Tag Archives: life

Are you happy ?

Are you happy?
Murmured by a sweet voice
Genuine question heard after long
Surprisingly came from my little one
But surely worthwhile to think of.


Are you happy?
Like a drop which paved way for a rainfall
Mind piled up with numerous thoughts of “what ifs”
River of everlasting regrets flowed through heart
“What if” life has taken a detour at apt time
Would the buried aspirations been attained.


Are you happy?
Like the breathtaking rainbow after the downpour
Mind began to flow towards optimistic path
Wish-bucket-stack is largely popped out
Loving family, caring friends, aspiring career,
Freedom to enjoy the life in own way
Above all, to sight the lovely smile of my cutie pie
Just erase all negative-ness in this world.


Are you happy?
Yes, I’m happy
Yes, I’m content with my life
Yes, I love my life
After all, happiness is always a choice.

@Sajitha

Companion

She sat on a lonely bench, with a smile on her face,
Smiling as she’s talking to the mild breeze,
Though hot, it was refreshing and touched her soul,
Daily she has the same question to ask,
Why I feel alone, what I’m missing in life?


As understanding her, it replies by blowing fast to soothe her pain,
Are you missing love or care in life, it whispered,
Not love, beautiful feeling of falling in love is still fresh in her mind,
Definitely not care either, so what’s she’s missing,
It reduced its pace, pacifying her brain.


Suddenly her heart replied, friend in life.
Yes, someone to understand her,
Someone to tolerate her always with love,
Someone to hear the voice of her heart,
Someone to listen to her nonsense.


Last but not least, someone to simply talk and to be with always.
As realized, it blew for last time, comforting her.

@Sajitha

Game of Life

On many of those winter nights
I wish to see your breath on the stained glass
imagining the warmth of ease, instead
I get the familiar instant message
explaining the shades of your chase.

Sometimes you surprise me, when
you occasionally hold my palm
that reassures the existence of a bond
and a scent of cigar enters my dream
altering the plot, for good.

Between the reality of the bright day
and the romantic dream after dark
our life sails defying the rubrics
There is no pause to this play, even
to frame a well-captured moment.

It is so charming and a true delight
To feel mostly the mosquitoes bite.
When the sluggish sun breaks its own crust,
wind can teach you how to smoke some dust.

When the air smells of somnolent bliss,
Any bee can give you a sweet kiss.
When you are bored and you stifle yawns,
Spunky crickets trigger songs on the lawn.

If you go for a refreshing swim,
Jellyfish come beneath the surface dim.
Maybe at home, the things can turn out cool,
But your car stops because it’s out of fuel.

 

Poem by Marieta Maglas

Life is Transient

Life is a transient mirror
Reflecting in it
The eternal presence of Being;
All the troubles are
Just shadows…

The shadows are a mirage
Tempting one to cover
Some miles of days
Or leave behind some dark nights
In the oblivious past
And all its vicious circles
Of vices and vile…

Life is a walk
A perennial walk into the shade
Of continuum beliefs,
A long experiential journey
From self to soul
Through a testing trajectory
Where one has to prove
The worth of one’s soul
In the ethereal light
Of quietude and equanimity…

Living experience always unfolds
The absolute truth
And the ultimate realization:
Everything exists
Yet exits as nothing ever exists.

– Bhaskaranand Jha Bhaskar

Horizon

I time travelled
I moment moved
Through freezing fog
Through stilled air

Where dreams blend with reality
Where souls battle in serenity
In the deep of the night
In the depth of despair

I crossed the seven hills
I crossed the seven seas
Where lost souls hover endlessly
Where cursed souls wail in peril

I saw where the earth
And the heaven unite
There my journey begins

Senbon Zakura Mirror Dance

I had closed the cracked window.
The gust of the first born wind
disappeared into the coming rain
together with the flute, the drums,
and the fleeting nature
of the movements-
explosions, distortions.

‘Twas like dancing slowly with
the image in the mirror
or like fragmenting
the memories of love
to empty the minds-
emotions that were eaten by
the heat of the summer.

I took a seat near my neighbor
whose husband had been
a soldier fighting in Asia
until having his half of the head
removed by a bullet.
He had always been
one of the best.

 

Suddenly, the movement
became very fast while continuing
without music
like in a sequence of movie frames
that builds tension
to enhance the consciousness-
euphoria, chills.

The dancers were, in fact,
impair numbers having
their white sashes wrapped
around their heads
while pirouetting
at a heightened tempo
to give this motion a sense
of living.

The window opened
to bring the noise of the metropolis
and the smell of the twisting wind.
Well, it was not a killing one
like those coming from the polls
and being filled
with some tiny bacteria
that had been left by the meteors or
by the lost civilizations.
‘Twas only a rainy wind.
These bacteria are not fictions;
they warm up to become
real weapons,
not Disney animations.

Life itself is not an illusion.
When life becomes hallucination,
then, something else
must be actual.

The hail hit
the roof of silence.
The dancers
were waving their arms above
their heads while clapping wildly
their swaying bodies
to express the words-
numbers of God.
I would say that
’twas not a previously
choreographed dance.

Ancestral emotions moved
all the things of the mind
out of the free space.
Crawled swiftly within
the suffering souls from which
have started to disappear peacefully.

 

Poem by Marieta Maglas

The Last Cicada

The sadness scattered
over the walls resonating
with what was
in the heart
of the mountain.
No sound could be heard.
A myriad of eyes belonging to cicadas
were shrouded in mist.

A somewhat long-winded
like a speech
surrounded the sky.
Maybe it was an echo,
a sesquipedalian one.
It wasn’t breathless at all.

Nothing could have saved
nature around.
Neither of the forests,
neither of the birds,
and neither of the bears
could survive…..
Nothing more
could have been done.

All the moving peaks became
small stones, as solitary
as the moon,
at the fugitive horizon.
The last cicada
disappeared.

Everything became motionless.
There were only the shadows
of the trees
to follow the sunbeams.
The nature game
turned detrimentally
into a disaster.

In an illuminated city,
a man bought
a lovely bouquet of red roses
wanting to bestow
what it is considered to be
a symbol of romance.
This man needed
to express his love
and to let his woman know
how he feels about her.
This man disappeared.
He was the last one.
Nothing could have saved him.
Nothing more
could have been done.

Poem by Marieta Maglas

The name of the painter is Adam Sturch.

What’s Going On?

A shrill sound of hope
From anthems and hymns alike
A wave of despair
Touching everything it sights
You watch as from outer space
As life daily pass by
On the rich and poor together
But never in the same manner

What is going on with me?
You wonder out loud
Why are my days marked with so little
Why do I make a faint sound
In a world full of noise
When will I make meaning of my days?
And time will eventually hear my voice

When the wave passed
And the days find a rhythm
One you grace with a slow dance
You realise as you pick your pen
And once again fill up blank pages
That all the words you formed now and then
Are louder than all the noise the world daily screams.