My father's reply to Sanctity

You must actively perceive events with ease

Develop innate aplomb in matchless oscillation

While engaging in vibrant gust and breeze

Experience the serenity of stasis in dynamic manifestation.

Sanctity

A gust of wind; a fragrant breeze;

Practiced aplomb or carefree pirouette…

Do I passively perceive events with ease,

Or must I engage in a dynamic duet?

The black, the white, and everything in between

Characterize this ambiguous entity

Wherein two worlds struggle in a manner routine

To maintain an inimitable sanctity.

Sometimes a sacred covenant

But often a skirmish for justice,

It is one minute misread as ailment,

And the next as an alluring stasis.

Whether resulting in helplessness or exaltation,

Its existence will always be sure.

But perhaps we will forever long for an explanation

To these sentiments obscure.

Redemption

A riven heart, a crippled wing,

The touch of a caring soul

And redemption is attained.

We dare venture not past the precincts of sanity.

But mustn’t this be assumed natural?

Why, then, are our lives stained

With crimes against humanity?

It truly is a pity;

More than once have we viewed glimpses,

Through portals of crude reality,

Of apathy beyond perception.

So often the heart winces

At the perverted proceedings of the rabid

And mourns the system’s imperfection.

Yet we must all dream of an unblemished world,

Of relishing a unanimous reception,

Of the credence of contrariety,

And, someday, perhaps of redemption.

The I must go.

Behind the dew-covered lucid wall
With a stony stare in its glassy eyes,
Refusing to look at anyone at all
Is the silhouette I despise.

It only peers at me; it penetrates my soul,
Twisting it into grotesque distortions.
I scream in agony at the malice of its hold,
Yet cherish the masochistic bliss in a portion
Of my wretched conscience.

Someday I hope to defeat the impermeability
Of this translucent membrane,
If only for the sake of my own sanity
And for the sake of the hearts in which
Its terror still reigns.

The I must go.
But, must it?

What is God?

Who is God? I asked myself one day.
What is it that the word means?
Does it stand for some superior Personality,
Abundant in Extravagance, in Divinity,
Or simply the meaning of true Felicity?

I believe God is nature.
For nature gives birth to life itself,
As easily as it may take it away.
It is the Perfect,
The ideal for us imperfect creatures.
Hence, God is nature.

I believe God is truth.
For “the truth shall set you free.”
In a world of images, of relativity,
We crave the impossible, the Absolute.
Hence, God is truth.

I believe God is the mind,
To me, my mind; to you, yours.
For the mind is the undefeatable,
And potentially infinite in capacity.
It conceives the inconceivable,
And remains, to date, incomprehensible,
A power we are yet to completely find.
Hence, God is the mind.

Therefore, for me God is science.
For science reveals the Ultimate Truth,
The mysteries of nature,
And the aptitude of our minds.
God is science.

God, I then realized, is just a name,
An idea, a concept;
A synonym for your answer to every question.
In essence, the solution.
A potential Creator,
A possible Sustainer,
An inevitable Destroyer.

God is what you truly believe in.

Yet again...

I looked down at my face
reflected in the puddle of water
Staring at a stranger
submerged in a pool of sin,
of regrets, of mistakes...
lost in the surrounding din
of temptations;
ignorant of a thousand sensations...

when suddenly a cheery drop
distorted my puddle,
and what followed after
was a shower of solutions;
as the rain swirled down
glistening leaves
cleansing all in its way,
purging me, it seems,
of all such thoughts, and leaving
behind, a new ray
of fresh hope.

I couldn't tell if this ripple
in my puddle of glum
was the rain of Mother Nature
or the flow of my own emotions;
caused by the cloudy skies
or my betrayal of all devotions
that I held close to my heart.
I wished tomorrow would be a new day,
and for many, a fresh new start.

But in vain.
I long for another sign,
for clearance of my mind,
yet again, bless me, with solutions.
Yet again.

A cloudy morning.

The glory of a subtle grey
Sweeps over like an early autumn breeze
As a solitary soul makes her way down,
Amongst hurried lives and whispering trees,
On a beautifully melancholic morning.

Mournful Bliss.

Goodbye seems so sad a word,
and yet the smile on my lips...
situation asks the heart to mourn,
but the mind is soaring in bliss.

Ambiguity fills my eyes with tears
and content fills my heart
as I wave away those memories dear
for another fresh new start.

Hold on I will, to these chapters past
While scripting those anew...
And with these memories, mine to take,
I now bid thee adieu.

The power of silence

It was that unusual dread,
As the awkward quiet engulfed the air,
As I stood there with my arms spread,
And they walked away, with no love to spare.
It was over. The silence told me so.

And so began the saga of sorrows,
The dominance of pain, the vengeance of foes,
While standing with a foot on my chest
Remained the power of silence.

Silence forced me into solitude.
It told me of my misfit ways
Unaccepted by society
And represented, yet again, by that quiet
That I dreaded so much
How I longed for a touch
Of sound, of belonging…

And so continued the saga of sorrow,
Of pain, of a heart left hollow,
While crushing me with its full force
Ruled the power of silence.

At many a time, I am accused,
Judged, misunderstood, or perhaps simply used.
I console myself, and justify their offense.
Let them have the benefit of doubt,
Since my only defense
Is silence.

But today is a different day
As I seek refuge under this tree,
The same quiet gives me a peace of mind
And I proceed to conquer the inner me,
I gain self-knowledge, a bliss, an ecstasy,
The cage is open, and I’m set free.
Such is the power of silence.

Time

Flying, fleeting at furious speeds
Whizzing past the past,
The memories of the remembering,
And for the lacing, the needs;
As life halts, watching, its face aghast.

Precious as a pearl, fickle as a flower,
His disastrous arrogance is to be feared,
All hopes of immobility smeared…
To quicken to His pace cannot be,
Yet lay the dreams of many…
Bearers of His fruit, victims of His pride,
His ways are tricky as the games of light.

He arouses in His subjects a hope,
An anticipation for tomorrow may it be,
When before the blink of an eye
One mourns the slipping of eternity.

“To see the world in a grain of sand”
Is to comprehend Chronos.

Break the Glass.

Tied down in chains;
Wings are cut off:
Aimless obligation
Can I afford declination
Of “unnecessary” pain?

The moon shines, as I see:
A bright dazzle
Among the weak, blaming stars;
A courtroom, a farce.
Witness to all of me…

What keeps the glass
On the table?
A sweep, a slight touch
And push it over the edge:
Violate all class.

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.

A moment of silence, a day to mourn;
A few minutes of inconvenience, and the memory is gone.
The sun gleams shamelessly in irony,
And birds sing of immortality.
Where are the ash-stained clouds?

You witness the forgotten Souls
And the holes They leave behind;
Only to be replaced by another new
Temporarity that we shall hold
Close to our hearts.
Until the Day that is due.

The Day, no doubt, is inevitable.
But the days preceding that
Are mine to mold.
For no material shall prevail
except my deeds and destiny.
Only You will remain,
With the permanence of Gold.

For the Day will come,
When angels of eternity taunt my mortality,
As I close these eyes, and succumb to Infinity.
The Day will come.

From Dust I am born,
and Dust I shall become.