The Bridge Across Forever

I belong to twilight,
in the silence
between worlds,
where things
are always arriving,
ending,
beginning,
without names.

I belong to dawn
in the stillness
between breaths,
where things
are always leaving,
dying,
being born,
without a whisper.

I belong
where nothing belongs,
only this life,
this body,
the bridge across forever
now.

इस मोड़पे मैं क्या करूँ?
छोड़ दूँ तुम्हें या बाँध लूँ?
इस तन में तन्हा उधार है
आखिर जीवन से कैसे जुदा रहूँ?

blessed death

if I could die
I would
in your arms,
in that one embrace
of breath,
of the cosmos
swirling
within us,
in our cells,
in our bones,
in our flesh;

if I could live
through that moment,
I would hold you forever
in my eyes,
in my heart,
in my breath,
a nameless god
who made me come alive
to this world,
to this love,
and this blessed death,

with no you,
no me,
just us
in one timeless breath.

without a sound

you showed me how to live
when you walked away
in the quiet of a breath
unheeded,
with eyes rooting
for the intractable darkness ahead,
not turning back even once
to see what was left behind,
no tassels left
to dance with the wind,
only one cord
that binds you
to your undying song -
the one you are here for,
the same song
that leaves sing
in the thick of a forest,
even as they die,
without a sound,
without a fuss,
without one memory
of eons witnessed
over lifetimes
of green to brown.
you showed me how to live
without a sound.

for a morsel of life

sometime ago
I wrote a poem
on hunger,
the hunger I knew -
the hunger of eyes
always searching
for something
among cracks,
the hunger of hearts
yawning and closing
to be filled
and emptied,
the hunger of skin
baring itself
to be stroked
to its sensibility,
and the hunger of spirit
smitten by a delirium
of la la land,

until I came upon
this hunger -
of hands
sold to the soul,
itching to work,
to feed stomachs
churning,
calling,
for a morsel of life
lived simply,
with grace,
and an impeccable devotion
to what gives,
to what is -
their lives.

Hungry for Life!

you know that feeling
when you wake up
some mornings,
with an empty mind
looking into
an empty sky
impossible to be contained
by a line of blue?
yes, that's how
I want to wake up
to every moment,
hungry
for life!

A Prayer for You

you asked me
to pray for you

and so I looked
into myself
to notice
a soft, steady trickle
of clear water
like a mountain spring

growing,
changing,
listening
all the while
to the trees,
the sky,
the birdsong,
the pebbles,
the crickets,
and the clarion call
of a faraway ocean

and then flowing out,
awakened
to the silence
resting deep
within
words,
this world,
this womb,
the arrival
of a new you
and me
I cannot see,
and a voice
that can finally speak.
a prayer for you.

What do I want?

'what do I want?'
I ask myself,
eyes perched
upon a horizon
which somehow retains
a caged sameness
everyday

surfaces and edges
that clamor tirelessly
to camouflage the aliveness
that draws me in,
an invitation
to stand
on the sacred stage,
where life meets life
naked
all the time,

where what I feel
sets aflame
my insides,
stoking something
unknowable
unspeakable
to foreign eyes,
and a white hot desire
to live
and die to
the adventure
that is,
this one life.

A Living Frontier

at the cusp
of something
I can feel
in my bones,
is it a living frontier
of a becoming
and a dying?
or a simple feeling
of what is, and
what could be?

I wake up quivering,
and let the vastness
and depths
of the firmament
pierce my eyes,
its feelers sinking
into my tender pores,
groping with tentacles
into the void
within, and
touching everything
with a gentle presence,

ah! how it makes me
come alive
to everything
within and without -
one feeding
and digesting
the other,
all the time,
exchanging
secret recipes

what it takes
to make
a stone,
a snowflake,
a seashell,
a leaf,
a bird,
a critter,
a flower,
the darkness,
a smile,
a loss,

and,
a human teardrop
poised
on the edge
of a flood
just waiting to happen.

Stuck.

frozen.
inside my soles.
I can't take
a single step,
even as my eyes
roam the horizon.
and the earth shakes
violently
beneath my feet.

muscles twitch
to feel an inch
of stillness,
in a world
with no margins,
no lines to follow,
no imaginings
to form patterns
with even wispy
beginnings
and ends.
only spirals.
endless.
folding into themselves.

cocooned
by Life
who knows
how to work
on me,
tired eyes
find their way home,
muscles twitch
and come alive
in the craziness,
dancing in skins
centuries old,
loosening their grip
on faithless bones,

and a tiny seed
opens itself out to the world
from its imposed tightness,
sinking invisible roots
into the sticky emptiness
and beyond,
waiting,
noticing,
becoming,
the effortless flow
of life within Life.

At the Altar of Death

put down
all your beliefs
your stories
your identities
your dreams
your whole self
first
at the altar of Death

leave them there
for a while,
as you bow down
and open yourself
to the fragrant breath,
feeling it flow
into and out of
your every cell

and then,
receive it all -
everything you put down,
as an offering
from the God of Death,
wearing them
with reverence
and grace

remember
their fragrance,
their softness,
their lightness,
as they lay strewn
like colourful flowers
with death on their wish-list,
ready to offer themselves
up again, any time.

and then you will know how to live.

Born Free

today,
I want to talk about
my pain mother,
not yours;
the world sees
and extols
your pain,
but what about mine?
is it any less?
or more?
who would know?

did you know
I thought I was dying
as I slipped out
of the safe,
nourishing void?
squeezed,
pressed,
pulled,
pushed,
and wrung out,
my frail lungs
crushed
between walls
without an end,
daggers plunging
into tender skin,
I struggled
and gasped
through
the darkness,
a terrified ball
stretched thin and flat -
perhaps my
first painful lessons
of how to fit
into the trappings
of a fitted world
I had to make my home;

yet,
the song of my heart
exploded
into the sleepy silence
of an alien world,
with the rush of blood
from incessant stabs;
my heart throbbed
and expanded
with that first gulp
of blessed air
I swallowed
without your help;
and my insides
they came alive,
announcing
to the universe,
that I had
indeed arrived.

and the world
looked at me
with ignorance
and awe,
smothering me
with pitiful eyes,
they only saw
a helpless child
swaddled in fear,
they didn't know
I was born free,
held by life.

Boredom

this boredom
is a waiting room -
a pause
within
a spinning pause;

sometimes,
a fish tank
with roving eyes,
prying open
a masked existence;

sometimes,
a magazine picked up
from a corner rack,
filling
an unmistakable hollow
with a fleeting delight
of forgotten selves;

sometimes,
muted piped music
pulsing through
a sleepy heart
ruminating on the speed
of turning wheels;

often,
a necessary sabbatical,
nudging a self
to get back
in conversation
with an ordinary life
that's always alive.

Stories

and we cling to our stories
like leeches
sucking out
every ounce of life,
to live and outlive
the lies we tell ourselves,
the warm blankets we need
on cold, dark nights,
the fires that we light
over and over again
with different travellers
each time,
conversation starters
and sometimes enders,
avatars we incarnate into,
to become the gods
we already are,
even without them;

yes, of course
we need our stories,
to sing our songs,
to dance, to rise,
to fall, to chime in,
to let out
our long-trapped voices
in cracks of stone;

but let's not be bound
by those chains
that slit our wrists,
let's not breathe
their stale, heavy air,
let's not make them
our flesh and bones;
let them live
in the warmth of our skin,
until it's time
to shed their outlived lives,
let's celebrate their death
like the skin of happy bubbles
popping every now and then;
for they are not raging gods
and goddesses
out of incredible myths;
they are but specks of dust
gathering together,
to dance awhile
in a slanting sunbeam
resting upon
the dark
of another unborn morn.

'You are Here'

There is something about us humans and our affinity for maps, lodestones, landmarks and guides (both animate and inanimate). But even that does not seem enough! No, just a random map would not do, it would not serve any purpose. We just have to know where we are, and where we have to go, don't we?. We panic when we feel lost. We are too scared to die into insignificance.....to become a black speck in the inky darkness that we find ourselves in every now and then. And so we come back to holding on to ourselves over and over again....the 'You are Here' spot, which fills us with a balmy warmth, from where we can breathe again more freely. But where are we really? What is that spot where we think we are? Do we even know? Would we? If we were not followers but explorers?

After two weeks of intense yet relaxing traveling, I am back home.....to what I think and feel is home now....after finding and living in many homes over the last few weeks.....homes in beautiful countries, homes in beautiful hearts. As I stepped in, I felt a wave rise and wash over me, taking me along...to a space where there was only darkness - not a darkness that often presupposes 'a lack', but a darkness that exudes mystery....and I found myself in the very same space that I had been all along, for many years, and more ...that space of not knowing where I truly belong.....of feeling like I belong everywhere, and so nowhere,.... or belonging nowhere, and so everywhere. And suddenly, I feel no need for a map like I used to. Or maybe the map has changed. Or I am exploring uncharted territory and so drawing the map as I go along. And so, yes, I feel lost. But it's a happy kind of lost.

On the 27th of June, I was talking to a dear friend on the phone and shared how I was going through something...and feeling lost.....because I did not know where I belonged. I hung up and went to see my father who had been a little sick for the last few days. I don't know why, but when I saw him and he started speaking to me, I hugged him and broke down. I shared with him what I had been feeling deeply.....that I didn't know what 'family' meant anymore, that I didn't know where I belonged, that I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. And he hugged me tight and cried with me too, telling me how much he loved me. A few hours later, he took in his last breath and let go of that last breath in that human form. Perhaps we shared our angst of not knowing where we belonged, in those few moments. But I will never know. What became clear to me in that moment and later was this - that I was no longer as worried about where I was, where I belonged or did not belong.

Today, as I entered the house after being in so many different places, all those moments flashed past my eyes, and the inside of my throat lumped up. I missed you, appa. I remembered you, appa. For I am still there - lost.....not knowing where I belong. But there is no sadness about that this time. The sadness that is there is that you are not here. Otherwise, it's different. There is a peace and a freedom of simply being.....being me....happily walking that uncertain, intangible, fuzzy edge of not knowing where I am and where I belong.

And yet, I can also see how a part of me clings to a story....one tentacle grabbing onto something to survive, to thrive, for now....for as long as I need to. And so I hold on to the grief of losing you and the joy of receiving your blessing - the last blessing that we were graced with as you closed your eyes. Yes, you told us how much you loved us. You told me how special I was. You wished the best for us three, asking us to mark your words.....that we would go places. I believe it is a blessing we were so privileged to receive.

Yet, I missed you for being the only one I knew of, who was always a partaker in my joy, with no agenda, with no feeling of lack, and so being able to receive it fully and openly. Today, I am so happy. Happy with my life and where it has taken me. I am happy and grateful to all that has come my way in the form of opportunities, people, places, wealth, art, experiences and much much more. Yes, I am so happy appa. But you were not there physically present to feel this with me, like I knew you would have, if you were alive and in a body. I miss touching and feeling you. I miss your hug, your laughter, your presence. And yet, you are very much there in me. I can feel it, sense it, hear it, even though it is not the same. And so I imagined you calling me and asking about our trip. I heard the conversation so clearly.....the tone of your voice, the words, your smile through the phone....all pointing to the happiness you were feeling just knowing that I was happy and listening to the story of the magic and how it all unfolded. I yearn to share joy like that with people.

So yeah, that's where I am. In a space of ease and lightness.....of being happy with not belonging anywhere, and so belonging everywhere.....to be able to walk along the fringes when needed so I can jump into anything I want to that draws me in, whenever I feel like it. To respond to life. To wait to be invited to the party. And to simply invite myself by telling life that I am ready to be invited....that I am here!

And that changes the way I look at the 'You are here' spot on the map that is forming now. While I saw it earlier as a place on an already charted map, showing me where I could go, which direction I could head in, I am now seeing it very differently.....I see it as a beautiful spot in an unexplored land, where I can simply stand, marveling at the beauty of the landscape, and tell life loudly and clearly.....that I am ready and here for it to take me where it wants to take me, and where I need to go!

To just know that 'You are here'! Ah! What freedom!

Hungry

everywhere
every moment
in every leaf that falls,
in every dew drop
poised on edge,
in every blade of grass
brown or green,
in every seed
waiting to be spent,
I see hunger,
the universe gorging on itself,
driven by a raging fire
to thrive, to feed
everything alive,
dead or dying,
hungry for a taste
of anything called life;
the feast of a life
well-lived.

Heading Home

I wonder what it was
that drew me to you,
and away from you....
was it the sudden expanse
of stark wilderness,
of wind-sheared mountains
against bald brown,green and blue;
or was it the sheer uncertainty
and hard compassion
of fast-changing tides of wind and water;
or was it the simple innocence
of a black and white life,
where every dimple and blob
breathed fire and ice;
or was it the ever-growing mystery
of virgin depths and shrouded heights,
of limpid morns and surreal nights;
what was it I wonder,
that took me in,
that made me stand unfazed
against the slanting rain
and powdered ice,
or the blood-curdling winds
and the veiled wintry sun,
without a cover or name -
a faceless face in a paltry crowd,
where everything
felt warm and safe,
where suddenly an island
transformed into a continent,
that grew wings and feet and arms
from closing waters,
rising and falling
with the wisps of clouds,
singing the soulful song
of wild geese
heading home -
a place where I can return,
so I can leave and live,
another life, in another world,
just another place
to rest awhile,
where fire meets ice,
where days meet nights,
where black meets white,
where will meets longing,
where fear meets love, and
where life meets death,
so I can be born
all over again,
and again.

Kali

I came to you
with a head full of
stories, questions,
heroes, heroines,
soap operas, tragedies,
flippant comedies,
and gifts that I thought
I bring to this world;
and then, at the cusp
of a limping daylight
and the ravishing black
of a buxom moon,
I stood before you
completely undone;
one look at your
imposing form,
your thousand arms
piercing into eternity,
and the enticing pleats
of your bellowing skirt
drawing me into
a deathly trance,
and my heavy head
bowed down
at your still feet -
the altar of all things human,
pouring out nothing
but words of glory,
while you, through your
frozen white
outstretched tongue,
consume it all,
in one gulp,
mocking at my foolery -
to frill up the cracks
in each shard
with a new incomplete story,
a desperation for wholeness,
when everything that is,
is broken and breakable,
in your hands
of death and life,
O Black Goddess,
Kali!

Black Anger Rising

black anger
rising
from still ground,
no frills,
no flowers,
no camouflage,
no airs,
just an ashen skin,
white hot,
smooth and plain,
dusted
with the whiteness
of a heart
that knows
only one way
to love -
a ferocious love
that destroys
things with a shelf-life,
to recycle,
to create,
a timeless world
beyond life and love.

Black Mountain

and you drew me
with your steady,
one - pointed gaze,
into your spent bosom,
the blackness and stillness
of your stark eyes,
of your majestic form,
lit the pyre
of my wayward thoughts,
as I swallowed you
in one breath,
of fear and love,
with nowhere to hide
but in your barren folds,
now mine,
drinking in a love
that you do not give,
but help me find myself;
rising from the ashes
of long-dead logs
from other worlds,
the black goddess
comes alive
to kill with a love
for Black Mountain.