Do you know what bliss is?

Do you know what bliss is?
It’s waking up at 6:30 in the morning,
With your whole world sleeping next to you,
Her hair rustling in the wind of the electric fan,
The Sun peeping through the blinders,
Trying to pry your eyes open,
That, there, is bliss.

Soon, the Sun passes you over,
Adding you to the naughty list,
Of lazy people.
But your lover still sleeps
And you daren’t wake her,
For you love that solemn expression on her face,
And all you want is for that fleeting moment to remain,
Before the bustle of the morning begins.

Cities

Hunkered, cowering, crawling
The masses seething through
An urban jungle sprawling
Sky and stone of same hue

Eyes lowered, heavy
Watching furtively, each stranger
With hopes and dreams, heady
Covered, guarded from each danger

Rain splashing on head and face
As we walk to our destinies
Some to fame’s embrace
Most, to life’s inequities

What if one day, we were to rise
Leave back this dreary, endless ride
Catch the light before it dies
To claim some day that we too tried

But that is for another day
There is work yet to be done
Cash the check, claim some pay
A race yet to be won

And so one sees
The masses seethe
As endless drops in endless seas
With gray up top and gray beneath

Death

Death,

come to me slowly

and stand besides me

like a friend

for I will have lived fully

by the time you come.

Or,

stand in attention

like an enemy

and let us fight

till the end of eternity

before you take my soul.

But,

do not creep up suddenly

and take me with

a treacherous knife in my back

like a wretched, unwary man.

 

Death,

fight me like an enemy

or greet me as a friend

but be not a stranger

when you take me in the end.

Childhood

In a sea of faces
walks a child,
his mind swimming
in a sea of books.
He seems lost
in the reverie
that some call the Schoolyard.

He looks at the children,
smiling, playing, happy.
He is distant,
but not angry or sad,
just different.
There is a moment,
a flicker in his eyes
and out comes the pen,
to write words,
nay, observations,
into his notebook.

He sits in the sidelines,
toiling as hard as
the basketball players,
on rhyming his words.
Sometimes two lines
do not rhyme
and the world seems
like a dark, filthy place.
But then the light
of imagination shines
and the words come rushing.

He dares, he dreams,
he imagines, he infers,
he observes, he opines.
He holds his rhymes dear,
Till one day he will grow up
And grow out of the rhymes
With dulled imagination
and a weary soul
drifting in a sea of adulthood.

But not today!
Today he writes,
today he cherishes,
his energetic soul.
Today is not for worrying.
Today is for the now.
Today is for
Thinking, Dreaming, Hoping.

Fyr

It was a cold, dark, moonless night.

Heartless winds roared outside the cave,

Threatening to enter and destroy.

Not a soul among us spoke,

Our eyes were all looking at just one thing in the center

It was you, fyr.

The unsteady warmth you gave us was,

The only solace from the cold death awaiting us.

You were the only one that could make the night less harsh.

You flickered, unsure.

We flinched at the thought of loosing you.

But you remained.

You remained to keep us brutes alive.

You remained to keep us warm, however unsteady.

We lived that night.

The next day, at dawn,

Our fastest caught a hunt.

We toasted, as we roasted.

You gave us food,

Yes you did.

You kept us alive, fyr.

In Space

I am in space
Lost amongst the light
Of a million dying stars
It is not cold
But I am not warm
There is no movement
For there is no way
To judge movement
There is no up or down
Nor left or right
For there is no plane
To judge direction
There is no gravity
It is very strange
And yet very familiar
Why did I ever need gravity?
There is no physics
For nothing is relative
A million miles of nothing
Or maybe
A million miles of me
I am confused
Although it is very clear
That I am here
I am in space

Mind’s Games

Few tufts of wind blow across the sky
pregnant with suggestion,
a stone on ground breaks it’s path
with every misdirection.
At once, the winds clear out
and all arguments fall flat in the face
In the second instant
without a hopeful trace,
into the murky vials of the unforseen,
the heart plunges again
there are no bounds then
to the stone’s cry of pain.
It’s not the stone
which chooses it’s fate
it’s an unseen ether
whose vileness does not abate.
The stone cringes
in search of peace
it knows not till now
a moment’s release.
There is no sadness
as the unknown,
for in it’s madness
it chills to the bone.
The stone is compliant
to the fancies of the wind
and to the dry earth
it remains pinned.
Nor move nor breathe
neither does it sigh in relief
the stone is fooled
into the farce belief
that there is a force
outside of it’s own
that causes the weeping
and the deep deep moan.
Will there be sunshine
in the land of the sun?
will we be soaring
or just trying to run?
What good does
self-obsession do?
When the stone can be
happy when left to!
The stone can see
the open skies
but it must have real,
not a potato’s eyes.
Let your heart fly
it has the strength
let doubt be diminished
to it’s power’s tenth!
There’s a ray of hope
in each moment
and it’s up to you
to grab it pin point!

Always remember, like Owen Wilson said in “The Darjeeling Limited

Francis: Dad’s bags aren’t gonna make it.

Sometimes, we just need to let go of things and jump onwards to the next journey. The only thing preventing us from rediscovering ourselves is ourselves.