Let your heart grieve

Let your heart grieve.

Your age is the same, my love.
Still the same innocent child.
You were born, who knows when.
You seek what you seek.

For that which you will not get —
Let your heart grieve.


Then, you shall receive.


One night You had encircled me.
No, that night You sandwiched me.
From one side You came as You
From one side You came as Him.
Then I remained just as a mite
Floating in You infinite.


I float in Your power
And Your arms
encircle me
Two black, two white —
and so the dance
of duality
is not a challenge.
It is my haven
It is You.

I float in Love
I live in You.


I want to feel this body
rub against Your body,
this breast pressed
against Your mouth.

The 3-D roundness
of Your body, and its shape,
and its weight,
as those legs
keep these legs in check…
let my senses drink.
These fingertips, let them caress
Your being.
Let me smell Your sweat
as I did that day.
Your voice in my ears ―
let it water my deepest being.

Oh! Where are you?

This thirst in drips
keeps me alive.
Give to me the waterfall.


The Gift Of The Night

Now that the day is done
There is only You and me.

The night is precious
For it brings
You and You and only You.
You who are forever here,
How precious that the night
Still brings
Just only You.

There is every moment left
To love You by and by,
For now, I shall kiss the night
How sweet it’s gift,
Then maybe I shall also kiss
You, but just a tiny bit.

My heart, my lips
My every cell
Are all so busy loving You.
Where is the time?
So my love, for now just this
Just a tiny little kiss.

The Place and The Moment

You are the place
and the moment
everything comes
to a pause
for a moment.

You are the place
and the moment
from where
everything forever flows.

You are the place
and the moment
words die out
silence remains
and words are born.
Where I am born.

Touch The Bark of A Tree

Does the tree cry inside,
as it grows,
pushing aside the very earth
that nourished it?

“You are so calm!”
she said.

Touch the bark
of a tree.
You will know
many unknowns.

“Oh how you flower, tree!”

Work happens not in summer.
Work happens not in spring,
or in August.
That is just delivery time.
Gather the bounty.

Work happens in the night
when its stark
and its chill
and we are shorn.

Come on, come on!
Let’s be a tree!
Let’s gather round
Into a field —

Image credit: Michael Gadia at Pixabay.com

I Shall Go The Way I’d Gone

I shall go the way I’d gone
as a child, to the sky.
I shall let it blow my mind
To smithereens.

Then I shall be
only me
Nothing more.
As the sky is
Just the sky
Nothing more.
As the bird is
Just the bird.

“But you’re so intelligent!” they say…

This I do not understand
This exclaim, “You’re so intelligent.”
“So what?” I say.

“Serve! Do your duty!” they say.
I cannot see who I can serve.
Each and every being perfect ―
Who do I serve?
Tell me, how to serve the sky?

If there’s something at all amiss
In this world, it is this ―
You do not see beauty ― it is
But still, *you* are beautiful.

Not urgent, it’s important though ―
See beauty
It is everywhere.

As for me
I shall be me
Just as the sky
Is just the sky
Nothing more.

About “Important, Not Urgent”
Things that we do, or have to do, fall under four sections of the urgent-important matrix.


The “Important, Not Urgent” quadrant is the quadrant of quality. Those activities improve the quality of our mind, body, and life.

Seeing beauty is very subtly important. The benefits it brings is deep. The world is waking up to the importance of meditation. Seeing beauty is the easiest way to meditate.

To see beauty we need not go on a vacation. Beauty is everywhere. Here is an article that expands on what beauty is and examples of how it is everywhere.


“What was he doing, the great god Pan, down in the reeds by the river?…”

Sometimes some poem stays in us for years, to decompose slowly. So it was with The Musical Instrument by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, decomposing in me for years. I had read it when I was in high school. It is about the making of a musical instrument from the reeds of a river, or rather how we are hollowed through and through by the experiences of life that we may become a channel for the music to flow through us. While all this happens, even if we know and understand what is happening to us, the one hollowing us sure feels like a half-God.

A few years back I wrote a poem that was directly inspired by Elizabeth Browning’s poem.


i have no endeavors no more
i’m ready now to be hollow
black and decomposed
sometime someone will see and say
oh what a beautiful flower!
aah, what a silly joke.
did you see the rich compost?
creeping worms in filthy stench
where does the lotus grow?
how do the juicy berries grow?
i am ready now to be hollow.

And now, I invite you to enjoy the masterpiece – A Musical Instrument by Elizabeth Barrett Browning