Perfection

 THE LITTLE ICE PLANT WITH ITS FLOWERS SO BEAUTIFUL
    SMALL RAYS OF COLOR MIMICKING THE RISING AND SETTING SUN WONDERFUL
    RADIANT, VIBRANT AND ALIVE, VITAL AND MEANINGFUL.


   ORANGE,RED AND ANGELIC WHITE.
   PERFECT GRACIOUS PETALS, DELIGHTFULLY BRIGHT
 SENSUAL AND YET ESOTERIC, A FULFILLING SIGHT.

 THRILLING THE PHYSICAL SENSES AND YET TOUCHING THE SOUL,
LOVELY AND COMPLETE,REMINDING THE BEING OF THE UNSEEN WHOLE
HERE AND NOW,FULLY ENDOWED,NOW AND NOW ALONE IS THE FINAL GOAL

Halfway musings

                                               

Waking up in the morning, with something in the pit of the stomach gnawing,

Confused and yearning, not knowing but desperately and sorely missing,

A secret, a purpose, with a vague emptiness in the background persisting.

Having travelled halfway, attempting to do one’s exhilarating best.

At academics, professionally, in matrimony, and every other test.

Taking stock of what one has done while stopping for a breath.

Glittering trophies, of great success, lying alongside miserable failures in memory’s chest.

Crammed and crowded both joy and tears peer out of every nook, cranny and cleft.

Innocent childhood, blooming youth, and events closer to the journey over the crest.

Once mighty and sources of strength, parents are today grey and bent, quite senile.

What was gleaming and white, is now half a row of crooked teeth attempting a smile.

Pondering over the march and conquests of time, as it swallows mile after mile.

Tender bundles of joy, one’s own flesh and blood, the children,

Now strapping, youth full of vigor, kicking to run on.

The mysteries of life, tempting ,lure and beckon.

The delight of gourmet and well cooked food.

Thrills of passion, companionship and the loving mood.

Wealth earned and spent on things great and good.

And yet the constant nagging thought, that that there is more,

Then what meets the eye, and what we think we exist for,

Perplexing, this feeling, yet so palpable and difficult to bear.

Not this, not this, oh yes not this!

Not that, not that, Oh yes not that!

If not this, and not that, oh god above, then what?

            PSIS PUAUL(13/3/2015)

GLIMPSES OF ETERNITY.........

“GLIMPSES OF ETERNITY ETCHED IN STONE”

          ---------AJANTA AND ELLORA-------

Hard and unyielding rock, molded with such sheer grace.

Timeless yet beauteous images carved on the rock face.

Bedecked, with frills, etched ornaments silk, and lace.

Cave after cave, inspiring awe and wander.

In a line, one, after the other, the next, better than the other.

What was the magnificent inspiration, to create beauty, so rare?

Caves and viharas, with sculptures and paintings, mesmerizing.

Unparalleled skill and techniques on display, tantalizing.

Ruins! Yes but taunting the demons of time and their brutal ravaging.

Exquisite themes, of the Master’s Enlightenment.

Immense grace, contentment and fearlessness, arising out of attainment.

The cosmic fragrance, of this mighty flowering, stilling all argument.

All chiseled in cold stone and, yet so throbbing and vibrant.

Centuries and colossal quantities of grime, failing to dim the ecstasy and delight.

Eons old and yet so current, clear but somehow confounding is their sight.

The puzzles inherent in the cycle of life, painful but fulfilling too.

Agonizing without the wisdom, of the One present in the two.

Uncertainty and death, powerful youth, so effervescent, understood by so few.

Ananda and his swooning bride, depicted with the Buddha and his begging bowl.

Reclining in Samadhi, with Ananda tears streaming, finally peeping into his soul.

Searching for what he had seen in his Master serving in the attendant’s role.

Majestic, and out of this material world.

Are the caves of Ajanta with many a story untold?

In this saga of apparent creation and destruction, which with time does unfold?

---------------WG CDR PSIS PAUL-------------------------

                             TURBANS
Simple headgear!No much more than just that!
 A symbol of respect,mark of dignity and all that.

Blue ,green,black and red both untidy and neat.
Big and small, of all shapes you can meet.

Pristine white,passionate red for all occasions prescibed,
be it marriage,mournful funerals or simple parties.

With pride it is worn,a soldiers emblem of valor,
pointing to responsibility borne,and saffron the inspiring sacrificial color.

Be it a bloody battlefield,or the peace of a monastry,
the turban is there ubiquitous as the rosary.

Representing pompous royalty,loving fidelity and sombre gravity.
The grandiose emperor of all symbols to say it with brevity.

21/3/90-At afmc-psm lecture

                                OF POETS AND MESSIAHS

In the cloak of dark pierces a ray of brilliant light,
highlighting ignorance,superstition and cowardice urging people to fight.

The mass like junkies addicted to misery as are cocaine addicts,
revere clergymen  who are nothing but masked bandits.

The 'light' calls out and speaks the truth,
but to what avail?,for it enrages and no one does it soothe.

It(the mass) does not comprehend but in a crescendo it condemns,
for what is said is against present beliefs,like the pontiff on contraception.

Naive and trusting,they are in the grip of 'pillars of society',
who in fear of loosing their grip and sway,

like enraged reptiles try with all their might to crush this 'light'.
that penentrates the dungeon of falsehood and brings in joy bright.

Infuriated they shackle and tie him in an attempt to chastise,
they refer to him as mad and evil,ensuring his pain be maximized.

Beaten and abused the poet smiles awaiting the final deathly decree,
for it alone can take him away from hypocrisy and lies.

In fear he is crucified,poisoned or stoned,
yes he dies but is thereby for ever deified.

Even in their reverence they are clever,
exalted and away is he held like a divine leper.

Yet even on their burning pyre or tied to cross in agony,
only a plea for divine mercy for all and everybody.

Why such is the fate of such mesmerizing beauty ?
so gruesome in a world that runs on His bounty.

A WALK THROUGH THE PORTALS OF HISTORY

       A WALK THROUGH THE PORTALS OF HISTORY

One sweet morning,before the sun had risen,
we stepped out of the shackles of time's prison,
by some inner burning passion driven.

Harmonious and peaceful,unconscious of passing time,
walking and silently communicating of no materialistic grime,
heady from the vista of an age in its spiritual prime.

A steep rockface and rock cut steps,
undaunted and curious we climbed one of natures rocky laps,
breathless, tired and breathing in gasps.

There we stood at the gate of a cave,
where monks had dedicatedly courted a spiritual mate,
a tribute to their fervour, the pillars did radiate.

Mighty as ever they stood as if in prayer,
to the haloed stupa entrusted in their care,
through an arched window did the sun bathe it in it's light fair.

Arched and cracked the two thousand year old teak wood,
drooping,yet still sturdy with responsibility it stood,
pious pilgrims and murderous vandals did what they could.

To time's vagaries are they vincible,
A monument to divine mysteries unsolvable,
to awe, disgust or inspire us mortals vulnerable.

Were they heros or cowards?, that chose to live away,
far from the madding crowd and it's materialistic sway,
to contemplate on some abstract power which has held seeker's at bay.

So far incredibly difficult to assail,
in hardship and purity but to what avail?
to escape from the clutches of MAYA to fall into a divine jail.

This landmark of history is condemned to stand frozen in time,
to highlight their cowardice or glory sublime,
society moves on unheeding,uncaring of lessons buried in time.

In reverence to the flabergasting 'eternal riddle',
to live,sin and suffer or run away and in hard rocks cuddle,
or to be on the safe side and tread the Golden Middle.


( trhe 90's again written after a visit to the Karle caves in maharashtra near Pune)

Sunset Splendour

                          Sunset Splendour

              The Kohinoor of nature set yesterday,with such splendour,

               that I was left breathless with joyous wonder.

               So utterly magnificient was the setting sun's grandeur.

               Dark grey clouds acquired a heavenly golden yellow hue,

               blue sky and soft beams of orange sun seen by so few.

               A halo of light cast by a retreating God ,so strong and true.

      

               A riot of colours strewn on the canvas of the sky,

               by the strokes of a master artist, was created this rare beauty,

               resplendent leave taking ,after performing a life giving duty.

               As if in reverence, the flowers opened and blossomed,

               A cool breeze blew and the surroundings transformed,

               into a scented and divine garden like Eden,that man in his folly abandoned.

              Drinking the ambroisia of natures unparalleled beauty,

              All her crteations were exuberant and tremendously happy.

              So exotic and strangely sensual is nature in the height of ecstasy.

              

              Then like a wave which rises and falls, then finally dies out.

              The mighty sun even in death, finally defeated in this bout,

              and then rushing in comes Black night,full of fear and doubt.

              So transient and momentary, this jewel's brilliant light,

               yet so fulfilling and satiatingly bright.

               that everything else seems so puny and of very little might.

(dates back to June 1990 at AFMC)