Some left me for I no longer had wealth And some saw me as a burden With my shrivelling health Few who remained a little longer with me Left for no use was I to them Finally the caravan left Leaving me stranded in the path of life.
Yet I did not feel scared. I felt a veil of darkness being lifted from my eyes Illuminating the dark caves of the heart with real colours of life, bereft of any pigments.
While a sheet of cool calmness Descended over me, healing the wounds that expectations had gifted.
One has to finally exit the gates of life alone, I realised Even though surrounded in life With people and things galore.
Thankful was I that the Doors of truth had opened much before my end Giving me enough time to shed off the Ephemaral,the artificial and the insanity that had clouded my vision for a lifetime.
That is when I felt I had encountered my soul As I prostrated before the Almighty for making me aware of what really mattered in me, Much before the doors start closing upon me.
Turning inwards is not more or new But, What is turning inwards towards my soul the spirit within, to the silence my heart wants to seek, to the light the dark soul needs, to the purity my sins want to explore, to the sanctity my life wants to adore.
I want to sit in silence with myself with my own being the one I am trying to understand the one who wants to listen to the deep conversations my soul wants to express.
Turning inwards might not be more or new Still, I wish to turn inwards and live the very essence of being alive. I wish to hold hands with myself, walk miles till the sun sets. I crave to walk on the clouds and reach the clarity of my thoughts. I dream to push myself deep within me to be my own self.
Life is as simple as the clear blue sky We make it hazy Life is living in reality We make it worst of a mirage Life is not about accumulating assets That boomerang at you Turn into liabilities at a later stage It is not about building relationships That strongly bind you to the world Become the cause of your sorrow and misery
Life is not about carrying a heavy load Feeling breathless under its pressure Ultimately succumbing to it sooner or later The more you carry the more you worry Less the luggage better the journey Faster the movement Life is freedom That makes you a free bird in the open sky Going higher and higher searching the elixir
Life is not an endless strife To go ahead of others It is an opportunity to look at your self And take rapid strides towards the destination You hold high
Life is not about laurels and accolades Clapping and cheers Parade of ego, selfishness and vanity It is a vow divine To know, by knowing which You do not need to know anything
Life is not about adding years It is more about adding beauty and grace Knowledge and wisdom And living with a purpose
No matter live in the world But never let the world live in you That is the cause of your bondage And the biggest tragedy of life If you can go beyond it Your life will be life divine
How does a Poet become An upholder of the Moral Arc of the Universe Tending towards goodness?
By recording history , things that happen In the outer world and in the world within
The world of the mind : ideas, reason The world of the imagination : images , myths The world of the soul : faith and hope
Seeing the great lawgiver Solon trying to copy his nephew who was singing a song by Sappho Someone asked him :
“Why , Solon , should you waste your time on it?”
Solon replied, “So that I may learn it before I die.”
Ammianus Marcellinus, He who professed to have been “a former soldier and a Greek” (miles quondam et graecus), In his Res Gestae (Rerum gestarum Libri XXXI) in thirty-one volumes
recording the history and traditions of his time in Rome in the Fourth Century before Christ speaks of Socrates labouring day and night at reading and debating , and when asked why , saying simply this :
“in order to leave life knowing a little more” ( “ut aliquid sciens amplius e vita discedam” )
Knowledge and Imagination Weaving tales , narratives, songs enter our genes help us evolve
Makaris! Take heart . Makers of Poetry ! No poem is futile
( Inspired by a reading of Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary )
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