On Being Conducted 

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In the sympathy of the Absolute
Mozart or Shakespeare didn’t know
How beautiful the categories
That makes a heart full with her genius
Or how a person can fly inside
In free-associating with our highest destiny

Sometimes we just follow whispers
And hit notes of mysterious Poetry
Or find a beautiful day to make music
And in the solitude of an ending meditate
I remember the feeling of internal seekers
That always wanted me to push on

And the petitions for more revelations
From the internal holy ghosts
I remember how certain emotions
Evoke a sense of wonder and how
The miracles drove me to visit the spot
Where God stood on his heels for me

And I felt the full gravity of time
And philosophy insisted to meet me as my guest
In the simplicity of what I believed was destiny.

The Separate Notebooks


The moment, an eternal figment
Abides in writing, somewhere
In the script that set our mind apart
Forgotten, were conventions of literature

All was like an embassy of poetry
Where the full moon rolls out and
Like the ritual of kissing, we salute
The huge reflected umbrella of the stars

Down into the river banks
Of a midsummer night, the Earth
A blanket of supernatural powers
While your endless flowing of words

Carries on for however many years
You are given, the moment endures:
The moment only, an eternal fragment
That you shared with all that shares

As speakers of the living, as the bells
In sunken cities of ancient lands
The future comes sooner than expected
To the Separate Notebooks of
The imagination without bounds.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Calm-411050240

Who never lost, cannot win


Who never lost, do not know –
The thirst that will never be quenched
Plato’s fires in the weary league of Shakespeare
The Greatness that stretches

To the Revolutionary Day?
Who never lost, are unprepared
For the tragedy of a dull life
The cooling tamarind, the gazing tumeric

A legion of spices sought, in vain?
Who never knew, the Royal scars –
The lovers who left, loved in vain!
We are all soldiers in our hearts

With love on our brow, and not always
The Will to overcome, common ruins;
Who never lost, do not fathom more.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/sleeping-on-the-cold-dirt-392663547