THE SHADOW OF THE DANCER

You dance like the shadow of the swinging tapestry
The swinging tapestry tries to dance like you
And while you yourself are drunk in the virtues
The virtues drink from you
The dead go live and they sway amidst orchids
While you yourself become the orchid of the life
Like the melody of the blowing breeze
The sound taps upon me pleasant
You become the breeze while I crave for that melody
You dance like the shadow of the swinging tapestry
While the shadows dance upon you

//

1/09/2017 1:00 AM

I was sipping coffee when I wrote this, outside on the roof at Lok’s  (The guitarist). As a soothing breeze blew I fortunately observed the swinging curtain. That combined with some good flamenco music and some of those expressions crept into this poem. The shadows dance upon the dancer but the dancer keeps on dancing. This maybe the first poem that starts another category of its own mostly about different art forms. 🙂

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SECOND TO YOU, FIRST TO GOD

My name is the greed you harbour
And in a portrait of someone
That you chase night and day
But it moves only farther, farther away
And you make your existence your pain
You repeat over and over again
The same never ending refrain
Like the never ending cycle of birth and death
As every being who is born
And is laid to rest
So shall I be too
But before I embrace the kingdom come
I strive to fulfill what only a few have done
The search of God starts with you
And not outside
The encounter of Demons happen to you
And not made to happen
Most die looking for a purpose
While they forget
The purpose is dying to look after them
The time goes slow and the wit goes dim
Trying to understand everything foolishly
Never satisfied.

There is a never in nevermore
But more we seek
More we strive to store
Till no one warns us of our greed
And like swarms teeming in the sky
More they say, mere mortals
What more do they want?
What more can they have?
Wanting  what they can’t
Abjuring what they have
Conjuring what they shan’t
Hovering on this stand
Leaving all for perchance
Grieving for the dead
Killing those who are alive
With their rage that consumed
Like wraith ridden fumes
Robbing the body throughout
Like a demented ghoul

THE WILD REVELLER

The Man, God and Beast
Woman, Rage and Feast
Blue, black and off reach
Hidden amidst the mist

Void; thenceforth awaken
Thy asleep; darkest desires
Pitch black for the sheath
Red rose like those pyres

Void inside; outside vague
Vindictive yet roundabout
Ventures the mind of sage
Commoners can but shout

Let the darkness consume
Make one with the purest
The corps dance asunder
Ghouls arrive like guests

The skies are making a rut
The land devoured by fire
As he balters o’er their top
The Mountains shed mire

The creator; the destroyer
The beginning and the end
God of all and all of Gods
Of time, nature and trend

He who is and who is not
He who holds; and let go
Asleep again; him and her
Creation beholds and lo

The Harrow

Harrow, with which the fields are ploughed, is a symbol of toil. Here the toil is of the paving of fields so that the metaphorical seeds of humanity can be sown. So the harrow is like a messenger, and the field is all creation. When apocalypse comes, the beings will realise their minuteness in this unfathomable world of God. They will then be like a rafter (a flock of turkeys) and the harrow will become a herder.

The Harrow (or The Instrument of God)

On the just road of life
A few people do walk
Few people do survive
But even lesser to talk

These boulders are  too big
These fields are too narrow
How  can I ever pass them?
Asked the troubled harrow

The world has gone astray
Can my wisdom do it good?
The vile gets the game now
While wise gets the worst

And so said The Supreme

The fields may be too narrow
These boulders may be giants
Still go through them harrow
Shine wisdom on these blinds

The harrow spoke

These people know it all
They deem themselves wise
They are empty of wisdom
They are but full of pride

Even if I shine unto them
The riches of my knowledge
What good will it then do
They will make of it a porridge

I am not so wise me God
And I am as blind as a stone
How can I give them eyes
When they have their own

Thereafter Supreme smiled

If so is, then be silent harrow
And let them speak the scorn
Let the shining be the warning
Let the warning be the storm

I will be in silence morrow
And thus will I the day after
Before the upcoming storm
When helter-skelter is rafter

The harrow now closed his eyes
For beings their kingdom done
The barons are all long dead
But the harrows come undone

THE NAME

Who art thou to part this babe from her mother’s milk
And this poor child, to whom even the bark feels silk
Who art thou to take pride in shattering the many few
Of whom the world is naught but only a window’s view
Pride; horde; crowd; swarm; school; group; troop
All together, liveth, dieth, stitched in the infinite loop
All hopeth to go meet the supreme and leave this circle
Of endless cycles, of utter chaos, endless, never ending

Of all the senses, I am the real one. Of all Them, I am.
Of all Those, I am. Yous must dare not bewilder them with names
Touch me with faith and yous will be touched by The most Divine
Please me, have me enjoy, and yous in turn shall enjoy
Take me to your heart, where lies thy eternal joy
Krsn, Krsn, Krsn until the name becometh the meaning
And a name becometh a meaning and The Meaning becomest The Name.

IN RAIN AND DRAUGHT

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As the Rain falls from clouds and soaked all of the plain
It hoped to know whether she had been crying again
Years now Rain had seen that lovely girl grow and glow
To Her surprise this day her tears were making a row
Falling faster than the Rain could ever do the show

When she is morose it seemed the sky would cry
As the Rain would follow like teardrops from the sky
Why do you cry my lovely one? Asked the Rain
her lovely said my heart is hurt and now it pains
As if a hand squeezed it yet this love I have I can’t feign

Is it broken my dear? The Rain asked
Her dear replied — equivalent o’ glass shattered to shards
Is it a man who did this dear? The Rain enquired
Yes it is but he did no wrong: she said with pride
In her sad eyes the Rain saw love — pure and right

A man she loved with all heart and he loved her back
her eyes seem as she had seen a ghost, she sat aback!
And the Rain pondered the day: a man covered in white
Who was well poised with a charming manner in might
Was the same man who was her heart’s delight

What bothers the Rain now is her lovely girl
Would make not merry and shall not twirl
Sit all day look at sky but seek no love and be not fain
In rain and draught she danced and laughed and claim
her love of life but to her; all now seems to be in vain

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9th poem from To the Creator of it all.

Image taken from Pixabay.