The nomad moves on...

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Time to move on, move on again…

Another halt in the nomad's journey ends,
That road beckons again,
Into the unknown, uncharted…

Two months of reminisces, the baggage,
Recollections of a new city, the city of joy,
New surroundings, new songs…

Some old friends, many re-discovered friends,
Certain new friendships…

A few goals achieved, so many remain…

A sprinkling of tears, a bagful of smiles,
Many everlasting memories…

As the road beckons,
And it's time to move on, move on again…

And words are all I have...

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It’s only words,
And words are all I have…

To create a smile,
Radiance of a face,
Illuminating the void…

To articulate a voice,
Mellifluousness of a song,
Breaking the silence…

To conjure a presence,
Cavort of an apparition,
Shattering the desolation…

To paint a dream,
Draped in poetic finery,
Adorning the walls of nothingness…

It’s only words,
And words are all I have…

Faith

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Faith…when circumstances test your mettle,
And onlookers questioning glances nettle;

When the preposterousness of situations compel,
Undertaking the onerous role of a rebel;

Despite the hurricane hitting you in the face,
Sticking on obdurately to the race;

When the world assumes you’re down and out,
To come back unyielding for the next bout…

Faith in yourself, in your abilities, in your goal,
Faith to disregard the whole world and take control,
Faith in the faith of others who still trust you;
Trust this faith to safely carry you through…

Seeking Conflict!

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The intense desire for that flight of fantasy,
Yet an unflinching faith in precision for the flight;

Fanatical search for fetterless freedom,
Yet contraption of discipline, chief weapon in that hunt;

The natural love for wild, unordered random,
Yet grasp of the random only by methods in chaos;

Abstracted wonder at the mysteries of creation,
Yet clarity of comprehension a must to create…

Strange at times is the plight of the seeker,
Struggling in conflict between path and goal,
Yet with outstretched arms he invites such conflicts,
For conflict, the engine of seeking…very often its heart and soul!

Chakravyuh

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Inveigled into being born;
Chased into school, college, university;
Ambushed into the humdrums of society;
Coerced into growing up;
Wheedled into marriage;
Cajoled into parenthood;
Beguiled by the mirage of livelihood;
Constrained into responsibility;
Deception of moving ahead;
Vulnerability of age;
Despondency of forsakenness;
And then inveigled again…inveigled into the arms of death.

Life's Chakravyuh, break it if you really care to live!

This Angst

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This angst...

At being ignorant,
Thrust into a flight over which I have no control,
Forced to accept the imposition of a will not my own,
At being unable, unable to break out…

At having to accede,
Since the order comes couched in veneration,
Show of respect where deserved is none,
At being unable, unable to say no…

At being a mute spectator,
As weeds proliferate in the gardens,
And the stream of logic is deliberately drowned,
At being unable, unable to shout out…

This angst,
At being maimed, gagged, persecuted and incapacitated,
At my own numbness,
At being unable…

This fire shall light my pyre certainly,
But will it, will it ignite even a single beacon somewhere?

Suppose

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Suppose she never faltered in her stride,
Never equivocated, never went adrift,
Before finding her way;

Suppose she were never vain,
Never petulant, never moody,
Before being her affable self;

Suppose she were never silly,
Never imprecise, never inane,
Before assuming the pedestal of intelligence;

Suppose she were always in control,
Never ruffled, never rattled,
Before recovering her familiar composure;

Suppose she were the “ideal” god,
The perfect embodiment of everything perfect,
Never a fault, never a failing…

In this world of bungling humans,
She surely would have many more worshippers,
More disciples, more devotees...

But not me, not me for sure.
For what god is she in this world of mortals,
If she can’t, can’t for a while be a bungling mortal herself!

Great short stories

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http://www.bnl.com/shorts/

My Freedom

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In every flitter of the butterfly,
Every song of the soaring bird,
In every mother’s caring lullaby,
I sing my song of joy,
My freedom song…

Through every act of selfless love,
Every deed of devoted service,
Through that exuberant smile on the child’s face,
I express myself,
My song of freedom…

Every speck of dust,
Every shard of light…

Every feel of inspiration,
Inkling of creation…

Every throb of the heart,
Every trace of love…

Is just me, my song,
My unbridled freedom song…

Van Gogh's epistles

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Unabridged and annotated, Vincent Van Gogh's letters: http://webexhibits.org/vangogh/