Not a day goes by

Not a day goes by, when we do not all yearn.
But simply that, with the seeming satisfaction of fullsomeness,
the yearning sinks from the subconscious to unconscious.
And it is no yearning, that not all, aware or unaware, are not already aware of.

It is food,
The energy that makes our body
The energy that makes our minds
The energy that makes us
The energy that makes.
What energy makes that energy?
Is it not food, do we not yearn for it?

What do they speak of, the mystics
We may not understand.
But,
do we not understand our own self?
The desire to consume that energy everyday.
Being consumed by that energy everyday.
And,
even if its seeming abundance, makes us forget that dance of yearning.
Do we not understand?
The being of that energy everyday.
Everyday, being the being of that energy.
That energy,
which burns in the sun,
which burns in the stars,
which burns in the manipura,
and propels out the muladhara.

It is, what can not be created
It is, what can not be destroyed
It is, what can be only converted from one form to another
It is.

Far

Far is as far or as near as the horizon
Beams of naked moonlight hit the farthest waves
Their proximity from the shore relative only to the distances our minds can contemplate

Fountain of love

May we be the fountain of love,
spread as far as the world,
showering indiscriminately.

Light of the other side / Khusro dariya prem ka

Not all non-visible parts of the moon lie in darkness
And those that do, do not lie in it forever

Its cycles are the life
Ephemeral, to the beauty, of the universe
Ephemeral, to the beauty, of the verse
Ephemeral, to beauty

Its cycles are the life
Eternal, in every moment lived
Eternal, in every blessing given or received
Eternal, while eternity lasts before it leaves

Spirituality is not dead
It lies in the light of the other side
Rather it relies on it

Love is not dead
It lies in the light of the other side
Behind the light in your eyes
To
Beyond the light in your eyes

My existence
Our existence
In the ocean of that love
Does not end when we sink in it
It merges

At the brink of reality

At the brink of reality
where boundaries are hazy
when boundaries become hazy
and images become hazy.
Images of lazy Sunday afternoons
spent doing nothing on university squares
with friends,
of friends
are brought to mind.

In dreams
In the reality of dreams
followed closely on
by dreams of reality,
that surprise,
may astound,
someone, not keenly having observed them in.
But to me they seem
to so naturally follow
from everything that happened,
from last evening,
after the realization of sunset
that occurred in a distant part of the world
I might not currently be in.
But that exists nonetheless.

That magical sunset that transpires
every evening at the Isla del Sol
That magical sunset that ought transpire
in every Isla del Soul
of us thanking everything beautiful
Why do we not?

But in the reflection of those memories
which bring to consciousness
that there is nothing
That there is nothing so as unbelievable
That all belief is there of all right now
as it has been ever,
if we think about it.

Simple!

All

somewhere far but not so
somewhere alone but not so

i gently place my head
in the wide lap of the mother
one of many possibly
but still one in being
still one in being mother
and listen
to the deep silence
which in it containes
the ebbs and floods of my heartbeat
of my heart beat

and penetrate the silence
that no one can
but not by being one
by being all
as i hum and call
resonating with the hum of all
resonating the hymn of all
i sound with all
resound with all
though none be around me
i am bound with all
somewhere far but not so
somewhere alone but not so
i am found with all

Mother tree

Is it true they cut it down?
is it true they cut down
the mother tree?

is it true they leave to none
is it true they leave for none
leave not a leave of the mother tree?

is it true they are not aware
of how sad and lonesome i will be?
or is it true that they do not care for you and me
nor do they care for the mother tree?

she showers love of fruits and flowers
from apples and oranges and cherry trees,
protects us from the blazing shine
when father sun is angry
and joins us swinging in the dance
to the wind with merry glee

maybe it is not they hear
maybe it is not they feel
maybe it is not they see
that she is the mother tree
and all she wants is to be free

please, oh please,
why will they not let her be?
is it true they cut it down?
is it true they cut down the mother tree?