I have learnt to...

I have learnt to swim today through thick and thin and tinges of gray

I have learnt to sing today as clear as an echo inside a chimney in the warfront

I have learnt to sleep today as peacefully as the butterfly drops itself on a tiny flower

I have learnt to write today as much as could fill my little desk with crushed paper and blotting ink

I have learnt to lie today as much as could help me cheat myself again and again

I have learnt to let go today as much as I could wade through a sunkissed cornfield and never worry about returning home

I have learnt to fly today as a free bird that flaps it's wings through thin autumn air

Have I told You?

When I woke up this morning and washed my face in the sublime rays of the morning sun, did I tell you that I loved you. When you drank the last dregs of tea from your porcelain cup and looked at me with your still heart, did I tell you that I loved you. When your memory that is made of smoke, of light, travelled light years, did I tell you that I love you. When the dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul, did I tell you that I loved you. When in your eyes the flames of the twilight fought, did I tell you that I loved you. When you were happy as embers, did I tell you that I loved you. When you were sad as a mendicant's monotone, did I tell you I loved you. When I watched my words from a long way off, did I tell you that I loved you. When my words were more yours than mine, did I tell you that I loved you. When you climbed the same damp wall and blamed the cruel sport, I loved you. When you filled everything, yes everything I loved you. When hurricanes of dreams knocked over at my door, did I tell you that I loved you. When my heart exuded a joie de vivre, did I tell you I loved you. When the orchestral sounded from the trees I loved you. When the newly born took nourishment from nature I loved you. When you freed the flock of arrows in a frenzy I loved you. When the numberless hearts of winds were beating over our loving silence I loved you. When the wind waved the clouds like white hankerchief on a blue sky I loved you. When your solitude lingered and lengthened like the afternoon shadow I loved you. When you walked barefoot in the wet streets I loved you. When we swam upstream in the midst of outer waves I loved you. When you undermined the horizon with your absence I loved you. When a piece of the sun burnt like coin in my hand I loved you. When my heart closed like a nocturnal flower I loved you. When birds fled and migrated south I loved you.

My Evening Cup

Today when I sit sipping tea in the heat

To this dilemma beat

And give you a treat

Not cheat

Or mislead

Those are things you don't need

Or greet, at the end of day

I can make hay

even make the sun stay

And hold the light of day in my palm

You know it from the 23rd Psalm

That "the Lord is my shepherd I shall not want"

In his light I lose the 'me' and make it blunt

and when I travel into his subtle world beyond the corporal

I feel I absorb his purity, love, beauty, happiness and wisdom

I see not with my eyes or hear with my ears

But through them.

I find equal happiness in his subtleties

And, equal eternity in my follies.

What is Happiness?

...Happiness is a yoyo; one that lights up each time it bounces, one that reels out of control and comes back to itself.

...Happiness is a handful of sand; that trickles from between the fingers and is enough to cover the feet and protect it from rushing waves.

...Happiness is a willow shade that brushes the sides of a shallow stream and caresses each hard rock at the bottom of it's bed.

...Happiness is a grafitti wall (see picture) that tells a thousand stories and yet remains strong and still. A wall that spills many pallettes and laps up the energy around.

...Happiness is words (pure, distorted, unadulterated, and figurative.) Happiness is utterance.

...Happiness is an image of yourself, the perfect that can be or has been. One, where you walk the walk and talk the talk as you so desire. It's YOU at the highest level of perfection. You are your inspiration.

Sushi

Have you tried making sushi at home?

Shining nori seaweeds gently laid on a plate

A warm knife dipped in hot water awaits,

To cut a two inch strip with it's steely head

And separate the seaweeds and the union abate.

Oh dear nori seaweed! How it must have hurt

To know that the tiny grains of rice

Is going to be taken care of by you alone now

Cuz your family is cut into a abyss of two inch flattened dough

Have you tried sticking rice to a nori seaweed?

How it gently sticks to it's sides as a lover leads

You to his gentle embrace and folds you lovingly into his arms,

As the grains of Japanese rice in the embrace of nori seaweeds stay calm.

Have you tried slicing avocados into a sushi roll

How the slimy piece of mass slips into the knoll,

Of rice and crushed fish chunks and a dash of rice vinegar

How their world seems happy and the smell of bliss lingers

Have you tried separating makhi zushi rolls?

Did it not jar your conscience to invade into it's rolled up world

What were you you thinking when you passed that knife into it's stomach

Like you were carving a sculpture or perhaps a lame duck

Oh sushi roll, you smell so sweet; like my love who blows a thousand kisses when I meet, his tender voice

He makes no noise. He stays still and calls me from the other side of the hill,

So still that it fills my living soul with your warm scent

A love I seldom repent.

And when I reach the bend of your sides, the corners that avoid the sticky rice,

I look at you one moment still. You are so tasty and you my stomach fill.

Like the twilight bridges both day and night,

You bridge my wait with delight.

Twelve Times Twelve

My day passed off in a jiffy, but some impressions stayed with me. Here are twelve imprints from my day, today:

1. "Who are we, not to be brilliant?"-- Nelson Mandela

2. The mind loses it's creativity when thoughts don't follow the path from the mind, to the intellect, to the sanskara, and then finally to action.

3. "You cannot solve the problem in the same headspace that you created it."-- Isaac Newton

4. A camera's depth of field increases with the angle of view.

5. Mint is the best dressing for lamb dishes.

6. Youngsters today have a short attention span of less than 3 mins (I am a youngster but I don't subscribe to this view.)

7. Portamentos are the best copy of human voices.

8. God's favorite number is 6. (not the 666 for devil, please.)

9. Where the energy goes, life flows.

10. Watching your thoughts in slow motion might be a good idea.

11. Love fills.

12. I once heard somewhere when you repeat something/anything twelve times it becomes a sanskara (habit.)

My Subconscious has a Sense of Humour

My subconscious has a sense of humour. Ha ha, funny am I? Why doesn't my subconscious have a sense of humour? Why can't I parse through my dreams and filter my nightmares? When the wheelbarrows of the mind hit the dregs of the skull and the eyes see a colored vision, the mind goes reeling and out of control. During these moments of frothing activity my subconscious slips into an overdrive and registers all that can be conceivably registered -- but in puzzles. They all come back to me in bits and pieces at nightime.

This is what I see-- I walk a pebbled beach, hand in hand with Ahmadejaan discussing Obama's effects on Iran's psyche, and Kate Moss tottering in her six inch heel with Gungun and then both of them cooling their nails at a nails salon, while her professor yells at her. It's really not my fault. It's my subconscious that makes me see what a Bollywood version of Pride and Prejudice could have shown me. It's strange how the mind works.

Yes, if my subconscious had a sense of humour I could even have put PG Woodhouse to shame. However, if my subconscious had a high brow sense of humour I wouldn't have seen slapstick comedy in my dreams :

Laloo wallowing in the waters of Malta
Euro vision song contest being won by Armenia
Mayawati doing a cameo at the Tomb Raider sets
Prince Charles eating badam bhaja at Golpark's golchokkor with Helen

Who says my subconscious doesn't have a sense of humour? If it hadn't, I wouldn't have humoured myself to write this piece.