The Chaotic-Neutron

Peace, wished, yearned, null satisfied;
Aspired, immersed with actions,
Fulfill’, not a throbbing heart.

Captain, a ship floats yonder, steadfast
Meditated, on now, even with a trace,
Beloved, shattered fallacies, intrinsic.

Dexterous dreamer, evolving, surviving
manholes and pitfalls, still walking tall.
Mutually seduced and stripped, iron to cotton.

A delicate lotus, blooms, ‘midst raging sea,
A split soul, earned, past deeds, karma;
A yoke formed, sublime fruition inevitable.

Ye celestial suns, witness, bless an union.
Thank thee elements, fire and water, pure.
Dawned today, afresh; A new day, bright.

Fluid is life, flowing incessant, unyielding,
Punished by vagaries will, let the soft pass,
Supple yet dense, for forces hard.
Surreal the thought, pure the accomplishment.

A persona shines supreme, a soaring phoenix;
Thoughts beyond, change resisted, failed short,
Resplendent the mind image, intuition fought,
Fruitless an union, once.

A splinter in the mind’ eye,
Yearning, buried ‘midst work and play;
A heart torn asunder, resonant,
senses enriched, a beacon visible aloft.

Regret, pangs mounted, emotions billow,
flux, a future, a sublime moment past;
Experiences gained once, crumbled mountains to sands,
With time and resolve. A mail arose hence. So long.

A serene voice, outcome unexpected, connected link,
Inaccurate once perceived, the mind,
Blundered the sublime message, man blind,
A hallowed angel, salvaged one from the brink.

Discovered anew, aspiration and adoration,
To the quintessential essence, meditation, a consciousness,
To an oscillation, duality, a swan,
To my liberation, music, a magic flute,
To a reflection, beloved, a unique spirit.

We adore not a person perfect, only
realize an imperfect person perfectly.
Ye be the perfectly imperfect hemispheres,
Conjoined to form, a luminous, peerless yoke.
This shall be all our stories,
For always divine, the bond with any name.

In the blue of the sky, in the green of the forest,
Whose is the hand that has painted the glow?
When the winds were asleep in the womb of the ether,
Who was it roused them and bade them to blow?

He is lost in the heart, in the cavern of Nature,
He is found in the brain where He builds up the thought:
In the pattern and bloom of the flowers He is woven,
In the luminous net of the stars He is caught.

In the strength of a man, in the beauty of woman,
In the laugh of a boy, in the blush of a girl;
The hand that sent Jupiter spinning through heaven,
Spends all its cunning to fashion a curl.

There are His works and His veils and His shadows;
But where is He then? by what name is He known?
Is He Brahma or Vishnu? a man or a woman?
Bodies or bodiless? twin or alone?

We have love for a boy who is dark and resplendent,
A woman is lord of us, naked and fierce.
We have seen Him a-muse on the snow of the mountains,
We have watched Him at work in the heart of the spheres.

We will tell the whole world of His ways and His cunning;
He has rapture of torture and passion and pain;
He delights in our sorrow and drives us to weeping,
Then lures with His joy and His beauty again.

All music is only the sound of His laughter,
All beauty the smile of His passionate bliss;
Our lives are His heart-beats, our rapture the bridal
Of Radha and Krishna, our love is their kiss.

He is strength that is loud in the blare of the trumpets,
And He rides in the car and He strikes in the spears;
He slays without stint and is full of compassion;
He wars for the world and its ultimate years.

In the sweep of the worlds, in the surge of the ages,
Ineffable, mighty, majestic and pure,
Beyond the last pinnacle seized by the thinker
He is throned in His seats that for ever endure.

The Master of man and his infinite Lover,
He is close to our hearts, had we vision to see;
We are blind with our pride and the pomp of our passions,
We are bound in our thoughts where we hold ourselves free.

It is He in the sun who is ageless and deathless,
And into the midnight His shadow is thrown;
When darkness was blind and engulfed within darkness,
He was seated within it immense and alone.

– Sri Aurobindo

Another one by Dylan (Do Not Go Gentle Into the Good Night).

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

– Dylan Thomas

That is sublime. Dylan with an interesting background reminds me yet again that writing is an outlet powerful enough to sap excess emotions. Stronger the emotions, often sweeter the poetry, respite imminent…

Heavenly downpour, an elixir sustains,
Living and recycling all that stands;
Serene function, forgotten, seemingly mundane,
To observe and grasp intricacies.

From my mother, balanced on her crown,
Water, taken and reclaimed, visually stunning,
Fire, emanated breathing, an incense perfect,
Tempest, carried, touching force magnificent,
Constant beat, bringing down, rhythm supreme,
At heart, tasted, understood, finally.

Five senses and elements, brought together,
One divine event, unnoticed, never again.

Quiet the times, wafting on a river,
Torrid the waves, unrelenting;
Yet intangible the entropy, seemingly normal
till I found a shade fond.

Fresh the perspective, vibrant
Engaging verbosely, respected.
A reminiscent feeling dug deep
Revives a bond, once beloved.

Transient the touch, still affected
Involuntary a kid chimed and dreamed;
Unlikely snow flake discovered anew,
matured, unique, intricate, my precious cherished.

Somehow short yet impact sustained,
A radiant consciousness shall linger everlasting.
Another time, different setting, alternate universe,
Particles perhaps do converge cardinally.

More often than I care, queried, the reasons endured,
Injury and therapy, without weary, managed, amidst muscles sore.
Two screws, titanium strong, sustain movement, each knees tried,
Unprofessional weakling forlorn, strengths born, in stride.

After conquering tasks, men abhorred,
I remember once again, reasons I run for;
It nourishes movement, a sloth died,
Pumps through my veins, makes me feel pride,
Slowly but surely, winds of change, pure,
A feeling lucidly reassured.

It moves me forward, to a future I see,
Teaches no regret for the expired,
I’ve left behind, retired,
And ahead the beautiful seasons before me.
Hope provided, life we think is sure,
It is yet more brittle and pure.

She wages, provides meaning once more
Subtler than words from a mind obscure.
Blatant the health revived, with sweat,
Sublime still the reasons, yet.
A final thought thus evolves,
Run thyself and realize my resolve.

For my writing, shy and barren,
do injustice to the feeling matured;
For the mind’ eye perceives,
an infinite unique possibilities.
Far more to be said, miles to be conquered,
races to be defeated, running life to be fulfilled.

A year past, sour memories taint
Another fresh life starts.
A decade past, immature, arrogant,
Time mellows and heals, lessons learnt.

Three decades, a half lifetime ?
Or close to full, pysche pushed ?
Extremes attracted, a mind unrest,
Oscillated, annihilated, wishes contracted.

Shall the new cycle bring anew,
Experiences, joy and sorrow alike ?
I pray so, for life feeble and short,
Nothing satisfies than extending limits.

Life, the net inference of infinite butterfly effects;
Everything seems to matter, nothing really does;
No reason to be austere or gay,
Just realizations filter through august chaos.

Every action, another fall; Karma.
Without facade, intangible abyss
tugs with fury, thou hast no escape.

Walking with my injured leg,
Limping up and down steps cold,
I keep reciting to myself:
Down with the bad and Up with the good.
Facts of life, reassured.

Another pebble in the river,
Unearthed in sands of time,
I feel fulfilled, satisfied when drunk
among friends who barely understand but withstand.

This psyche communicates better in code
than in a language foretold.
It is maybe the recursion, the patterns
that fit like solutions to a maze.

I stumble and bumble my way across,
stepping on foots of people misunderstood;
Numbers, alone, stay above, beyond criticism,
You get it or you just dont.

Amadeus, Pi, Matrix, Fight club, Inception,
Movies of infinite precision;
What I perceive, no one else does;
Childish yes but vast the possibility.

I have no regrets. I am what I am.
Folly is ye to interpret.

Came across this gem from Kipling and had to write about it. It concisely lays out the virtues of a great man. Just another stark reminder to all of us on how hard we need to strive to become a ‘Man’. And that too in plain simple words. Striking.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

I had an argument, in an elated state
Few years back, with someone who understood
The idea, but not through my eyes, a distorted palate,
Here I am again, watching, standing on what I believe.

This movie, a rebellion from mundane existence,
Far moved thoughts, than Matrix ever has.
Absolute resignation the key, to rise, to see,
An aghori created within,
To know, to discern Liberation.
Here’s another master piece, misunderstood.

This is another reason why I watch as many movies as I do and read as many fiction/poetry as I can get my hands on. May be I’m still searching for that affirmation for what I think I know…

Just taking a walk on a beautiful morning,
Watching fall colours waving in a dance,
Blending with rustling symphony of leaves,
Breaking the trance, cool, serene, gusts wafting
A remote breakfast, delicious flavor, stimulating
Higher senses without effort.

Another day, mundane incident.
Beauty immeasurable. Senses fulfilled.
A life enriched.

Being hungry a minute and devoid of it the next,
The sated feeling fills body and mind;
If only food and everything else tasted heavenly
Like this, every moment, beyond deliverance.

One thought opposes, another cheers on,
In difference, another sense of satisfaction.
All transient pleasures short lived in eternal time,
May be only the final sleep will quench this thirst.