The Distant Sky

The  crowd  
did not evidence  
anyone,  to be called 
very  own ! 
don't  know  why? 
there  was  no cool shade 
under the banyan tree
what was there  was 
heatwave  and  rejection 
there were no sounds 
of  love  and  equanimity!

The river where it was earlier, 
now a barren land 
the jungle 
now  a city of jealousy!
don't  know 
whether I am there or not 
where I used to be?  

The person evading death 
in the name of waiting 
for it, 
doesn't  know yet
what to search 
when or where to search!
standing still 
or  consciously  unconscious, 
he himself 
in his own hands 
makes  a  disturbed, 
unsatisfied  soul 
fly away 
to  a  distant sky, 
to an uncertain realm! 

@Kamakhya 




Life

I  asked  death
is  there  death?  
death  said.. 
No. 
there  is  life. 
death  only separates life, 
in different  strata!
Death is  amidst 
and  within life, 
everyday, everywhere, 
in pursuit of 
hatred 
Jealousy 
and  greed!
Virtue is 
passion for compassion 
Vice  is being instrumental 
for inflicting  pains, 
to  others!


@ Kamakhya 

Gateway

Vagaries of emotions,

turbulent

serene.

deep down,

a  driver subconscious

sees things

feels the horizon

as  rich or trivial  raw material

it is stacked with !

simplicity is also called erudition ,

a mental plane dedicated

and surrendered to the omnipresent

is also called  the higher version

Of  self realization,

the  gateway to truth and emancipation

Kamakhya

Lighthouse

is-7

dark night sailing 
in the violent sea
sharks of ego 
and 'me and my benefits' boundary wall
pirates of peace
tides of pain and rejection
shivering winds of malnourished hearts
a sense of complete incompleteness
consciously unconscious!
everything in the middle of larynx
difficult to shallow
the whitewashed wall will show
the cracks of unperceived truth
today or tomorrow 
the crescendo of misery 
unbearable now
roadblocks of fear
fear of being a maverick! 
thank God 
sighted is a lighthouse!
emitting the light of Almighty
rays of universal love
overdrive is looking inward
did we?   



Kamakhya 

Image credit: Google 
   

Euphoria

Something missing 
Somewhere,
amidst the deafening buzz
and euphoria.
The whisper whistling  despair 
and remorse,
still sneaking in.
Someone behind the drapery,
shouting at me
the black shadow of conscience,
dissecting my thoughts threadbare,
cursing the polluted chambers of heart,
deep inside 
at the epicentre of my karma(actions).
Guilt and repentance
Just entered my room,
to talk to me,
recriminating all the way
in the wintry night,
a quandary in the misty festivities, 
ephemeral glitz outside 
and the snowflakes around.
Why I did not keep a track,
I wonder
how the rising resolutions of quiet midnights to transcend,
had fallen paralysed in the new mornings,
strangulating the goodness or godliness with a rope of lust or matter.
Unbelievable.
The smiling light with embracing hands still calling me near,
lovingly,
to forgive,love me
asking me to replicate 
the same for others.

Merry Christmas!


Kamakhya 
Image Credit:unplash.com 



Emptiness





the air did not stop flowing 
morning newspaper 
delivered in time 
the sanitary napkin was in place 
household chores 
faced no disruptions 
they did talk 
bereft of warmth,of course,
cosmetic pleasantries,
the shivering emptiness
still sounds louder.

Sun embraced my balcony unopposed,
a routine camaraderie 
the day played its role,
a cocktail mosaic 
of screenshots 
Of anger frustration 
glances of excitement 
a burst of laughter,
rare, abrupt though,
the shivering emptiness 
still sounds louder.

Expressions blossomed 
at times,
stack of subdued suppressed ones
absorbed in black cupboards,
deaf and dumb 
as if must be protected 
in deep chamber 
against all the risks 
all the times 
the shivering emptiness 
still sounds louder.


Kamakhya 

Image Credit: Google 





Just like that

Oh my silence! 
how much you speak,
untired, alone 
amidst vast horizon 
of internal noises,
multiple screenshots,
background scores.

Oh the wind,
my friend,
here,there,nearby 
how much you talk,
en route
a platter of feelings,
earthy fragrance,
waves of jealousy 
news of paranoia 
a symphony of ecstasy,
goodness or godliness.

Oh my heart! 
how much you know,
how you treasure few,
discard some
and ignore many
how much you cry,
laugh,dance 
on the pedestal of emotions 
or backdrop of wisdom 
and ignorance 
how much you long
for the inaccessible,
embrace the penultimate 
realizations,
the elasticity of your sensitivity,
paving the way for 
the oscillation of thoughts 
and actions! 


Kamakhya 

Voice 2

The voices ,
Samaritan voices ,
Pristine , conscience enamoured,
at times did appear ,
radiating the abrupt spark
waving their hands from a distance,
feeble ,slow, inconsequential though ,
insinuating what to do
or not do ,
to be little kinder
little more compassionate empathetic
to love a little more ,
to others around
but only to be suppressed
by the aura of ego self-indulgence.
‘ I ‘ and ‘ why I ‘
being the circumventing force ,
the spoilers to the rainbow
or the fear of being a maverick!
butchered rationality,
even could not cry
before being buried
under the heaps of materialism,
core primitive voices
once again orphaned ,
left to strangulate themselves.
All the wisdom now inaccessible,
the goodness propaganda
already hiding some where,
deaf and dumb.
Stark ignorance amidst erudition,
is not embracing the simple truth:
All are one
and one is in All .


Kamakhya


Image Credit : Pixabay



			

Cyclical

The rain is  over 
leaving the coolant effects,
every where.
The black thick clouds gone,
paving the way for the blue sky
happy sun ready to radiate 
the light to lives,
rejuvenated flora and fauna
all around.
No more lightning,
incessant thundering
or contingent fears.
The problem is,
mind's equanimity still a miss.
Recurring anxieties pains,
uneasinesses aloneness bouts of fears,
have come back to the cycle
from the hideouts 
to unleash the fury again,
just like the old evil spirit
refusing to vacate,
the abondonded house,
or the octogenarian gentleman,
on death bed,refusing to die
for the departing fulfilled greed,
has passed on the baton 
to others, of same genre,
in waiting, 
in serpentine queue.
The propensity to break away,
reinforces a passion for dispassion,
an uphill task,a slippery ground.
While the wait is for 
another soothing rain
or maturing of next greed,
the creator, up above the sky,
waits for a surrender of soul,
and psyche,
a dismantled doership,
an authoritarian I,
to the source! 


Kamakhya