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.

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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.

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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

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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…

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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…

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

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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.

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With buddies and wine missing here
I sit solemn working on my code;
Come far I have, the past 15 years
To reach the end of another episode.

One day past, the fun does it last ?
Here comes a new day with aspirations aloft.
One more year. One more day.
and I still really don’t feel that old…

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Poetry ? Well, it is a little hard to comprehend the meaning behind it but Palindrome you say ?! Yes. This is a 224 word Palindrome Poetry written by “Demetri Martin”.

via Neatorama and read from the original link at Slate Magazine.

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For the past few days, piecemeal I’ve read and it is beautiful. My only regret is that I did not discover this gem before.

The tale of Faust is supposed to be Goethe’s greatest work into which he poured a lifetime of experience; the entire work took him his whole life and he finished the second part only a year before his demise. The literary work is written as a play (a poetical drama actually) and it portrays an interplay of religion, the supernatural, love, tragedy and the surreal. To give you an introduction about Faust, here’s a brief synopsis.

Faust is an old man, a sage or an alchemist, wise, learned and very pious. We see a conversation between God and Mephistopheles (satan) in which God remarks that Mephistopheles may try all he likes to tempt Faust; God is confident that Faust is too moral an individual to be tempted by anything. Mephistopheles sets to work, appearing to Faust and conversing with him. Faust is weary of life, and Mephistopheles is soon able to convince him that he could sample something more.

The story concerns the fate of Faust in his quest for the true essence of life. Frustrated with learning and the limits to his knowledge and power, he attracts the attention of the Devil (Mephistopheles), who agrees to serve Faust until the moment he attains the zenith of human happiness, at which point Mephistopheles may take his soul. Faust is pleased with the deal, as he believes the moment will never come.

In the first part, Mephistopheles leads Faust through experiences that culminate in a lustful and destructive relationship with an innocent and nubile woman named Gretchen. Gretchen and her family are destroyed by Mephistopheles’ deceptions and Faust’s desires and actions. The story ends in tragedy as Gretchen is saved and Faust is left in shame.

The second part begins with the spirits of the earth forgiving Faust (and the rest of mankind) and progresses into rich allegorical poetry. Faust and his devil pass through the world of politics and the world of the classical gods, and meet with Helen of Troy (the personification of beauty). Finally, having succeeded in taming the very forces of war and nature Faust experiences a single moment of happiness.

The devil Mephistopheles, trying to grab Faust’s soul when he dies, is frustrated as the Lord intervenes — recognizing the value of Faust’s unending striving.

This has been one of the most interesting drama’s I have ever read. It portrays one of the imminent weaknesses of the human kind; The quest for knowledge and the impossibility to attain enlightenment without the passion. And It punches in all that with philosophical poetry. Enough said. Go grab a copy now and enjoy it.

Download from Google for free.

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AND thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return’d to Earth!
Though Earth receiv’d them in her bed,
And o’er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I lov’d, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
‘T is Nothing that I lov’d so well.

Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass’d away,
I might have watch’d through long decay.

The flower in ripen’d bloom unmatch’d
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch’d,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck’d to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow’d such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath pass’d,
And thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguish’d, not decay’d;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o’er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.

– Don’t know what to say. The depth of the poem chokes me with emotions.

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This joy that lingers ; Will it stay ?
All crutches to raise to that, haunts night and day
Tomorrow chaos shall return but memories do remain.
But that something touched feels pure like a elixir’s rain !

Life, this bitter sweet symphony
Still plays its tune amidst ruckus in complete harmony.
Every action, reaction perfect to its end
And so shall it be until all the energy is spent.

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Fear the cold innocence.
What you fear, you don’t know;
What you know, thee fear not.
Knowledge enlightens thy darkness,
The light burns the innocence
The light refines and polishes thee.

To break the innocence, aspire on.
Ponder and clutter thy mind with thoughts.
The release, the opening of the door to knowledge
Shall dawn when thy fear burns out completely.

The count of knowledge exceeds the grasp.
Is there ever a release then from fear ?
Is there an alternate to reverse the curse ?
The thoughts coarse and intense strike
The heart excited and depressed pleads
Show me the ultimate path o thee.

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The two eyes serene, concealing aspiration,
the third burns silently, watching thy tempation.
The eye, thy mind, what difference do they have ?
The lord of ashes conceals it all.
The sovereign observer never sleeps,
the blue throated consciousness, ever aware
of even the billionth of the heat dissipated

Burn thyself and feed the ultimate eye;
Oh thee who never closes thy eye,
Tell me that this place isn’t baked by the poison in me.
Give me strength to bear the sting
To prolong, to proceed and to rise, to meet thy eye.

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Obstacles come and go,
Dissipation the motive, bringing down the silence,
Aspiration the antidote, to cure the morose.
Hang on and thee shall be spoken to.

Chant the name, the name that you love,
For every name bears the mark of the supreme,
Realize the identity in every entity,
For that is the stepping stone to the truth.

Analysis of the complex and the reason eludes,
But persist and thee shall see the true image;
Walk, without sleep and everything will fall into place,
And thee shall reach the point of no haze.

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Concentrate thy senses and focus in thy mind,
Pour the emotions in an unbroken stream
Upon the path to realization of the inner self,
he who he is and he is not everywhere,

Silence burns its way,
Pay attention and give more silence as food,
The agni shall rise and enlighten the day
Feel the truth that everything happens for good.

Pray to thee who is formless and yet has the perfect form,
Adore thee who is the self and the shadow,
Aspire for thee who has always lived and yet never aged,
Surrender thyself to the ultimate, a part of thyself too.

Without Aspiration wretched is thy soul, this decaying self ;
Meditation purifies Aspiration,
Silence pours ghee and supplies vigour to meditation ;
Without Aspiration silence means nothing.

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Sometime back, i ended up in a discussion with a friend on ‘liking’ and ‘obsession’. Like a repeated folklore story, my mental model didn’t seem to fit theirs and theirs to mine as before. It was like a puzzle but of course such intricacies of the heart are moulded by the personality and so i consoled myself that there is nothing here to ponder. The thought hidden, has been eating away my patience silently, for quite some time until the ever dissipating ‘anger’ showed up from nowhere to inform me that the thought was matured. I started pondering on it again and it was just a flash, an image pretty descriptive and yet cryptic as ever, showed up before my inner eye to explain such a makeup of the mind.

The image was about a heart shaped entity dissected in the middle and with different layers of stuffs covering over it. It seemed very much like layers of metals covering or rather protecting something delicate which can easily be affected. It was precisely like layers of iron covering the core made up of cotton. So the desire, the emotion, the feelings, the longings which are all basically different forms of heat, have to penetrate the outer strong layer to touch the deeper one. And once it finds its way, or in other words when the emotion becomes so intense that it can touch the cotton, then cotton will go on a fire, on a rage in effect of the emotion. The longing of the mind will join hands with the burning heat provided by the heart, amplifying the result such that desperation creeps in.

I have come to realise that i see no difference between ‘liking’ and ‘obsession’. It may mean that i am weak and the single layer of iron will fall for every emotion, giving way to burn the cotton for every silly desire, amplifying it as obsession unlike others for whom the gradient of protection prevents such a thing and hence the variation in liking is evident. It also seemed to answer why i have boundless energy inspite of my paltry food supplies, less water, but spend lots of my heat in doing things that i am obsessed with. The cotton keeps burning, not leaving the mind at rest, the underlying flame keeps the body moving, pushing it farther and farther, not realising that the bag shall tear beyong a certain threshold, not withstanding the heat it has to handle.

Oh thee dark one, Oh lord of ashes, Ye who haunts my dreams,
Take my heat, supply me with pure aspiration,
Burn my desire once and for all
Bless me with peace and calm this swelling heart.

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