In Transition

The million big and small bubbles which are blown in the air against the blue sky want to go further up in the air. But they know they will burst soon.

* * * * * * * *

The little green light that blinks again and again, keeps track of life. It is a sign of life. Tells you it is still going further. A sign seldom tells where you should go and when….and why!

* * * * * * * *

This is my life, my world which melts into another world, a much bigger one which diffuses into a yet larger world. Then it turns into vapor. Finally it rains.bubs

The Affection Attached to Sanyasi

These have been taken from Sanyasi or The Ascetic. Look upon these words and ponder.

SANYASI। In this dark cave I am alone, merged in myself, and the eternal night is still, like a mountain lake afraid of its own depth. Water oozes and drips from the cracks, and in the pool float the ancient frogs. I sit chanting the incantation of nothingness. The world’s limits recede, line after line…..I am free, I am the great solitary One. When I was thy slave, O Nature, thou didst set my heart against itself, and madest it carry the Fierce war of suicide through its world. Desires, that have no other ends, but to feel upon themselves and all that comesto their mouths, lashed m into fury. I ran about, madly chasing my shadow………And the hungers, who are thy decoys, ever led me into the endless famine, where food turned into dust, and drink into vapour.

* * * * *

SANYASI।How small is this earth and confined, watched and followed by the persistent horizons. The trees, houses, and crowd of things are pressing upon my eyes. The light, like a cage, has shut out the dark eternity; and the hours hop and cry within its barriers, like prisoned birds. But why are these noisy men rushing on, and for what purpose? They seem always afraid of missing something, the something that never comes to their hands.

* * * * *


Good bye, sir. Please judge us from our outside, we won’t mind that. VILLAGE ELDER. Because you have no inside to speak of.

* * * * *


Shelter? Don’t you know this world is a bottomless chasm? The swarm of creatures, corning out from the hole of nothingness, seeks for shelter, and enters into the gaping mouth of this emptiness, and is lost. These are the ghosts of lies around you, who hold their market of illusions, and the foods which they sell are shadows. They only deceive your hunger, but do not satisfy

* * * * *


Alas, they do not understand. They cannot see that this world is death spread out to eternity. It dies every moment, yet never comes to the end. -And we, the creatures of this world, live by feeding upon death.

* * * * *


But stillness is in my soul.

 * * * * *


No, no, the beautiful is mere phantasy. To him who knows, the dust and the flower are the same. But what languor is this that is creeping into my blood and drawing before my eyes a thin mist veil of all the rainbow colours? Is it nature herself weaving her dreams round me, clouding my senses? (Suddenly he tears the creeper, and rises up.) No more of this; for this is death.

* * * * *

And with these words…my soul fills with an awe once felt before. So we all turn to dust standing in the middle of this road which goes nowhere.



But stillness is in my soul.

The Grand Illusion

We–are all, everyone of us, a part of this grand deception. This great illusion. The illusion being that we are not alone. We may have many people by our side. We may have a family. And a million friends. And we may be perfectly bonded and in tune with the nature. But, we are all alone. Each and every one of us. We are all fragile. And we all have this need to grow apart from everything and everyone. This need is the reality. And when we do move apart from the millions of faces and the thousand and one voices—we linger on quietly in a world that is created for the lonely. We sit there and stare and ponder. We are meant to be alone.

This is the grand illusion–crowds.

And so—we hear music.


It is not even remotely hilarious how the end comes so quickly and how the end comes while being so melancholic–so brutal–so real–so imaginary and so very lonely. How in the end, not a single soul stays by your side–not even those who claimed to always be there… People never stay. Friends move away. And it is absolute nothingness. The birds and butterflies, the silent mountains, the calm skies and the deep waters– nothingness. So in the end, don’t bother to’ll come crashing down, just like you did. Close your eyes. Sleep. 

Soul Made of Glass

Who is scared of silence? And who is scarred by it!?

What lays beyond the sky?

What burns beyond the fire?

Where does smoke allude?

What lays beyond the beyond? Reality? And what is reality?

What happens to the soul–

And often does glass break, but seldom does it break! Confusion–reality.

SO you wipe the slate clean…wipe the glass, the crystal as it turns to dust..

But what is the soul made of??

Seldom is it made of glass…seldom does it stay put. Often does it wander…And seldom does it break

What happens to the soul? Heart is a fickle thing…it is a spectacle…a phenomenon.

If it works, it works…if it disintegrates–it still works.

But the soul? It dies…slowly. Or does it.

But the Soul made of Glass–it snaps. It shatters. The unheard sound of how the glass…it tears its bond apart…to diverge…

The unseen…the unheard.

Ah so the body…which is a parasite…feeds off of the soul…Or is it the other way around??

What is the force beyond the great force!

And inside the weak body…the soul—one made of glass….it snaps…demolishes itself…shatters..and not a single thing is felt…Thus, numbness infiltrates…exudes shadows of the so called life…while in actuality the form is of lifelessness…

Where breath is instilled..and so it functions. The thing we call body..the breath is no more a life form.

But what is life…whence the soul remains torn, ripped and broken. A million pieces left unchecked. Whence the heart is still strong, yet weak.

Hark. Silence scars the broken soul. Where do shadows come from?

So Man. How do you do? Why do you survive? What catch is there for you?

There is music in the background–so we all get lost in it. 1531531_482408765209768_615811683_n

Man. A shadow.

Soul. Made of Glass.

Back to Bedlam

Dear Emptiness.

What art thou? What feeling are you–I want to know today! The only reasonable explanation i have is very confusing..Ha. Emptiness. What are you?

The only explanation—you are the feeling that everyone succumbs to one way or another. The feeling of having smoke inside your heart–smoke that just wont dissolve and turn into vapor, like everything else. 

So many faces and so many feelings they all hold and hide simultaneously. Emptiness–the feeling of lost sorrow. The feeling of never being alive–not even for a split second. Are you sadness? Happiness?

You are indeed the feeling of getting lost inside the same smoke that perturbs the heart and screens off the mind. The feeling of going on a shaky boat and not even being scared. But does that make you somewhat resemble being brave? Nay.

Brave is facing the open intense sea–you may not survive. You on the other hand are the feeling where one just sits on a shaky boat on a rough sea–not scared, not worried–yet making it out alive at the end–and not even ecstatic.

Emptiness–death before dying. Aloofness before pain. Harm before hurt. Blood before water. Tiredness after the storm has passed. But who cares. One simply puts emptiness aside–apart. And rejoices with the nature. Because see, nature is not empty. It holds secrets, luxuries and many many more things. But then–there is us. We, who are filled to the brim with a thousand and one dreams, hopes, fantasies and emotions. Yet–we are empty.

All of us! Like the stars..up above and faltering and alone and still shining. We look at them and are consumed with awe and fascination. Without knowing the cost and the effort and the force and the gravity behind their being up there. So we–just then suppress it all–shut everything tight inside us.

So tight that it creates a space–a crest–a hole—Emptiness.

We put a smile. And a brave face. We rejoice….with the rest of nature. And forget the empty hole…

But then we come back to life. Ha. Back to bedlam..back at last.

Alas dear heart….we travel back to the drudgery they call life. We all land right back in the empty hole–so we leave the blue sky behind..and fall right back in.

This is you Emptiness… And this is precisely me.

Dolefully Yours


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