Posts Tagged spiritual

In and Out

Outside of the window, it looks like spring

Inside, my mind simpers a flightless wing

Hit by an arrow of impertinence, bloodless clot

A cruel lightning slash, a clueless shot

The Same world, an in and out thought

Outside of the body, I wear a ring

Inside, no more radius for such a heartless thing

Here I am on the verge of a breathless blink

Love sends but no notes for one song to sing

The same golden flesh, an in and out sheen


Outside of this earth, there must be a globe

Inside, a haven of restless souls, underneath a cloudy robe

No love, no remorse, just an increasing street of poets

Each laden with weight, leaving their touching blots

Same tombstones, bodies in but spirits out on the roads.

http://allpoetry.com/poem/6661646


Advertisements

, , , ,

Leave a comment

“ALWAYS I KNOW YOU ANEW”-William R. Benet

  

Originally uploaded by rangamchiru
 

I press my hands on my eyes
And will that you come to me.
Your semblances shimmer and rise;
Yet ’tis never your self I see,
Never the exquisite grace
And the bright, still flame of you.
So, when I meet you face to face,
Always I know you anew! 

Faint visions I saw, instead
Of your brows direct and wise,
Of the little lilt of your head
And your dark-lashed, sky-clear eyes,
Of the soft brown braids demure,
The poise as of quiet light,
The perfect profile, sweet and pure,–
Never I dream you aright! 

And new in endless ways,
By your blessed heart unplanned,
It is mine to surprise each sweeter phase,
Adore you, and understand;
For through every delicious change in you
Truth burns with a clear still flame;
And, though always I know you anew,
Always I find you the same!
-william R,Benet 

, , , ,

Leave a comment

CONCEALED TALISMANS

 

Round world, like the wistful pendant on her high society neck
With gods and goddesses, and amulets of the earth
Morning newspapers securing their own with our fortunes,
Tarots, alphabets, integers and all that you can speck;
Sometime in the chill of a night by the temperate hearth
We drank parleys of hill tales and legends, thick in the green, green dunes
I ascertained some patented beliefs and talismans
Not those conspicuous sparkling city blends
But concealed within as locked cartridges of guns
Never tentative but decisive of the timely hour
When all that in sight is, what you closed an eye for.

The might of human faith, fragile though by a black cat’s notion
Or insuperable the feeling of waking up to a good sleep’s dream
The sun, moon, stars or the flash of an ephemeral starlit beam
Pilgrims to their creed’s holy soil, to wash their sins and plan salvation
They tie some knots of coloured threads, or dangle jewelled crosses of the crucified Lord
Five times on a rug, three times in a lion’s lair, retold to strike a heavenly chord
The endless flock of worshippers, from sea to shore
When all that overwhelms thought is, what you bowed your head for.

A frisky wild squirrel crossed our campaign route; they rejoiced a win in the elections
A lost deer oddly jaunts in front of our convoy; danger ahead in ambush as hunched,
A wild rooster unusually atop the Church bell, evoking the overnight dead pastor’s imposing sermons
The dog wailed on top of their thatched roof, its loyal reminder to fellow mortals,
Perpetual clash of customary beliefs with meekness of docile apostles
Established justice by the bite of mother tiger’s lost tooth, or by water baptism
The cattle raider consequent by guilt of the bite, not a mere bit random
The gun thief spat out by the just water in a trice, while honesty breathed absolute calm.
Treasured instincts of natives ingrained as lines on their palm.
When delayed is justice denied, ethnic integrity helps the languishing Indian courts swarm.

And in us all hang concealed talismans, hopeful like a prayer before their hunt
Rabbit’s -foot- touch-wood or the crossed fingers for those in want
False notions hover still around as butterflies on a wild cat’s banal dung,
To each their faith, and in each faith gallop horse-shoes from old to us young:
On the hearthrug, I slept by the crow of dawn almost four
Around a hundred stories yawned; need I mystify the self more?
Discerningly validated by us all, when all that of faith remains is, just what you are desirous for.

****

-Rangam Thoitak Chiru

, , , , , , , ,

Leave a comment

%d bloggers like this: