Sometimes …

IMG_0772

Photo Credit : Vikram Phale

When feelings are mutual
The efforts are equal
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
………….to stay apart

Advertisements

Choose Differently

IMG-20170828-WA0003

Photo Credit : Niranjana Shah

Don’t choose the difficult

Only to prove you Can choose the difficult

Choose what is Right even if it is difficult

Often it is the Simplest that is the most difficult

Living Life Head On

IMG-20170815-WA0004

Take on the Waves by Pragalbha Doshi

When the life waves
Of agony and despair
Rise high in the air

Take them head on
For once, instead of
Escaping ashore until gone

The most arduous choice
Often results in
The most amazing rejoice

Let the wave wash over
A gift of clarity
It will cleansingly shower

A trust that is your inner knowing
Keeps you grounded
While as if almost drowning

Find yourself after
Like-never-before standing
Surviving and refreshfully thriving

 

P.S. Dear Debbie, please accept this poem as my contribution to ForgivingFridays.

Silent Reflection

MirrorLakeRock

Photograph by Pragalbha Doshi

This silence
This silence today
It is a rich one

This silence
This silence in this moment
It is full

This silence
This silence right now
It is empty

This silence
This silence quiet
It is a new one

Heart feels to the brim
Soul seeks nothing
Wisdom knows, this is no whim

My existence wants to stay still
Not reaching nor releasing
Words any don’t suffice or fulfill

All lessons learned until
Are to be made into living
There is no sense of striving

Being with myself isn’t excruciating
Yet this silence is something
That would want to unload some desiring

This silence
This silence today
It is revealing

There is indeed
A contentment underneath
A clarity from without and within

Just how did the writer in me get born?

When drippings from a touched soul find their way in writing
A poet is born

When the beauty is undying and the joy so fulfilling
A poem is born

When feelings are heart wrenching and clarity is killing
A poem is born

When a surge comes as discomfort and words pour out
A writer is born

When the harmony felt is such that there is no choice but rhyme
A poem is born

When made-up words bring meaning and no-rhyme verse feels musical
A poetry is born

When living alive to feelings, words come to life
A writer is born

When clarity becomes more intense than the pain that afforded it
A writer is born

When no human around can suffice to contain the expression
A poetry is born

When a release is looking to flow out at an unearthly hour
A writer is born

When words choose the person as if a channel
A writer is born

When none can be planned to rhyme or reason
A poet is born

When human spirit gets broken to million-times-ten pieces, yet finds beauty
A poet is born

When Life decides to peel back layers of truth down to the core
A writer is born

When each level of façade is stripped down to bare soul
A writer is born

When all the suffering was a gift, lived through or let through
A writer is born

When there is no knowing if there is more from where it came from
A writer is reborn

When it comes from a place that is hard to own
A writer is born

When the essence of being is wrung out in best expression
A poetry is born

When it feels like a soft glove over the brutal thing
A poetry is born

When the loneliness in truthfulness is more than can enjoy yet
A writer is born

When inspirations come out of nowhere as if universal cues
A poet is born

Every story a writer writes may not be the writer’s story
But then the writer lives within herself
A thousand lives or the stories of lifetimes
Often that of all of humankind

So if you can just rest
In the drippings of the writers’s soul
Momentarily let go off the sufferings you insist on
A writer would feel content for being born.

Brightness and lightness of it all

I look up at the sky on a starry night, there are countless twinkling stars. I focus on one star, the rest disappear for me. Its tremendous luminosity extended to me, to be received. As I fill up myself with the light, I find a sense of clarity in my being. I expand my view in the sky again. My star now is a tiny sparkling speck, only one of countless others. I zero in back on the one that I claim mine, it exists as if just for me and I exist just as if its light.

Such are all of us here. Just one speck in this sea of humanity, but no less than a luminous star when we allow the light. Each one of us unique in the way we can shine. We are all held in this precious space, our part of the sky. Our clarity being nudged and cracked open. We sometimes scatter out in more spaces, to claim more of the sky with our light of clarity. Doubts and distress are just weathers passing by. We are all part of the same journey, held by the same sky.

The sky can hold and support the one who is willing to shine. Shine in the way of feeling that comes from the grit towards clarity and truth. And then whatever way that can translate into kindness, in this sea of humanity. A small difference that we make for anyone, could be a world of a difference to that one.

I ask  not how the sky can support me, I ask how else am I willing to show up, in my life, so when the sky holds me, I just shine!

What’s more pure?

This poem is a thought process that unfolded while I was immersed in this exact setting, on a beautiful day, lounging under the sky, admiring the mountains, when a crow flew by …

What’s more pure?
Clear blue or the flawless floating whites

Mountains unwavered green and grand
Winds blowing and flowing
Sunlight bright yet gentle on land
Sky is blue, clouds white floating

What’s more pure?
Clear blue or the flawless floating whites

The contrast of a black, a crow flying
Flight through the expanse taking
Like a sticky thought across my mind
Takes a rightful stroll of a kind
All my attention vying
The grand green mountain dutiful
Says it is only a distraction beautiful

The crow has flown away
The whites floated away
The blue feels clarity, also my mind
The whites though had a purity of a kind
Like the thoughts that pervade at times
When in a state of joy or love sublime

What’s more pure?
Clear blue or the flawless floating whites