Wasting away energy on ghostly dreams,
Missing the beauty of the moment ;
The fragile mirror that is bound to be broken,
The tragedy, not realizing this truth.

Arise. Live beyond dreams and bondage.
Let every moment be the perfect time,
For the end of life to enlighten the mind.

Oh thee, my light, my spirit. Rest in peace.

This post is beautiful. Reminds me of my time in Goa and Mangalore during my trip. Words well woven and written out in a poetic expression that depicts the ocean in a very subtle way. The pictures that are in the post are also very graphically depictive. Here it is.

Listen to what great a silence they behold;
Sun in the clear blue sky, the vagrant breeze warm and dry.

The prelude draws its overtures from the reprise.
Slow and steady the tune is built.
With the flats and sharps as they gather,
Tempo together with the minors and majors.
Into an experience of this astounding resonance. The voice of orbital orgasm!

Whither the moon? Whither the waters? The roar!
As the scale descends, the roar drowns into a death,
Only to pass the dying refrain as the theme to the next.
The roar speaks in a million accents: of triumphs, of disappointments,
Of convictions, of negotiations , of a variety emotions and naked reasons.

In this brutal might there is beauty – austere or magnifique;
but nothing is permitted to last more than the lifetime of a wave.
This is no ordinary orchestra.
This is life, the concert writ against the horizon of constancy.

via Deja-vu

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Material bondage beyond water and food
That moves and drives so many minds ;
Blinded by the illusion of feeling good
Leads astray the path, from what matters the most.

Is it just me ? Or is money just worthless.
As worthful as printed, unusable paper ;
No more, no less.
How then does it yield such power beyond ?

This inconsiderate spending of gained possessions,
Without second thought, for good or for bad ;
No regrets whatsoever on lost paper
It still keeps coming back to fill the purse.

Why then does the paper miss the purse of the needy ?
What good have i done to deserve this attention ?
Cannot think of a logical answer as always but
Just seems as though the dough fills up.
When you don’t crave for it.

Am i then talking all this because i never needed it ?
I was never in shortage, or never in pain,
Without food or drink like the needy, It well might be ;
But i wouldn’t have been any different, I am sure.

Praise the lakshmi, and do not work for her.
She has a knack of finding the right time,
And the right place to fill your need.
After all, nothing remains to take back when you are dead.

By: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

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.

Wish is the feeling which gnaws at the core
And until it is fed enough, that which never stops.
Moving and making fate in its own process
Little less do we know, this is unpredictable than chess.

Luck is like a tide pulled by the moon,
Undulating through the undertow.
None can tell how far that wave might go,
Afloat upon the wash’s wind-blown foam.

Yet knowing well one’s wishes face the wind,
Even so, one does what one can do,
Alert to rituals that spirits woo,
Rendering what renders them benign.
Whether good or ill, the choice of fate.

Oh, I have slipped the s#urly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds – and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

By John Gillespie Magee Jr via CatsInSpace

Very plain, straightforward and beautiful.

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On a black day, joy overflowing,When mind is still submerged in mirth and revelry,Somewhere, someplace i have been to, is washed away.In tears and agony, the Tsunami engulfs the land.

The blissful silence in the depth of the night
Illusion of the mind in control, touching greater height
Peace descends all around in absolute serenity
The concentration opens and reaches the Universe in pure sublimity.

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.