Haiku
[Source – Pixabay]
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Unattached, patiently, freely I go deep
Within myself and find
That love can transform it all.
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All
[Source – Pixabay]
Life
[Source – Pixabay]
Ode to the Book – Easy SUDOKU Puzzles
Literary Nonsense
[Image by Marie from Pixabay]
There is a book and it goes by the name
Easy SUDOKU Puzzles, it’s part of a series –
Medium SUDOKU Puzzles, Hard SUDOKU Puzzles.
All I can say is don’t buy the Easy ones.
The reason is damn straightforward,
Easy ones are way too easy and damn
Full of mistakes and it begins from the
Very first page. It makes you feel stingy.
Instead of creative juices flowing in your brain,
You fall asleep on the book and drool all over it
The book then sits eating dust and you forget it
Completely. And when you look at it, you start crying.
Friends might mock you for buying the book -Easy SUDOKU Puzzles;
They will crush your feelings and not understand,
Some will even question you as an individual.
Forget them, forgive yourself and solve the puzzles nevertheless
Or you can write a blog about it and kill the readers,
Oops!
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The Same
“What I meant was that if we are talking about the universe and how it works, then shouldn’t we first at least be aware of the micro-universes… the micro-universe of every living being which may throw some light on the macro-universe?”
“Hm-hm, I said the same.”
“How life evolves… its route from birth to death… simple cycles, complex cycles… such details can reveal a map of which we are also a part.”
“My words mean the same.”
“And finally, where are we headed to… is there any sense in this flow of energy that we see everywhere… waves that have risen will soon fall and merge with the rest, will it be the end or a new beginning…? Maybe these questions if answered can change the meaning, the essence of our lives.”
“Same… same.”
“Hey, what is with you? Same… same? Don’t you know anything else? Being quiet doesn’t make you a good listener, being honest about your response makes you. I don’t know why I began talking to you… who are you anyway?”
SILENCE RULES A LONG MINUTE
“I am you and you are me… we are both the same.”
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Reflection
Flash Fiction
The window was closed and I stood staring, the reflection looked better, I thought.
I took a step forward and could still see myself, but also the wind blowing outside. The flying leaves passed right through me and the golden rain tree caressed me gently.
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Image by Suanpa from Pixabay
Few more steps towards the window and I got closer to myself. The reflection was quiet… unlike the weather outside. I could even hear the wind, the music it played was resonant.
I forgot the reflection and saw through it as I stood by the window. The live drama outside and the rhythms playing caught me and I hummed along. I smiled.
Just then like a flash I again noticed my reflection on the window, it was also smiling this time. Immediately I changed my focus and tuned to watching the wind’s performance, smiling the whole while.
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“Only a few arrive at nothing, because the way is long.” – Antonio Porchia
Spirituality
[Source – Pixabay]
To keep walking is hard. Repeatedly dying on the way is a normal occurrence, but no less significant.
What breaks the heart often is not the crude world or a passer-by, but the heart itself. It allows itself to be crushed.
And as funny as it may sound, the truth doesn’t change that the heart also heals itself.
Let us keep aside the magical part for it blindfolds the ones with sightless minds and talks about reason and logic.
Oh! But that is already done – heart breaks itself and heals itself… very straightforward indeed. Brain, heart, brain, heart… and this is the journey.
Carrying on kills, but so does not-carrying on; carrying on also gives you a chance to live and to experience the universe. It is a long, long, long journey and then you reach nothing.
At nothing, you become everything.
Read about Antonio Porchia, the Argentinian poet here.
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MUSIC In A Silent Way
A Dedication
[Image by Lucas from Pixabay]
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Trumpet
The room was dimly lit, the colours were all crayon textured and old… they all easily submerged in it. More footsteps could be heard and voices… voices were telling each other tales only known as a secret before by some selected few. Voices were joking, but just for a while. Soon they were talking MUSIC.
Soprano saxophone and electric guitars
Rhythms were played verbally and details were given through gestures. People gathered around knew it was time… time to create. Like a charm, everyone flowed, everyone flowed and synced to reach the MUSIC.
Organ, double bass and drums
Time stopped to bask in the musical waves… the musical waves were powerful enough to capture time. It danced, yes, it did. The room stayed dimly-lit, crayon shades also didn’t change… the room and the colours were in awe like little children looking through a wire fence… even the floor swayed… in a silent way, everyone did.
Trumpet, soprano saxophone, electric guitars, organ, double bass and drums later reminded Time to move.
This post is dedicated to the studio album In A Silent Way by Miles Davis, listen to it now –
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In A Rush/ Not In A Rush
Poem
[Source – Pixabay]
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Life seems to be in a rush…
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And thoughts blurry,
Like passing an array of lights
On moonless nights.
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Timely, untimely one hears
What is not said,
But is felt vaguely
And declared mandatory suddenly.
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One click, one blink, one tick-tock
And life is not the same,
And I will happily testify to it
For I, unlike life, am not in a rush.
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What Made The Monk Smile?
Flash Fiction
[Image by Milena M from Pixabay]
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The monk was tired, he drank the water from the rivulet, still felt the same. Like the dark heavy clouds that take over the sky so often, the monk had almost surrendered to such heaviness. If only he could just sit there forever and listen what stories the wind brought to him.
Thinking this he got up and moved ahead. One step at a time. The seamless pattern, the embroidery cross, squares, diamonds, chevrons on his sweater soaked in the sun; it was a parting gift, the monk couldn’t refuse the loving people of that small village.
Strong wind currents and his rough hard shoes made music together; often the pebbles added to it.
Lines on his forehead made him look tense. Just then he reached a fork in the road; the monk stood still and saw two things – the rough path ahead and a tiny little flower beaming at him, growing out of the rocky mountain. The monk walked towards the flower and stared at it.
He smiled and resumed walking ahead. His smile echoed in the mountain valley.
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LINES WRITTEN
Observation
[Image by Michael Treu from Pixabay.]
Lines, full of an era’s touch, were written. Some read and understood. Some followed. They tried. And then, lines were drawn.
Lines drawn were stone-solid, iron-hard. But time can always seep through and can rust till it is dust. Thus, lines started to fade.
Lines started to change. Change bloomed. They so rightly say, whatever is unimaginable is imaginable.
Lines are narrowed down to a box. A box in the head. The head awaits to breakaway, not realising that because it awaits, it awaits.
Lines are pruned to look similar, to look contemporary, to look right.
Lines are shredded. Words crippled, meaning transformed.
Lines like a guide help a seeker. The one who is seeking life meets the mid-way end. The end is the beginning.
Are you seeking life? In this very moment?
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Cid Corman’s Blue Aerogrammes
Coverage
[Source – Pixabay]
In a thin air-light piece of blue paper words were written, no space wasted, legibly shinning, beautifully written. It was for everyone, Cid Corman called it direct poetry.
A Selection –
If these words
don’t remember you—
forget them.
The leaf at last gets
the drift of wind and so
settles for the ground.
I wear the mask of
myself and very nearly
get away with it.
There is no end and
never was a beginning – so
here we are – amidst.
Rain-drops. Each
makes a point
of silence.
You are here – just as
I had imagined –
imagining me.
Nothing ends with you —
every leaf on the ground
remembers the root.
We wear out
but the sky
looks as new
as ever.
A COUPLE
She keeps coming home
to me – of all things – and I
remain home for her.
Has it ever
occurred to you
you’re what is oc-
curring to you?
[Source – goodreads]
Cid Corman wrote for and ran the magazine Origin. He followed a lovely rule, he replied to each and every letter that the magazine received within 24 hours, if he couldn’t, he didn’t do it at all.
Lucky must be the ones who got his answer, that too in the form of direct poetry. The book, Famous Blue Aerogrammes, is about these replies.
I have just read a few of these, still I can say that it continues to create magic… blue feathery magic that makes you smile.
Read more about Cid Corman here.
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