydra
tot jou donnerse sportregime maak nie.
Jammer ek was 'n nuttelose suurstofdief
, soos wat jy my genoem het.

Eks jammer ek kon nie my punte
bekostig nie. My handgeskrewe take
en spoeg-en-plak plakate was 'n
vernedering tot die vlekvrye mamma-pappa-take.
Linte was in die mode.
Linte en ander oulike beursie plukkers.
Jammer dat ons beursies
leeg was, maak nie saak *** ons
daaraan prober pluk het nie.

Jammer dat ek nie man genoeg was
om myself te beskerm teen nege honderd seuns nie.
Dit is skandelik. *** kon ek so swak wees
dat ek nie eers nege jaar se "ou grappies"
kon aflag nie. Jammer dat ek dit nie snaaks vind
as daar op jou geurineer en gespoeg word nie.
*** kon ek nie lag vir die hilariteit van
asblik skroot , soos kougom en gemifde brood
in my tas en pennesakkie nie.
Ek wens ek was nie so swak nie, dan kon
ek ook dalk myself teen die 14 seuns beskerm het.
Jammer dat hulle my so maklik kon oorweldig.
Jammer dat hulle my kon teister
en rondgooi soos 'n vloerlap.

Ek vra nederig om verskoning,
dat ek daaroor kom kla het.
Meneer is reg, ek is 'n sussie.
Net 'n moffie soos ek sou
kom kla het. Jammer om meneer
se tyd so te mors, dit was verspot van my
om te **** meneer sou iets daaran doen.

Nou is ek ietwat geskend. Menere
en manne het al gesweeptong en asyn
op my kaal rug.

Nou sit ek Sentraal in die kakstorm
en jy wonder hoekom ek nie meer
onder die top 20 is nie.

Nou sit ek hier onder tussen die wiskunde "Jee"
vraestelle en huil.
My enigste vertroosting is dat ek nie
heel onder is nie, en dat jy die hell is
waaruit ek nog sal opruis.

Ek breek vry van agter die tralies.

Geagte skool
Gerespekteerde meneer
Vok jou
en moenie laat jou mislukkings jou
op die gat skop as jy by die deur uitloop nie.
Want hierdie "mislukking" ... skop kak hard.
Marolle Apr 2015
Træt af verden
de samme problemer
om hinandens forhold, finans og færden
og hinandens gener

Træt af medier
de samme ord
om politik, pres og profetier
og om mord

Træt af diskussioner
de samme dilemmaer
om respekt, risici og religioner
og om diskriminationer

Træt af mennesker
de samme forskrifter
om tilpasning, teaterroller og tjenester  
og om urostiftere

*(Marolle)
RAJ NANDY Feb 2015
AN INTRODUCTION TO INDIAN ART IN VERSE  
By Raj Nandy : Part One

INTRODUCTION
Background :
The India subcontinent and her diverse physical features,
influenced her dynamic history, religion, and culture!
The fertile basin of the Sapta-Sindu Rivers* cradled one of
world’s most ancient civilization, (seven rivers)
Contemporary to the Sumerians and the Egyptians, popularly
known as the Indus Valley Civilization!
The Sindu (Indus), Jhelum, Chenab, Ravi, Sutlej, Bias, along
with the sacred river Saraswati, shaped India’s early History;
Where once flourished the urban settlements of Harappa and
Mohenjodaro, which lay buried for several centuries;
For our archaeologists and scholars to unravel their many
secrets and hidden mysteries!
Modern scholars refer to it as ‘Indus-Saraswati Civilization’;
By interpreting the text of the Rig Veda which mentions
eclipses, equinoxes, and other astronomical conjunctions,
They date the origin of the Vedas as earlier as 3000 BC;
Thereby lifting the fog which shrouds Ancient History! +
(+ Two broad schools of thoughts prevail; Max Mullar refers
to 1500 BC as the date for origin of the Vedas, but modern scientific findings point to a much earlier date for their Oral composition and
their long oral tradition!)

On the banks of the sacred Saraswati River the holy sages
did once meditate, *
When their third eye opened, as all earthly bonds they did
transcend !
From their lips flowed the sacred chants of the Vedas, as
they sang the creator Brahma’s unending praise!
These Vedic chants and incantations survived many
centuries of an oral tradition,
When Indian Art began to blossom into exotic flowers like
Brahma’s divine manifestations;
With all subsequent art forms following the model of
Brahma’s manifold creations!
The Vedas got written down during the later Vedic Age
with commentaries and interpolations,
And remain as India’s indigenous composition, forming a
part of her sacred religious tradition! *
(
Rig Veda the oldest, had hymns in praise of the creator;
Yajur Veda spelled the ritual procedures; Sama Veda sets
the hymns for melodious chanting, & is the source of seven
notes of music; Artha Veda had hymns for warding off evil
& hardship, giving us a glimpse of early Vedic life.)

IMPACT OF FOREIGN INVASIONS:
Through the winding Khyber Pass cutting through the rugged
Hindu Kush Range,
Came the Persians, Greeks, Muslims, the Moguls, and many
bounty hunters storming through north-western frontier gate;
Consisting of varied racial groups and cultures, they entered
India’s fertile alluvial plains!
Therefore, while tracing 5000 years of Art Story, one cannot
divorce Art from India’s exotic cultural history.
From the Cave Art of Bhimbetka, to the dancing girl of Harappa,
To the frescoes and the evocative figures of Ajanta and Ellora;
Many marvelous and exquisitely carved temples of the South,
And Muslim and Mogul architecture and frescoes along with
India’s rich Folk Art, enriched her artistic heritage no doubt!
Yet for a long time Indian Art had been the least known of
the Oriental Arts,
Perhaps because from Western point of view it was difficult
to understand the spirit behind Indian Art!
For Indian Art is at once aesthetic and sensual, also passionate,
symbolic, and spiritual !
It both celebrates and denies the individual’s love of life,
where free instinct with rigid reason combine !
These contradictory elements are found side by side due to
her culturally mixed conditions, as I had earlier mentioned!
Now, if we add to this the constant religious exaltation,
With the extensive use of symbolic presentation, from the
early days of Indian civilization;
We have the basic elements of an Art, which has gradually
aroused the interest of Western Civilization!

The further we get back in time, we only begin to find,
That religion, philosophy, art and architecture,
Had all merged into an unified whole to form India’s
composite culture!
But while moving forward in time, we once again find,
That art, architecture, music, poetry and dance, all begin to
gradually emerge, with their separate identities,
Where Indian Art is seen as a rich mosaic of cultural diversity!

(NOTES:-In the ancient days, the Saraswati River flowed from the Siwalik Range of Hills (foothills of the Himalayas) between Sutlej & the Yamuna rivers, through the present day Rann of Kutch into the Arabian Sea, when Rajasthan was a fertile place! Indus settlements like Kalibangan, Banawalli, Ganwaiwala, were situated on the banks of Sarsawati River, which was longer than the Indus & ran parallel, and is mentioned around50 times in the Rig Veda! Scientists say that due to tectonic plate movements, and climatic changes, Saraswati dried up around 1700BC ! The people settled there shifted east and the south, during the course of history! Some of those Indo-Aryan speaking people were already settled there, & others joined later. Max Muller’s theory of an Aryan Invasion which destroyed the Indus Valley Civilization during 1500BC, supported by Colonial Rulers, was subsequently proved wrong ! Indo-Aryans were a Language group of the Indo- European
Language Family, & not a racial group as mistaken by Max Mullar! Therefore Dr.Romila Thapar calls it a gradual migration, & not an invasion! The Vedas were indigenous composition of India. However, they got compiled & written down for the first time with commentaries, at a much later date! I have maintained this position since it has been proved by modern scholars scientifically!)

SYMBOLISM IN INDIAN ART
From the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic to the Cretan Bull
of Greece,
Symbols have conveyed ideas and messages, fulfilling
artistic needs.
The ‘Da Vinci Code’ speaks of Leonardo’s art works as
symbolic subterfuge with encrypted messages for a secret
society!
While Indian art is replete with many sacred symbols to
attract good fortune, for the benefit of the community!
The symbols of the Dot or ‘Bindu’, the Lotus, the Trident,
the Conch shell, the sign and chant of ‘OM’, are all sacred
and divine;
For at the root of Indian artistic symbolism lies the Indian
concept of Time!
The West tends to think of time as a dynamic process which
is forward moving and linear;
Commencing with the ‘Big Bang’, moving towards a ‘Big
Crunch’, when ‘there shall be no more time’, or a state of
total inertia !
Indian art and sculpture is influenced by the cyclic concept
of time unfolding a series of ages or ‘yugas’;
Where creation, destruction and recreation, becomes a
dynamic and an unending phenomena!
This has been artistically and symbolically expressed in the
figure of Shiva-Nataraja’s cosmic dance,
Which portrays the entire kinetic universe in a state of
eternal flux!
The hour-glass drum in Nataraja’s right hand symbolizes
all creation;
Fire in his left hand the cyclic time frame of destruction!
The raised third hand is in a gesture of infinite benediction;
And the fourth hand pointing to his upraised foot shows the
path of liberation!

It was easier to teach the vast untutored population through
symbols, images, and paintings in the form of Art;
For a picture is more effective than a thousand words!
The Dot or ‘bindu’ becomes the focus for meditation,
Where the mental energies are focused on a single point of
creation,
As seen in the cotemporary art works of SH Raza’s
artistic representations!
Yet the same dot when expanded as a circle becomes
wholeness and infinity;
The shape of celestial bodies of the cyclic universe in its
creativity!
The Lotus seen in many sculptures, on temple walls, and
majestic columns, denotes purity;
A symbol of non-attachment rising above the muddy waters,
retaining its pristine color and beauty!
The Lotus is a powerful and transformational symbol in
Buddhist Art,
Where pink lotus is for height of enlightenment, blue for
wisdom, white for spiritual perfection, and the red lotus
symbolizing the heart!
This Lotus symbol also finds a place in Mughal sculptural
carvings and miniatures;
The inverted lotus dome resting on its petals, forms the
crown of Taj Mahal’s white marble architecture!
The trident or ‘trishul’ symbolizes the three god-heads
Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva;
As the Creator, Preserver and Destroyer, in that cyclic
chain which goes on forever!
The ***** stone of Shiva-lingam surrounded by the oval
female yoni symbolizes fertility and creation,
Usually found in the inner sanctuary of Hindu temples!
Finally, the symbol of ‘OM’ and its vibrating sound,
Echoes the primordial vibrations with which space and
time abounds!
All matter comes from energy vibrations manifesting
cosmic creation;
Also symbolized in Einstein’s famous matter-energy equation!
The Conch Shell a gift of the sea when blown, sounds the
ancient primordial vibration of ‘OM’!
It’s hallowed auspicious sound accompanies marriage
ceremonies and rituals whenever occasion demands;
And pacifies mother earth during Shiva-Nataraja’s sudden
seismic dance! (earthquakes)
Dear readers the symbols mentioned here are very few,
Mainly to curb the length, while I pay Indian Art my
artistic due!

A BRIEF COMPARISON OF ART:
Despite the many foreign influences which entered India
through the Khyber and Bholan pass,
India displayed marvelous adaptability and resilience, in
the development of her indigenous Art!
The aesthetic objectivity of Western Art was replaced by
the Indian vision of spiritual subjectivity,
For the transitory world around was only a ‘Maya’ or an
Illusion,- lacking material reality!
Therefore life-like representation was not always the aim
of Indian art,
But to lift that veil and reveal the life of the spirit, - was
the objective from the very start!
Egyptian funerary art was more occupied with after-life
and death;
While the Greeks portrayed youthful vigor and idealized
beauty, celebrating the joys of life instead!
The proud Roman Emperors to outshine their predecessors
erected even bigger statues, monuments, and columns
draped in glory;
Only in the long run to drain the Roman treasury, - a sad
downfall story!
Indian art gradually evolved over centuries with elements
both religious and secular,
As seen from the period of King Chandragupta Maurya,
Who defeated the Greek Seleucus, to carve out the first
united Indian Empire ! (app. 322 BC)

SECULAR AND SPIRITUAL FUSION IN ART:
Ancient Indian ‘stupas’
and temples were not like churches
or synagogues purely spiritual and religious,
But were cultural centers depicting secular images which
were also non-religious!
The Buddhist ‘stupa’ at Amravati (1stcentury BC), and the
gateways at Sanchi (1stcentury AD), display wealth of carvings
from the life of Buddha;
Also warriors on horseback, royal procession, trader’s caravans,
farmers with produce, - all secular by far!
Indian temples from the 8th Century AD onwards depicted
images of musicians, dancers, acrobats and romantic couples,
along with a variety of Deities;
But after 10th Century ****** themes began to make their mark
with depiction of sensuality!
Sensuality and ****** interaction in temples of Khajuraho and
Konarak has been displayed without inhibition;
As Tantric ideas on compatibility of human sexuality with
human spirituality, fused into artistic depictions!
Religion got based on a healthy and egalitarian acceptance
of all activities without ****** starvation;
For the emotional health and well-being of society, without
hypocritical denial or inhibition!
(’Stupas’= originated from ancient burial mounds, later became devotional Buddhist sites with holy relics, & external decorative gateways and carvings!)

KHJURAHO TEMPLE COMPLEX (950 - 1040 AD) :
Was built by the Chandela Rajputs in Central India,
When Khajuraho, the land of the moon gods, was the first
capital city of the Chandelas!
****** art covers ten percent of the temple sculptures,
Where both Hindu and Jain temples were built in the north-Indian
Nagara style of Architecture.
Out of the 85 temples only 22 have stood the vagaries of time,
Where a perfect fusion of aesthetic elegance and evocative
Kama-Sutra like ****** sculptural brilliance, - dazzle the eyes!

KONARAK SUN TEMPLE OF ORISSA - EAST COAST:
From the Khajuraho temple of love, we now move to the
Konark temple of *** in stones - as art!
Built around 1250 AD in the form of a temple mounted on
a huge cosmic chariot for the Sun God;
With twelve pairs of stone-carved wheels pulled by seven
galloping horses, symbolizing the passage of time under
the Solar God !
Seven horses for each day of the week, pulls the chariot
east wards towards dawn;
With twelve pairs of wheels representing the twelve calendar
months, as each cyclic day ushers in a new morn !
The friezes above and below the chariot wheels show military
processions, with elephants and hunting scenes;
Celebrating the victory of King Narasimhadeva-I over the
invading Muslims!
The ****** art and voluptuous carvings symbolizes aesthetic
bliss when uniting with the divine;
Following yogic postures and breathing techniques, which
Tantric Art alone defines!
(
Both Khjuraho & Konark temples were re-discovered by the
British, & are now World Heritage Sites!)

Artistic invention followed the model of cosmic creation;
Ancient Vedic tradition visualized the spirit of a joyous
self-offering with chants and incantations!
The world was understood to be a structured arrangement
of five elements of earth, water, fire, air, and ethereal space;
Where each element brought forth a distinct art-expression
with artistic grace!
Element of Sculpture was earth, Painting the fluidity of water,
Dance was transformative fire, Music flowed through the air,
and Poetry vibrated in ethereal space!

CONCLUDING INTRODUCTION TO INDIAN ART:

Indian Art is like a prism with many dazzling facets,
I have only introduced the subject with its symbolism,
- without covering its complete assets!
After my Part Three on ‘Etruscan and Roman Art’,
Christian and Byzantine Art was to follow;
But following request from my few poet friends I have
postponed it for the morrow!
Traditional Indian Art survives through its sculptures,
architecture, paintings and folk art, ever evolving with
the passing of time and age;
Influenced by Buddhist, Jain, Muslim, Mogul, and many
indigenous art forms, enriching India’s cultural heritage!
While the art of our modern times constitutes a separate
Contemporary phase !
The juxtaposition of certain concepts and forms might
have appeared a bit intriguing,
But the spiritual content and symbolism in art answers
our basic artistic seeking!
The other aspects of Indian Art I plan to cover at a later
date,
Hope you liked my Introduction, being posted after
almost forty days!
ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH RAJ NANDY
E-Mail: rajnandy21@yahoo.
    FEW COMMENTS BY POETS ON 'POETFREAK.COM' :-
I have a vicarious pleasure going through your historical journey of Indian art! Thanks for sharing this here! 2 Mar 2013 by Ramesh T A | Reply

The prism of Indian Art is indeed has myriads of facets and is an awesome mixture of many influences some of which you list here so clearly - a very understandable presentation of symbolism too - -thank you for your fine effort Raj. 2 Mar 2013 by Fay Slimm | Reply

Oh what an interesting read with immense information capturing every single detail. You painted this piece of art with utmost care. Truly, it's works Raj…tfs 2 Mar 2013 by John Thomas Tharayil | Reply

First, I have to say, the part about the lotus symbolism reminds me – My name ‘NILOTPAL’ can be split into ‘NIL’ meaning BLUE and ‘UTPAL’ meaning LOTUS. So my name represents wisdom (although it contradicts ME.. LOL). A lot of things were mentioned in the veda and other ancient Indian texts that were way ahead of the time Like the idea of ‘velocity of light’ got considerable mention in the rig veda-Sahan bhasya, ‘Elliptical order of planets, ‘Black holes’ , although these are the scientific aspects. The emphasis on contradictory elements or even the idea of opposites in Indian art is interesting because India developed the mathematical concept of ‘Zero’ and ‘infinity’. Hard to believe Rajasthan was a fertile place but now it possesses its own beauty. It was great to read about the Natraja, ‘OM’ and the trident(Trishul). Among symbolisms, Lord Ganseha is my favorite because a lot is portrayed in that one image like the MOOSHIK representing
When I composed the History of Western Art in Verse & posted the series on 'Poetfreak.com', few Indian poet friends requested me to compose on Indian Art separately. I am posting part one of my composition here for those who may like to know about Indian Art. Thanks & best wishes, -Raj
I am so thrilled!
David and I discovered
a big patch of woodland
a few blocks from our home
David and I held hands
as we entered the forest sanctum
crossing over a few curly
entwining vines
the forest opened up
to natural pine needle paths
spiraling through sheer enchantment
the magnificent aroma of
designer pine perfume
sweetened our every step
and the O2 was off the charts
O what a heaven sent
medicine for the spirit!
we paused amidst this splendor
to lift our hearts to the
incredible divine essence
imbuing everything chanting
with reverence and great gusto
Om Om Om
jeffrey robin Oct 2013
O
Om

O
Om

........

Many the years

(O
Om)



You know One Thing

(That I will always be here)

••

I only want to ask you of yourself

••

I seen the Child

She looked at me

WHAT WAS SEEN?  I GOT TO KNOW

••

Who I am?

What are you?

••

Oh my god!

INSANITY!!

..

O
Om

O
Om

••

(Is anybody HOME?)

••

We love and then we are gone

We are walking down some road

Look!  Here we are!

I see you
Do you see me?

(-----She laughs and then she's gone!-----)

••

O
Om

O
Om

••

If there's a god I'm going there

If there's a god
Please come along

••

O
Om

O
Om
Fah Aug 2013
(via phatphilosophers)

(via phatphilosophers)

(via phatphilosophers)
jeffrey-lebowski:

Untitled by Yayoi Kusama.
Acrylic on canvas, 45.5 x 38.0 cm. Signed and dated 1993
jeffrey-lebowski:
Untitled by Yayoi Kusama.
Acrylic on canvas, 45.5 x 38.0 cm. Signed and dated 1993
(via phatphilosophers)

These are the days that must happen to you.
Walt Whitman, from Leaves Of Grass (via violentwavesofemotion)
(via phatphilosophers)
18 HOURS AGO / LARMOYANTE
axiatonal:

Canola Flowers Field, China
axiatonal:
Canola Flowers Field, China
(via awaveofbliss)

(via awaveofbliss)

whatisadvertising:
What would modern technology and social networks look like if they were vintage ads
This is a post gathered Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, Skype, iMac, Nintendo Wii and Sony Playstation as if they were vintage ads.
(via thebronxisburning)
aplacetofindlife:

Someone Should Start Laughing
I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: How are you?  I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: What is God? If you think that the Truth can be known From words, If you think that the Sun and the Ocean Can pass through that tiny opening Called the mouth,
O someone should start laughing! Someone should start wildly Laughing Now!- Hafiz
aplacetofindlife:
Someone Should Start Laughing

I have a thousand brilliant lies
For the question:
How are you?

I have a thousand brilliant lies
For the question:
What is God?

If you think that the Truth can be known
From words,

If you think that the Sun and the Ocean
Can pass through that tiny opening Called the mouth,

O someone should start laughing!
Someone should start wildly Laughing Now!

- Hafiz
(via cosmic-rebirth)

meditationsinwonderland:
Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche, We Should All Be Feminists
How could I not reblog this?
(Source: bakongo)
1 day ago – 234,004 notes

artismyempire:
gentledom:
A wonderful analogy.
What I shall do today.
(Source: boyqueen, via thebronxisburning)
1 day ago – 30,054 notes

(Source: maryhadalittleblunt, via awaveofbliss)
1 week ago – 81 notes
beachsloth:

SYNESTHESIA by Joshua Espinoza
                God watches everyone’s first kiss. Although God used to be an awesome God He’s been a bit lazier as the years have progressed. Long ago God felt that raining frogs on Egypt was cool. People were turned into pillars of salt for looking at the destruction of their towns. Now God isn’t into that whole vengeful thing. Rather He realizes the importance of free will and understands it is more important than any instruction manual.
                Dreams are the ultimate instructional manual. Sub-conscious hates being a sub. Sub-conscious wants to be dom-conscious. Unfortunately such things do not happen anymore. Drinking dreams from people is potentially delicious. Flab is the hallmark of a family man or woman. Their dreams have become realities. Mere impulses of creatures become vaguely self-sustaining then fully self-sustaining. Right in the heart is where the familial love lives. Floaters in the eyes are more than floaters. When one sees floaters they see ghosts. Floaters are ghosts for the vision-impaired.
                Afterlife is big into God. Death brings people closer to God. They live in God’s domain hoping for the best. From on high the angels live on the down low. Beneath angels are the exciting ones, the ones they can and do mess up. Humans are interesting for their ability to mess up all the time and somehow remain completely loved. Every human is made in God’s image. Once people come back to God they realize how much of their decisions were good, how the evil was more than counterbalanced by the good. Living in Earth tends to make people forget how fortunate they really are.
                The world hates leaving people behind. In Heaven everything is fine. From Heaven people can see themselves from light-years away. Such distance makes it easier to see what the right and wrong decision was. Death takes the people away. Online presences remain long after the body has left. Everything has a digital footprint entirely different from their real life footprint. Sometimes it is bigger and sometimes smaller. It depends on the lust for life.
                Kissing is a form of lust. Lips love each other. Lips like locking together. That is where the key to the heart comes from, from the lips. Words flow from the mouths of babes. Life means the words work well but the tones work better. Even babies understand the importance of tone. Words are meaningless. Tones are tender. People wrap themselves up in tones, in the environmental sounds that surround them for that is what it means to be alive: it means to interact.
beachsloth:
SYNESTHESIA by Joshua Espinoza
                God watches everyone’s first kiss. Although God used to be an awesome God He’s been a bit lazier as the years have progressed. Long ago God felt that raining frogs on Egypt was cool. People were turned into pillars of salt for looking at the destruction of their towns. Now God isn’t into that whole vengeful thing. Rather He realizes the importance of free will and understands it is more important than any instruction manual.
                Dreams are the ultimate instructional manual. Sub-conscious hates being a sub. Sub-conscious wants to be dom-conscious. Unfortunately such things do not happen anymore. Drinking dreams from people is potentially delicious. Flab is the hallmark of a family man or woman. Their dreams have become realities. Mere impulses of creatures become vaguely self-sustaining then fully self-sustaining. Right in the heart is where the familial love lives. Floaters in the eyes are more than floaters. When one sees floaters they see ghosts. Floaters are ghosts for the vision-impaired.
                Afterlife is big into God. Death brings people closer to God. They live in God’s domain hoping for the best. From on high the angels live on the down low. Beneath angels are the exciting ones, the ones they can and do mess up. Humans are interesting for their ability to mess up all the time and somehow remain completely loved. Every human is made in God’s image. Once people come back to God they realize how much of their decisions were good, how the evil was more than counterbalanced by the good. Living in Earth tends to make people forget how fortunate they really are.
                The world hates leaving people behind. In Heaven everything is fine. From Heaven people can see themselves from light-years away. Such distance makes it easier to see what the right and wrong decision was. Death takes the people away. Online presences remain long after the body has left. Everything has a digital footprint entirely different from their real life footprint. Sometimes it is bigger and sometimes smaller. It depends on the lust for life.
                Kissing is a form of lust. Lips love each other. Lips like locking together. That is where the key to the heart comes from, from the lips. Words flow from the mouths of babes. Life means the words work well but the tones work better. Even babies understand the importance of tone. Words are meaningless. Tones are tender. People wrap themselves up in tones, in the environmental sounds that surround them for that is what it means to be alive: it means to interact.
(via bluishtigers)
1 week ago – 74 notes

(Source: samsaranmusing)
1 week ago – 78 notes
maymonsturr:

My mantra.
maymonsturr:
My mantra.
(via cosmic-rebirth)
1 week ago – 568 notes
foxxxynegrodamus:

***
foxxxynegrodamus:
***
(Source: lnpfeed, via awaveofbliss)
1 week ago – 1,635 notes
cosmic-rebirth:

Live joyfully, make your life a dance, all the way to the grave.
cosmic-rebirth:
Live joyfully, make your life a dance, all the way to the grave.
(Source: cookiecarnival)
2 weeks ago – 22,305 notes
“The point is not to pay back kindness but to pass it on.”
– Julia Alvarez (via cosmic-rebirth)
(Source: amandaonwriting, via cosmic-rebirth)
2 weeks ago – 275 notes

(Source: diawf, via awaveofbliss)
2 weeks ago – 2,799 notes
bl4ckhippie:

Fly.
bl4ckhippie:
Fly.
(Source: rootsrukkus, via awaveofbliss)
2 weeks ago – 750 notes

(Source: lizzlizzcomics, via bluishtigers)
2 weeks ago – 110,456 notes
meditationsinwonderland:

ॐ flower child in Wonderland ॐ
meditationsinwonderland:
ॐ flower child in Wonderland ॐ
(Source: vegan-hippie)
2 weeks ago – 139,177 notes

(Source: jrich103, via cosmic-rebirth)
2 weeks ago – 4,848 notes

pleoros:
Helminadia Ranford - Guilin,China
(via hungryforworld)
2 weeks ago – 329 notes
designgather:

Oak Room
Andy Goldsworthy
designgather:
Oak Room
Andy Goldsworthy
(via cosmic-rebirth)
2 weeks ago – 286 notes
miguu:
don’t be afraid.
lean into your genius.
let your own brilliance support you.
you are something
we have all been waiting to know.
please.
(via bluishtigers)
2 weeks ago – 339 notes

odditiesoflife:
Amazing Jabuticaba Tree
This is an incredible tree that bears its fruit directly on the main trunks and branches of the plant, lending a distinctive appearance to the fruiting tree. The jabuticaba (Plinia cauliflora) is a fruit-bearing tree native to Minas Gerais and São Paulo in southeastern Brazil. Otherwise known as the Brazilian Grape Tree, the jabuticaba is grown for its purplish-black, white-pulped fruits. They can be eaten raw or be used to make jellies and drinks, including juice and wine.
They are wonderful trees to have and are fairly adaptable to most environments but they grow extremely slow. Jabuticaba flowers are white and grow directly from its trunk, just like its fruit. The tree may flower and fruit only once or twice a year, but when continuously irrigated, it flowers frequently and fresh fruit can be available year round in tropical regions.
Common in Brazilian markets, jabuticabas are largely eaten fresh; their popularity has been likened to that of grapes in the US. Due to its extremely short shelf-life, fresh jabuticaba fruit is very rare in markets outside of areas of cultivation. So if you are ever in Brazil, be sure to try the incredibly tasty fruit called jabuticaba.
source 1, 2
(via hungryforworld)
2 weeks ago – 1,462 notes

(Source: samsaranmusing)
2 weeks ago – 118 notes

(Source: rorycwhatsyourthesis, via samsaranmusing)
2 weeks ago – 130,113 notes
oecologia:

Star Trails over Matterhorn (Switzerland) by Felix Lamouroux.
oecologia:
Star Trails over Matterhorn (Switzerland) by Felix Lamouroux.
(via samsaranmusing)

burningveins:
multicolors:
benskid:
Know where you stand.
Wow
This is kinda creepy..
(via hungryforworld)

Do not think you will necessarily be aware of your own enlightenment.
Zen Master Dogen - (1200- 1253) AD (via samsaranmusing)
2 WEEKS AGO
101fuymemes:

COLLECTION OF awesome CLOUDS
101fuymemes:
COLLECTION OF awesome CLOUDS
(via roslynoberholtzerbddd)

itscolossal:
Planetary Structural Layer Cakes Designed by Cakecrumbs

Do not resist events that move you out of your comfort zone, especially when your comfort zone was not all that comfortable.
Alan Cohen (via raeraenjma)
(via awaveofbliss)
4 WEEKS AGO / THE-HEALING-NEST
so apt
so apt
(via awaveofbliss)

(via awaveofbliss)
treewellie:

"The area between Kluane Lake and Haines Junction, Yukon, skirting the great cordillera of the Wrangell / St. Elias Mtn. range, is commonly productive of these stacked lenticular clouds … In late summer, as the sun begins to set around 11 PM, it’s beautiful to see these unique clouds, which are higher in altitude than their surrounding companions, catching the last peach coloured rays of the sun."
treewellie:
"The area between Kluane Lake and Haines Junction, Yukon, skirting the great cordillera of the Wrangell / St. Elias Mtn. range, is commonly productive of these stacked lenticular clouds … In late summer, as the sun begins to set around 11 PM, it’s beautiful to see these unique clouds, which are higher in altitude than their surrounding companions, catching the last peach coloured rays of the sun."
definitelydope:

BBQ on the balcony (by fernlicht)
definitelydope:
BBQ on the balcony (by fernlicht)
(via awaveofbliss)

Birth by Alex Grey
Birth by Alex Grey
(via receptive)

(via bluishtigers)

(via awaveofbliss)

There is a time and place for decaf coffee. Never and in the trash.
(via 17yr)
(via hungryforworld)
1 MONTH AGO / MIDWESTRAISEDMIDWESTLIVING
surreelust:

Man with His Skin by Peter Zokosky
surreelust:
Man with His Skin by Peter Zokosky
(via cosmic-rebirth)

Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul,
of the soul.
Rumi, from Who Am I?   (via bluishtigers)
(via bluishtigers)
1 MONTH AGO / VIOLENTWAVESOFEMOTION
xpudding:

xpudding:
(via cosmic-rebirth)

(via thebronxisburning)

(via cosmic-rebirth)
treewellie:

La costa de la luz by Francisco Mingorance
treewellie:
La costa de la luz by Francisco Mingorance

itscolossal:
Mirror City: A Kaleidoscopic Timelapse of Chicago, San Francisco, San Diego, Vegas and L.A. [VIDEO]

(via cosmic-rebirth)

awkwardsituationist:
gmb akash documents the 350 kilometre journey from dhaka to sylhet, bangladesh made by those who, unable to afford the price of a ticket or find room to ride inside, risk death by traveling atop and between train cars
(via suntochukwu)
purpleaggregates:

White Tara The female enlightened being of long life, wisdom and good fortune When I see the signs of untimely death, May I immediately receive the blessings of Arya Tara; And, having destroyed the Lord of Death, May I quickly attain the deathless vajra body. OM TARE TUTTARE TURE MAMA AYUR PUNAYE GYANA PUTRIM KURU YE SÖHA OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SÖHA
purpleaggregates:
White Tara
The female enlightened being of long life, wisdom and good fortune

When I see the signs of untimely death,
May I immediately receive the blessings of Arya Tara;
And, having destroyed the Lord of Death,
May I quickly attain the deathless vajra body.

OM TARE TUTTARE TURE MAMA AYUR PUNAYE GYANA PUTRIM KURU YE SÖHA
OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SÖHA
(via dancingdakini)

(via guerrillatech)
hungryforworld:

Monet’s Garden. Givery, France.
hungryforworld:
Monet’s Garden. Givery, France.

(via awaveofbliss)

(via cosmic-rebirth)

Internal and external are ultimately one. When you no longer perceive the world as hostile, there is no more fear, and when there is no more fear, you think, speak and act differently. Love and compassion arise, and they affect the world.
Eckhart Tolle (via samsaranmusing)
(via suntochukwu)
1 MONTH AGO / SAMSARANMUSING
malformalady:

The golden spiral of fungus. In geometry, a golden spiral is a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor is φ, the golden ratio. That is, a golden spiral gets wider (or further from its origin) by a factor of φ for every quarter turn it makes.
Photo credit: Devin Raber
malformalady:
The golden spiral of fungus. In geometry, a golden spiral is a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor is φ, the golden ratio. That is, a golden spiral gets wider (or further from its origin) by a factor of φ for every quarter turn it makes.
Photo credit: Devin Raber
(via deeperthansoul)
polaroidsf:

Welcome to Eden
polaroidsf:
Welcome to Eden

(via bouddra)

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of
meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for
your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
Marolle May 2015
drømmen om storbyslivet og drømmen om ****
mareridt om landsbylivet og mareridt om hvile
det var sådan jeg havde forestillet mig det
livet i byen versus livet i landet
min forestilling var korrekt i starten
nyt hjem, ny hverdag, nye bekendtskaber
jeg faldt på plads, jeg etablerede mig, jeg integrerede mig
jeg blev det menneske jeg ikke ville være
det menneske der altid er forjaget
det menneske der ikke har tid til at smile til folk på gaden
det menneske der ikke kan andet end at smalltalke
jeg blev det menneske jeg ikke ville være
endelig opdager jeg denne forvandling af mig selv
jeg husker, hvem jeg var engang
jeg husker de stille morgener, med den friske luft
jeg husker gåtur med mine forældres labrador
jeg husker roen
jeg husker smilene
jeg husker minder
jeg savner
jeg holder disse minder i live
jeg bliver mindet om dem ofte
specielt når jeg har de dårlige dage
når jeg så tilbringer tid med mine home-girls
da opdager jeg, at det er der jeg har gemt dem
alle minderne vi deler, alle minderne om drømmene
disse er splittet mellem personer fra landsbylivet
personer der kender mig fra mit gamle liv
disse personer søger jeg til på dårlige dage
for jeg blev det menneske jeg ikke ville være
nye bekendtskaber forsøger at forstå mine minder
og omvendt forsøger jeg at forstå deres
men det kan aldrig blive det samme
for vi har levet forskellige liv før vi mødtes
og forståelsen vil derfor aldrig være fuldendt
man kan snakke om her og nu begivenheder
og forsøge at skabe fælles minder
der kan snøre os sammen som et spindelvæv
eller et ekstra sikkerhedsnet
men nye bekendtskaber vil forevig og altid
minde mig om den jeg engang var og den jeg er blevet
for jeg er blevet det menneske jeg ikke ville være  

*(Marolle)
Kan ikke længere kende mig selv og føler ikke jeg har forandret mig til noget bedre og nyere. I går mødtes jeg med en barndomsveninde og følelsen af hjemme og gamle minder var fantastisk. Det kurerede mig for en tid, indtil nu.
'n lewe in konstruksie...
dis tog die mees logiese manier om dit te beskryf...
ons bou en bou en bou,
en toets dan die produk.

Maar aan die einde, as ons klaar gebou het...
wat is dan daarvan te kom.
                        'n Lee huis...
                                       'n stil pad...

en wat het ons van onself geleer?

En wat leer ons van die wereld en mense om ons
             , vasgevang in die stryd teen tyd...

niks nie.

Ons het net voor onself uitgekyk
                   na die vaal stene
                                   en die slukkerige sement.

Watter vreugde het dit vir ons gebring.

Niks nie.

Nee,
         ek weier.

Ons is tog hier geplaas met vrye wil.

En iewers langs die pad,
                                          raak almal die pad duister...
en word dan deur die samelewing verdoem.

Die mensdom besluit dan wat van hulle sal word...
In daardie oomblikke is God meer vergete
deur die skares wat saamdrom op die rand van die pad...
                                                                ­                                      die wat lag en vinger wys...
                                                                ­                                                      die wat klippe gooi,
                                                         as deur die wat die prentjie aanskou.

Soms kort ons 'n perspektief van uit die donker,
                          om die lig rerig te verstaan...

Soms moet ons eers die genadelose aanraking van die koue voel,
                           voordat ons die sagte streel van die son oor ons gesigte kan waardeur.

Daar le wysheid in die donker,
                                      want dit is in die donker waar jy aleen is,

                         met niemand om in jou oor te fluister wat reg of verkeerd is nie.

                                                                ­                                                      Net die wind om jou siel te sus,
                                                                ­                                               die stilte om jou uit te rus...

                                                 en niemand wat jou god kan wees
                                       of sy woorde
                                                          ­      en planne
                                                                ­                   vir jou kan uitmessel nie.

Die pad het die gevaar geraak.

Dis koud en korrupt.
                                     En ons is dankbaar,
         dat ons die kans gekry het om dit te sien,
terwyl ons stadig verswelg word deur die skadu's
                                                                ­                                             en wegsmelt in die donker...

want nou weet ons dat ons pyn maar net 'n gedeelte van die werklike hartseer was...

                                                               ­ ons is die gelukkiges...

en hulle loop op die pad na verdoemtenis
Den dag var det som om, at selv himlens blå bebrejdede min eksistens.
Regnen faldt anderledes. Det hele var anderledes.
Dem. Jeg. Hvem?
Jeg tror, at jeg bevægede mig -
Sørgede for ikke at se mig tilbage. Ej heller frem.
Forpustet, forkommen, forladt. Blå.
begyndte jeg at se monstre i spejlet
i stedet for under sengen som ja, dengang.
Fortroligheder var gemt i gulvsprækkerne, hvilke der viskede historier til væggene om stort og blåt.
Om hvordan længere ud, ikke var langt nok.
Om at der kun var mig, og at ej heller det var nok.
Om at blive afhængig, og hvordan organer skæres.
Om hvordan to fingre i halsen og et sind i krig kan romantiseres.
Om at samvittigheden bliver for ivrig.
At vi skal knuselske alt blåt,
at det aldrig bliver blåt nok,
at vi en dag nok skal blive væk.
Ensomhedsabstinenser
Tobias Engkvist Dec 2014
Float in silence
Feel the currents flow

Wishing for words of substance to pour
Is empty grasping, nothing more

Trembling lips utter only stutters
And stumble over sentences out worn

Let the waves settle
Hear the winds whisper for better weather

As a child of the sky
Realize that the ocean in which we’re drowning

Is the mirror reflecting the stars
And we are the horizon

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om
Om Shanti ocean mirror flow
Transcendence. A word to pay attention to.
To find that transcendence in you,
that feeling within,
that's the genius behind poetry.

Transport. A word to pay attention to.
To find that transport in you, that vehicle within,
that's the transport self to find the genius in poetry.

Transparence. A word to pay attention to.
To find that transparence in you,
that light within, that's the genius in poetry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have written these lines first in DUTCH
(my mother tongue) then in English:

Transcendence.
Een woord om aandacht te besteden aan.
Om dat transcendentie in u te vinden, dat gevoel
van binnen, dat is het genie achter poëzie.

Transporteren.
Een woord om aandacht te besteden aan.
Om dat transport in je, dat voertuig binnenin,
dat is het vervoer zelf om het genie in de poëzie
te vinden.

Transparantie.
Een woord om aandacht te besteden aan.
Om dat transparantie in u, dat licht binnenin
te vinden, dat is het genie in poëzie.




© Sylvia Frances Chan~~
Thursday 13th March 2014
17.17 hrs p.m. W.E.Time
Very Sunny temperatures, like in Summer
but no Spring yet, still cold freezing Nights
L S Tesler Sep 2015
hvis jeg engang glemmer, hvordan luften dufter om efteråret, hvordan sand føles mellem mine tæer eller hvordan en hånd på min kind skaber ro i mit sind, så fortæl mig det hele. fortæl mig hvordan jeg plejede at tale om alt, hvad jeg synes er så fantastisk og hvad jeg tænker, når hele min krop er træt og jeg kun kan hviske mine ord. fortæl mig hvordan vi lå i timevis med mine ben over dine og mine læber på din nakke, hvordan ordene "jeg elsker dig" aldrig blev slidte på vores tunger, hvordan jeg altid talte om eventyr udenfor og du altid ville grine af mig og ryste på hovedet fordi du vidste at jeg i virkeligheden hellere ville ligge i vores utallige dyner i utallige timer, som var hver dag en søndag. fortæl mig hvordan jeg altid druknede i dine øjne og blev stum i hele minutter, og hvordan jeg ville tale i søvne om alle de ting jeg aldrig siger, selvom jeg slet ikke behøver fordi du allerede ved det. fortæl mig hvordan min hånd passede så perfekt i din, at alle klichéer om den eneste ene blev til virkelighed hver gang din hånd fandt vej til min. fortæl mig hvordan vi kunne grine til vores øjne løb i vand og vores maver var ømme, og hvordan vi kunne falde i søvn i hinandens omfavnelser fordi trygheden gjorde os søvnige. fortæl mig om alle de syndige øjeblikke vi har delt, og hvordan vores kroppe smelter sammen, når lyset er slukket. fortæl mig hvordan jeg aldrig kunne undvære dig og hvordan det aldrig var smertefrit at forlade dig, når du stod i mine natbukser og med uglede krøller. fortæl mig især hvordan vores læber var bløde og om alle vores lange kys, der aldrig skulle være endt. fortæl mig hvordan resten af verden altid var så ligegyldig, når bare vi havde hinanden. fortæl mig at du elsker mig, og at du aldrig vil gå. så kan jeg huske igen
Ari Dec 2011
OM
Om
In The Beginning
Sound
needed a medium
for dissemination
space and time
was born.
As I sleep sitting cross legged I know these things to be Truth.
All things consist of matter
matter of molecules
molecules of atoms
atoms of  atomic particles
atomic particles of subatomic particles
subatomic particles composed of strings
yes strings
the vibrations of strings at certain resonant frequencies --
Sound
I’m referring to Sound --
accounts for the creation of all things
all things composed of matter --
I matter You matter --
and Sound is the variation of pressure waves propagating through matter
through You, and Me, We
are hereby beings of Sound
Per-Son
Earth, Sun
the birth hum permeates us all
all things soak in the amniotic ocean of Sound
it is the background, the foreground, before Sound
was Silence
Silence is the antithesis of hissing existence sibilance is diametrically opposed to nothingness antimatter to matter in an asymmetrical universe.
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there as witness, it still fell and the timbre transpired, to be
is not to be seen, perception exists within existence
Real is a three inch wide magnetized Mobius Strip spinning counterclockwise in a corroding
centrifuge of perception carbon dated to The Beginning
and The Beginning occurs every second
in an umbrella opening in a firestorm
the collision of soapy bubbles
clay in a snow kiln
uranium decaying
a sari being wrapped
the chopping of wood
ice capped volcanoes
an oily rainbow
the exposure of negatives
the grinding of coffee beans
a cobra swaying
You can charm a cobra by biting an apple
the blur of sweat and palms on stretched animal skins
congas bongos tablas djembes tom toms snares timpani
hands at warp speeds in an innate rhythm inundating time
four four two four four three seven eight twelve o’clock
what is time to Sound but a permanent witching hour for feet to frenzy?
each stomp a falling star that sears a crater, each crater a subwoofer for the Earth’s movements
Sound is time being rendered elastic
quantized digitized equalized filtered phased distorted compressed processed
time has been tamed
fast forwarded paused rewound slow motioned skipped
from one timeline to another, Sound is the de-lineation of time
the unraveling of space the curling of dimensions dementia in rhyme
minds are traveling back to the present, pre sent from the future, the future has passed
We are light, massed
night is just another shadow our auras cast
mating calls
jarred halos
woodwinds in an airlock
disemboweled factories
pyramids of electric chairs
pipelines in the desert
grief slumped shoulders
paper lanterns in a whirlpool
poems read in darkness
laughs sobs shrieks cries cackles yelps howls laughs whimpers
worlds ending with a BANG
an infinite piece quantum philharmonic orchestra clamoring to be heard over the revolution of the spheres
We sing
reverberating to replace Saturn’s rings
every single note a secret love letter passed ear to ear read instantly
all sounds converging to singularity
an accretive disc of sonic entropy spinning around one point
all We have left to do is drop the needle
call
and let the response cascade into us
Chain Gang of the Universe swinging old ***** spirituals
the momentum of our pulsing song accelerates beyond relativity
the amplitude of our vibration transmits from soul to womb
each newborn tongue blessed with a honeyed Om
My son, Your daughter, I taught her, You taught him
and now they can play cat’s cradle with their strings
tap dance on quarks and make fiddlesticks sing
So even now the Rabbis sing
Hear O Israel, the Lord is Sound…
As I sleep sitting cross legged I know this Truth to be all things.
Om
jeffrey robin Oct 2015
we





Born of the midnight

FIRE

)(

( lasting )                          

::              ::

                                       ( We ain't never going

               Anywhere )

-"

Holy waters

( Where the saints are bathing )

//

Birth & death

AND ALL THE REST

)(

Don't matter anymore

::||::




                       You and            ANYBODY ELSE

( Dancing )

)(

It all quite simple

)(

Feeling !

The very

First moment

Of creation

""

When you knew all the

Conditions

To be met

•    •

oh oh oh

Oh
Oh
Oh

---

oh Om oh Om oh Om

//

She of the uncovered breast

Sacred in her purity

She of the most enlightened

GENEROSITY
llcb Dec 2014
Petrichor lugten af eftertænksomhed.
De dage hvor du åbner dit vindue en lille anelse
minder dig om alle de store dele – såsom du er en lille del af en del.
Universets uendelighed som er uendeligt ubegribeligt og uhåndterligt.
Tid og tider, som kan betænkes i større uendeligheder en selve stjerners hjem.

De stjerner som minder dig om at almægtige ting findes uden at prale.
De lyser jo kun når alt andet sover.

Fortæller dig alt uden egentlig at fortælle dig noget.

Kun fra åben himmel mindes du om; at storme og solskin, ravmørke og blændende lys eksisterer under samme åbne tag.
Kun fra åben himmel mindes du om; at verden skal erfares ud fra din erfaring om at erindringer skaber erfaring om eksistensen.
Den smukke eksistens, som du kender men kun eftermæles når du åbner ud til og ser med mere en bare blå små nethinder.

Jeg byder CO2 og alverdens støj velkommen, så længe at reinkarneret regn og vild vind trænger gennem mit vindues sprække og stjerner fra tid til anden praler for mig i mørket, når man som jeg synes at natten bruges bedre med en Marlboro cigaret og halvkold kaffe i hånden, end dagen med stress i sindet.

Mit vindue står ihvertfald åbent, fordi eftertænksomheden skal erfares.
Star BG Mar 2018
Om Svayam Agurutva.
Lightness is my true self,
is whispered in mantra of a meditative stance.
I ground radiating the thought with every breath.
In moment that unfolds with peacefulness and wisdom.

Om Svayam Agurutva.
Lightness is my true self,
is echoed to align and ground with nature.
And what a grand carousel I ride
purging that which is heavy.
Moving to Om my way in harmony
below rainbow skies.

Om Svayam Agurutva.
Lightness of true self,
reverberates in mind and body.
A tool for peace that anchors day
for miracles to blossom.
inspired by a Chopra Center's meditation
Victoria Wilhelm Aug 2019
din historie rodfæster en sandhed i mig
om cigarrøg og fremmede mennesker
deres magt over kønnet og min krop

i forestillingen;
jeg mister arme
jeg ser mit kød hvordan det forsvinder
               (det nemme er at falde fra)

indersiden af låret  
mavens rundhed    brysternes buen     ansigtets rene træk

mine læber; deres måde at skille på

nu vender jeg dem altid på vrangen før jeg går ud

i alle disse berøringer
disse berøringer
i én smeltet masse af hud og hår



I just want you to know (jeg ser ikke længere hendes ansigt)


i minderne;
kun krop
kun krop
kun krop



der vokser et svigt i mig

i mine øjenvipper
når jeg græder tårer   som rammer andres hudlag

diffunderer
fra væske til følelse til en berøring to mennesker imellem

vores relation er ikke andet end tag på hud
og afstumpede nik gennem bevoksede ***  



I metroen;
altid metroen et ikke *** vi kører imod

et transportmiddel der opsluger. du kan se det i øjnene på disse ”mennesker” i ikke-rummet.

og ud på skinnerne, de drømmer, stigende over kanten. En stemme;

attention à la marche en descendant du train

og jeg retter opmærksomhed, for jeg stoler mere og mere  på stemmer uden ansigter
på højtalermagt
end på alle de mennesker, jeg kender.



I metroen;

jeg er så træt af at være træt af hans opførsel

catcalling som fænomen, der stammer fra metroens ikke-***
det må det gøre !

den opslugende kraft, han kan lugte den den hænger i luften,
og alle er usikre

må man gerne efterlade sit liv inden man stiger ind?

attention à ton corps et ta voix

du ved aldrig hvilket ansigt han bærer



det er en forventning om at være utilpas, der bor i mig.
en forventning om
at blive catcallet
at mærke fremmede mænds hænder på min krop
at iklæde mig tøj jeg tør gå alene hjem i
at sove på gulvet hos venner for at undgå natbussen



jeg ved godt
at ikke alt er mit eget valg



og jeg brækker mig i metroen i en uber på gaden i min egen opgang

og jeg skammer mig over skammen

den skam forbundet med fremmedes ord og handlinger



du ventede engang på boulevard Saint-Denis
og en mand spurgte dig om hvor meget du kostede for at være hans

én hel nat

og det tog mig én hel dag at forstå din tavshed overfor ham

han kan ikke gå og forvente at alle kvinder på gaden potentielt kan være hans til den rette pris

VI EJER IKKE HINANDEN

OG JEG ER TRÆT AF MIG SELV

NÅR JEG LØBER VEJEN FRA MIN METRO TIL MIN HOVEDDØR

og ånder lettet op
        bag en låst dør

— The End —