Subjunctive Dreams!

Subjunctive dreams,

Creamy lips,

Slip ups,

Taking the churned out sea to play a bucket list,

Twists, mists turns burns,

The last rhyme was time’s name,

This one is mine,

I wrote it when you were asleep, Continue reading “Subjunctive Dreams!”

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Destiny and Healing!

सुर्त कलारी भई मत्वारि, मधुआ पी गई बिन तोले !

My soul has become a bar where it drinks honey without measuring itself. 

–Kabir

Zaza: Dear master, what is destiny?

Logos: Destiny is what happens.

Zaza: And if nothing ever happens.

Logos: There is no destiny.

Zaza: If there are voices confirming certain events related to you?

Logos: That’s how all facts work. That’s how destiny works. Though in case of an awakening it’s observed that on a blank screen many people write many things and it’s the destiny of people coloring the canvass. Not the destiny of witness. Continue reading “Destiny and Healing!”

Forever!

Actions speak,

Louder than words,

They say;

When words are actions,

The loudness ceases;

Volumes freeze,

When actions are words they’re the one,

When word is action they burn,

Forever.

Bypassing ICU!

I bypass miracles which I,

Once counted with bullet,

Heads as life operates,

On my heart,

Yet again,

I see you in,

ICU,

This machine drills through,

Layers of reality,

Fragrant smokes stands still,

Kittens meow sweet,

Tweeting birds return to familiar nests,

Life’s threads visible and,

Rouge marmalade,

Symphony profuse eternity,

I see you,

Weaving another sweater for me,

As we cross roads hand-in-hand,

Yesterday’s tea I drink now,

It’s still hot,

Today’s song will reach you tomorrow,

The song has myriads of threads,

No devotees.  Voltage,

Fluctuates kings, queens, subjects,

A million and one tales,

Pour all at once through my ears,

As I see song of hummingbird,

Wandering through chromatic orchestra,

Chromes chromosomes, missives, interfaces,

Violet, indigo, orange and blue,

Describe their scribe. 

The Nature of Fiction!

Zaza: Dear master I read a story when I was very young. There was a rationer who had mickey mouses in his shop and he was troubled because of them. There came a flutist and he helped him by playing his flute so beautifully that all rodents followed him to a river.  They died there maybe I don’t remember. When the time to pay the piper came the merchant refused and the piper again played the pipe and this time it was not rodents. 

Logos: I get the gist of what you’re saying. That was in your English textbook. There is only one piper and only one flute and stories there are infinite and infinite layers. You may call them dreams. They’re eternally new ever so fresh ever so riveting. We are painting a picture in which we are being painted by painters who are and aren’t in the picture at the same time. Such is the nature of fiction. Consonance.  Continue reading “The Nature of Fiction!”

Deletion of Impressions!

Zaza: Dear master how do impressions get deleted in the awakening process?

Logos: This is a very good question. Pat yourself on back for having asked that because this is where pain, suffering and its end awaits. The awakening energy is the thread connecting all life in the cosmos. It’s what buddhists call buddha nature. It’s your extremely subtle consciousness. Tantra and yogic literature also calls it Kundalini, Atma, Soul, Superconsciousness and by many other names. Until this thread starts working in human beings they’re asleep. The energy is called Avidya or ignorance in such a state because it keeps absorbing all the shocks from the environment as it acts like a buffer for them and the system remains insensitive. This doesn’t let people feel pain and suffering in its completely repelling and shocking brutality. There’s no compassion for oneself or others in such a stage.  Continue reading “Deletion of Impressions!”

The Thirteen Letters of Amnesia!

Zaza: What about Sammy Jenkins?

Logos: Nothing. Not much. The moment I held my eyes upon him I found a resemblance to a Buddha. Anterograde  amnesia isn’t perfect enlightenment. He was trying too hard to hold onto the memory of his wife. Only sweet memory he had. Would an enlightened consciousness hold such images? Try hard to grasp something–be it an image or the sweetest of memories? Impressions are deleted faster than they get created. Nothing remains in it. It’s like a baby with big twinkling eyes–every flashy object attracts its attention to the fullest until it’s taken out of its vision by some force–natural or man-made. The next adventure seems to be the best adventure it ever had and it’s always so. And there’s no going back though there’s a part- very humane which would love to live like a normal human being–repent, lust after things, crave pleasures, be mischievous and make goals for future. The life current wipes slate clean for Sammy Jenkins. Obscurantist pretense.   

The Final Deja Vu Was Not A Blow On Head Because It Never Was!

Zaza: Let me tell you what you already know in the heart of your hearts. It’s no secret. It’s not planted numbers. It’s not planted images. It’s not planted epiphanies. It’s not even Cipher. It’s not those brilliantly twinkling bewitching eyes of yours. It’s my knowing beyond an iota of doubt that I have been here before. It’s the strongest of deja vus ever. Not when appellations sync or cogent interlocutors weave translucent prophecies a few hours ahead. But when I read the algorithm. The safe haven. I’ve been here before. Another displaced song. Misplaced rhyme. It’s not me, you or anyone else making anyone else convinced that we create, or not or anything in between. It’s not that. I can’t tell you what it’s for you know it very well.  Continue reading “The Final Deja Vu Was Not A Blow On Head Because It Never Was!”

Emerald Bubbles!

Zaza:

Two poetess met in a cafe and ordered a latte which they shared with a straw.

Donna: Who is your muse darling? I see your poetry has changed a lot lately and it’s for better I guess.

Primma: Pain. Who is yours?

Donna: Mine is a pain in the ass.

Primma: Is he loyal?

Donna: Like a dog. And yours?

Primma: Like a spoon. 

They finish the coffee they were sharing and Donna keeps the straw in her bag as a keepsake. This shake was a memorable conversation as she was bubbling with frosty ideas to write a series of poems now. Primma went to a parlor which was right in front of the cafe. Eerie music was playing in the background and thunder made both of them shudder with the rush of ecstatic current down their spine. It was raining and they had no umbrella with them. They were shivering with cold as they said goodbye to each other. The story made no sense but they kept living it for many more days to come. Who needed a sense when it was fetching deluge of ideas?  Continue reading “Emerald Bubbles!”

The Crooked Spoon!

Zaza: Azure fallow fellow fall low now owl all in all wow!

Logos: The hummingbird hums.

Zaza: Mandolin mandoline redolent do lines.

Logos: Mandarin daring darling ring and.

Zaza: Pinafore anaphora aforesaid jumper LED.

Logos: Trilogue logarithmic epilogue pile soliloquy. Continue reading “The Crooked Spoon!”