Sometimes, everything fits.
Sometimes everything looks easy…
Sometimes, impossible mountains collapse.
Sometimes, scalding suns turn moons.
Sometimes, everything is only as far as stretching out - with arms, with gentle words, with a heart full of love and yearning, and then…! Swi….sssssh - a magical magical flash of cards just rises, finds ground and begins to roll back into a neat pack. A pack that just gathers itself in a stash that defies all permutations of spill-over.
Sometimes, the insides suddenly shed all garbage. All anger, all lust, all greed, all obsession, all ego… and turn Love. As if the chanting sun stole in through the pores of our skin at some point and bathed the insides, the morning ablutions for the prayers ahead. At such times, the insides - rinsed, hallowed and perfumed - suddenly float over the flesh, five feet over, or maybe five feet under, and become happy slaves of Him. In easy surrender. Just like that.
At such times, words don’t hurt. At such times, weapons don’t hurt. At such times, nothing hurts. Nothing can hurt.
Yes, sometimes, it all looks so easy.
Sometimes everything dreamlike and heaven-like and loving and kind is a possibility.
Sometimes everything is dreamlike and heaven-like and loving and kind.
Such times come after I have closed my eyes and touched His Lotus Feet under my morning trance.
Such times come after I have closed my eyes and bowed to Him and Her on that Himalayan peak.
Such times come on mornings when, my hands folded, I have washed my face with the spring from my eyes, while staring into the feet of the Formless Somebody in my room.
Such times come when I pour some white light from There Far Above, over my family, my home, my city, my country, my globe, trees, grass, flowers, rivers, mountains, and me.
Such times come when I turn so boneless from agony that the only limbs that can move are my hands - in a folded Wail of pardon.
At such times, everything fits.
At such times, you become I, and I reach out for you, with only love. Yet again.
Such times. Oh such times.
Sometimes everything looks easy…
Sometimes, impossible mountains collapse.
Sometimes, scalding suns turn moons.
Sometimes, everything is only as far as stretching out - with arms, with gentle words, with a heart full of love and yearning, and then…! Swi….sssssh - a magical magical flash of cards just rises, finds ground and begins to roll back into a neat pack. A pack that just gathers itself in a stash that defies all permutations of spill-over.
Sometimes, the insides suddenly shed all garbage. All anger, all lust, all greed, all obsession, all ego… and turn Love. As if the chanting sun stole in through the pores of our skin at some point and bathed the insides, the morning ablutions for the prayers ahead. At such times, the insides - rinsed, hallowed and perfumed - suddenly float over the flesh, five feet over, or maybe five feet under, and become happy slaves of Him. In easy surrender. Just like that.
At such times, words don’t hurt. At such times, weapons don’t hurt. At such times, nothing hurts. Nothing can hurt.
Yes, sometimes, it all looks so easy.
Sometimes everything dreamlike and heaven-like and loving and kind is a possibility.
Sometimes everything is dreamlike and heaven-like and loving and kind.
Such times come after I have closed my eyes and touched His Lotus Feet under my morning trance.
Such times come after I have closed my eyes and bowed to Him and Her on that Himalayan peak.
Such times come on mornings when, my hands folded, I have washed my face with the spring from my eyes, while staring into the feet of the Formless Somebody in my room.
Such times come when I pour some white light from There Far Above, over my family, my home, my city, my country, my globe, trees, grass, flowers, rivers, mountains, and me.
Such times come when I turn so boneless from agony that the only limbs that can move are my hands - in a folded Wail of pardon.
At such times, everything fits.
At such times, you become I, and I reach out for you, with only love. Yet again.
Such times. Oh such times.
Painting courtesy: www.lcmb.org
May 7, 2009; 3.56 pm.
May 7, 2009; 3.56 pm.
I went through it two times. I think I need to go through it again and again before I find myself able to make realistic comments on it. Right now I find it a bit confusing but largely full of spiritual quest like that of Amrita Preetam. But if I see it from the prism of Sigmund Freud, it reveals several sensual imageries which I personally consider as the mirror images of spiritual dimensions of human life (on the line of Osho's philosophy). Nevertheless, one thing is certain; you have deep poetic potential and capability to play with words as musicians have mastery over their instruments. Just keep it up and up!
ReplyDelete-BRG
Dear Balpreet
ReplyDeleteI have been committing one serious blunder all my life; I have pursued the idea of spiritualism more than the experience of spiritualism. There is nothing ominous in it but it definitely distracts us from the pathlessness of the truth, beauty and pleasure. Your poem is trying to reinvent Shiv-Pooja but the use of symbols in the latter half of the poem should be re-thought. YOu are so beautifully close yet so far, is something I would get from this piece. You seem to be a bit over-conscious this time. A contemporary poet has a destiny of being in midst of two counter extremes of intoxication and over-control. This time you seem to have swung toward the latter side. I have a suggestion too. When You upload an image to your post, the poem should start from below the poem and not adjacently. It looks a bit weird. Looking up to your next post.
Sunil
Thanks Sunil.
ReplyDeleteFirst the image... you know, I have been trying to do it... I hate the text running on the side too! But I can't seem to do it... Some technical stuff that I can't seem to understand. If you can figure it out, pl do tell me, I will do the needful pronto!
I am a little hazy about thhe earlier part of your feeback... I am trying to understand it. Shiv Pooja? If that has come across, I must have sounded like it. Actually... I intended it to be just a passing mention of a Lord I have recently found closenes with. In essence, what I was basically feeling while writing this was this: When you discover the power of the Lord and when you are in the perfect moment of prayer to Him, all the anger, ego and all the rest of the baggage gets shed and you are once again, ready to reach out to someone, irrespective of what he or she may have said or done to you. In one line, when you pray, all walls crumble and your reservoir of love get refilled and you are ready to reach out lovingly yet again, irrespective of the negativity of the one you are reaching out to.
If that does not come clear in the piece, I must really have got lost somewhere. I will read it and review it again.
:)thanks
Dear Balpreet
ReplyDeleteI always think that a poem should become a prayer and not vice-versa. A poem choses dedication as an idiom of being but a prayer ignores the beauty of independence of a poem. I will again ask you to just focus on the symbol you are using. As far as the first part of my comment is concerned, I think a woman is more spiritually oriented than a man as she is much more composite at organic level than a man. The domain of spirituality is the domain of experientality; it may or may not manifest into the intellectual realm. That makes it easy for woman to conceive a spiritual moment. To be honest, I have been trying to understand the other side of "Ardh-narishwar" that is within me but had been dislocated for a long time. I think that should clarify my position.