what it means

I try to avoid the pain
I try not to look inside
I try to point fingers
close my palm shut

I try to avoid the pain
I try not to look,
anywhere,
I see a silhouette

I cry out,
you correct your step
as if in a dream
I see you cross  the river
unharmed,

I look inside
I look at the pain
I see you unharmed
inside
I look at anger
I see you unharmed
I look at grief
I see you unharmed

do you know
what it means
do I know
what it means

I dance without fear 

Koans 1

Koans 1

a stone in the path
many stones in the path
all different tones, varied sizes

many different shapes, varied surfaces
stones in the course of a river
river flows, stone stays,

ringing melody ensues

stone forms the river
river forms the stone

shoreline, herons call,
landscape ahead,

rolling plains, rising hills
all formed and deformed

river flows, heron calls, stone, grain
neither the stone, nor the heron,
nor the river, nor the wind

all are one, one is all

~
Today it dawned on me about stones, about the obstructions, the resistance and formations. That I see it there, that I see so many different stones, so many forms of luck and misfortune, all tied in a single thread of a vision of stones and river. A moment later, I saw the world in that grain of sand I held until it vanished and became my hand. And I saw all the differences, all the differentiators melt into one. I saw humanity as a single amoeba carrying a single stone. It all made sense. It was beautiful. The weight lifted. The flow and music because of the stone was there still. But there was something beyond it us all. A foresight to enjoy the music, a foresight to enjoy the resistance. Not just mine, but also of the world's. And the bitterness, anger, judgements, competition, fear- all of it melted away. Or it was there, and it was not there. How do I say it.

All of what I have been reading, meditating, treading up on. All of it made sense. Not that I was looking for it to make sense this way. I did not know that the answer lay in a stone and the image of the flow. Suddenly a fly passes by, and I acutely hear its flapping. I hear a motorbike and I see myself getting carried away. I see memories arising, I see emotions. I see fear. I see grasping. And I can not point to this place and form sound or  a syllable to translate the place from which I am seeing this. I cannot call it beautiful. But it makes sense. Immensely. There is more to it. That much I know.

while i recall

can you shelter me in a syllable, a sound

in the depth of your poetry 

in the ink that drops fervently

a shelter for a moment 

while i recall 

the way back into me 

can you share with me a move

in the vastness of your embrace 

in the dance of your hips 

a moment for just a moment 

while i recall 

the way back into me 

can you give me a hand 

in the sweetness of the kheer you feed the multitudes

in your search for more mouths to feed 

a mouthful of taste for a moment 

while i recall 

the way back into me 

can you give me a shelter, a move, a hand, anything at all,

for a moment 

while i recall

the way back into me 

I miss you 

It was yesterday 

walking back 

late into the night 

with a rain drizzling 

with a dark blue shawl around me

walking into the night 

i thought i saw you 

sitting on the side walk 

a glance and you were gone 

I missed you then 

not in the way one misses something you crave for 

but in a way one looses one’s arm 

or a leg may be, 

or a part of you 

I missed you and I cried 

Later mom asked me, 

if it is the rain that choked my voice 

if it is the rain that gave me the cold 

No, I did not bring your name into the conversation

it was still raining outside 

I imagined you 

There was no point in imagining 

You are gone, truly gone 

I missed you again then

And I asked for relief

relief from this pain I have been carrying in me all these months

relief from the words unspoken

relief from the tears unshed 

I prayed that I could bury you 

with this missing 

like I will learn to live without a part of me 

i nearly hear you say, 

life goes on 

As I write these lines, 

Pain is lesser than yesterday,

Did I tell you, I slept better than all these months

all these years

Coming back, I have to confess,

I looked at your picture

And I found this out

My missing you had nothing to do with the living 

It is all got to do with the dead 

with the gone 

I seem to have a buried you partially 

I am addressing you from the past from here and now 

I miss you still 

allow me leave you for now

I have reached the end of lines 

I will close with this one last time here "I miss you"

I miss you.. 

Like an amputee remembering the shape of the arm or the tiny finger on the feet, lost, gone, 

Like the childhood river and its company, flown past, invisible, unidentifiable, non-existent,

Like the monsoon which came on time,some time back, 

Like I would never have imagined how missing could be..

I miss you