Tuesday, July 12, 2011

The sun in the shadow of the moon…..

The shadows, they illuminate
The narrow razor edge between
The timing of the passion
And the shining light of pain.
We knock like light on darkened doors
The knuckles seeking, searching for
The holy crevice, keyhole, escape
From the forms of thought in vain.
Ideas, spiral, convex forms
Of canvas culture, satin steel,
That rise like wind, tempestuous storm,
And fall like raindrops as we kneel,
And hold out roses, bound by norms:
The payment, bribe, to clinch the deal.
Yet, roses are survived by thorns
That serve a purpose, to reveal
That pin-prick touch of poison truth
That soured bribe, that probing hand
That yearning drive for conquest, and
For domination, instant, pure.
Five drops of blood, five grains of sand
Are all that life and love endures.

And shadows, they illuminate
The narrow razor edge that cures
The mind of thought, narcotic swoon.
And holds the silvered mirror up.
The sun in the shadow of the moon
Is empty, like a laid-down cup.
And in the tea-leaves we can see
Our soul reflect infinity,
And float in empty concept space
Between the forms of thoughts and dreams.
We flow, amorphous, at the edge
Of consciousness, quicksilver stream.

The shadows, they illuminate
The narrow razor edge between
Pale consciousness and fiery dream.
The edge we now inhabit with
The shadows and the silent space
Where, motionless, the spheres of time
Enrobe us in our state of grace.
While all around, in conflict locked
Are rays of light, and darkness, shields.
The sun in the shadow of the moon,
Once gave it life, but now it yields.
And feels the prick, the truth, the thorn,
And gazes, wistful, at the stream,
Tossed back and forth, dismayed, forlorn,
From conscious bank to island dream.


When all they have witnessed is light
And none with experience dark, forlorn
Who will grieve the passing of the night
When all are young, and after sunrise born?

I can see my future in your dying eyes
From its flickering knowledge, no power accrues
Your eyelids - a shroud - like a cloud in clear skies
From which only shadowy darkness ensues
A cloud that is growing, that blots out the light
Foreboding, of every silver lining shorn

Who will grieve the passing of the night
When all are young, and after sunrise born?

Will a final memory remorse beget
An imprint deep in unconscious mind
A silent requiem for night that set
A tie reached back, in time, to bind
A shriek suspended, frozen, still
A single phase from wavelet torn

Who will grieve the passing of the night
When all are young, and after sunrise born?

Baghdad's death, seven centuries long
With bang and whimper entwined, close
Legalized rape of the temple of law
With god run rampant, the devil froze
A blood drop ruby of the diamond dead
Will the crown of an ivory skull adorn

Who will grieve the passing of the night
When all are young, and after sunrise born?

Saturday, February 12, 2011


The darkness is dripping
From the roofs as the mind
Wandering aimless, in the alleys of time
Through the dust and the grime
Peers at thoughts in the darkness
For a tryst with a crime
Or embrace with a lover
Too brief for a kiss
Or a sigh at the sight of the innocence and bliss
On the face of a flower in a cracked flower vase
That is lying on its side
Like a delicate bride
On the altar of misguided tradition
With a smile, like a ripple
On the face of a lake
With a shrug of the shoulder, it slowly gets bolder
Its eyes full of sin and sedition
The night and its sons and its daughters to take
And then, the retreat
But without a defeat
And the sun, with its light like a flood
The mind then strips off all its thoughts one by one
Till, at last, it is naked experience
To face the torment
Once the passion is spent
And all that remains is the blood


He the shadow, I the soul
Turn out the lights, the shadow fades
The soul remains in dark as well
The soul, to guide your ship in storm
The soul, a beacon, shows the path
The shadow, mindless, follows on
Till lights are beckoning, then departs

The soul, your eye in moral dark
The soul that truly is the spark
To light the fire of life in dying
Ashes, that heaped in the heart
Still have desires, wish to burn
Once more with light and fire of love
With flames that kiss the stars above
So let your shadow go its way
It's to your soul that you must turn

True life is union with the soul
The inner self is then fulfilled
If not, the inner self is killed
So come, my body, linger not
And let this fusion make us whole.

Sunday, January 30, 2011


We have seen our world for the twelfth time
And though we have changed it has not
We have searched all these aeons for Judas
For the kiss that we never have got

The last page of the life of a prophet
Is reserved for Iscariot to kiss
And it carries the pain and the sorrow
But also the glory and bliss

We have seen our rebellions in tea cups
And the future of the world in the leaves
And the cross that inhabits our visions
And the daggers concealed in the sleeves

We have sailed on the ocean of madness
We have docked upon sanity's shore
We have wallowed in the blood of our sadness
We have knocked upon vanity's door

We have walked on the hair to the heavens
We have swum in the pool of desire
We have danced to the thunder that deafens
We have penned our soul into fire

Yet, we never did find what we wanted
But the world, then, made up for the loss
Being convinced every prophet is haunted
Unbetrayed, we were stretched on the cross

And they wept as we hung in our silence
And the clouds brushed the top of the hill
It was done with no malice, no violence
Just a stone-hearted effort of will

And then we said "Father! Forgive them
For they know very well what they do
And can't help it for all that they know it
And despite that their love has been true."

Ignorance deserves not forgiveness
But it behoves us not to seek revenge
For events dictated by circumstance
That the mind cannot dare to challenge

And they stood on the hill till the silver
Had merged into black, and then gold
And then sealed in their bosoms forever
A bible that never shall be told


The eagle still soars in the summit of heaven
And watches the earth in descent
And we pay, as interest, day by day our lives
For the time death has to us lent
We replayed the thoughts of Mr. Eliot
And the verses of Lorca and Pound
Will our ruminations be thus honoured
Or dark silence devour our sound
And no finger press down on no button
No new eagle then tend to soar
And the earth then be tossed, on galactic waves
To a distant and lack-lustre shore

The eagle still soars in the summit of heaven
But now everywhere sees the debris of dreams
For our freedom's constraints have moved in on us now
On our thoughts and our bodies and voice
We are free, we can choose, but the question remains
It's not we that present us the choice

The avenue of eternal hope is lined
With tear-stained faces,
Hair on end
And horror at the nightmare
That freedom became
While the dream to be free
To be you, to be me
To be different, or same, to rhetoric confined.

The eagle still soars in the summit of heaven
Wondering who got away, and who did not
And who it was that suffered more
The rise of mankind's sword
Alexander, triumphant, arm aloft
Or the silent Gordian knot.


I painted a smile
On a face that was sad
And hid 'neath a grimace
Disguised as a grin
Though the paint wore thin,
The anger within, not revealed.

The 'pieta' of love
Did not even withstand
One single year,
To oblivion was flung
Like victory turned sour
At the gate of triumph
And the palette, deserted, still bleeds.

It's better to create
Using canvas or stone
For a petrified smile
Will outlast flesh and bone
And all of the memories
In all of the hearts
And all of the minds
In all of the parts
Of the world do not make a 'pieta'.