Seven flowings from the heart of the Soul

Seven rivers flowed out of my soul..
So here they are.


The first flowing of gravity -- Silence plants the seeds of words.

The second flowing of desire -- intoxicates and ties knots in the perceptions.

The third flowing of duality -- life struggles and learns through conflicts.

The fourth flowing of understanding -- the seasons of Love takes you through the ocean in the sky;
And, the sky in the ocean.

The fifth flowing of encounter -- brings 'you' to your death,
your masks melt like wax in the sun; only then, you can step into the next flow.

The flowing of consciousness -- the undescribable , is felt through the wisdom,
of pure presence.

And you find your way to the river of oneness.

The flowing of Oneness -- in fact, the seventh is'nt a flow anymore :
It is infinite space.
You are omnipresent.
The seventh flowing --is the footsteps of god walking in you;
going nowhere
But , dancing to the songs of 'being'.

If the fourth is in reconciliation ;then, the seventh is in communion.

Even amidst our visions that grows upside down -life continues to spread heavenwards

So cast your nets in the sky and gather a handful of stars in your heart.

If at all you seek a purpose today

why not sail on the wings of beauty.

Without asking - they are yours.

if only you'd lift your eyes from the grounds on which you have been clinging since your birth.

If at all you 'd stop seeking god the way you do.

just sit and enjoy

the graces of life.

in that single moment all will become

God.

A heartfull of love

is a heart full of God

A poem

Drip with me ,
togather in a dewdrop

Out from the heart of a flower
we call Love

Into the porous throat of the earth
To become a vein of a stream

Out from the heart of a flower
Also a significant part of
An ocean called: Eternity.

To the coming of Spring.

Life takes me by the shoulders
and whispers
a poem of peace in my ears

How close i feel to the universe.

Quietness is healing
Every space between
me and myself

The wild grass grows out of my pen

The almond trees bloom

Enough has been written for today.

Facing face to face.

How can i say i feel freedom
when all my yesterdays still clings to me

So many words said and unsaid
So many stabs and wounds still unhealed
So many unfulfilled desires still haunting

Have'nt said something to each other since a long time

And it has become difficult
to find something to say

Gingered faced gypsy.

Ginger faced gypsy,
your jingling feet fascinates me

In each little jingle
a sweet secret dwells
Like copper pots dropping
into a deep dark well.

Your hair like beehives
curls through your veils.
Your shinning marble eyes;
your Bulbul voice.

Your mother
in her haythatched kitchen cooks

And your father
makes merry with his band.

While so freely you lay
here in my hands

Touching hurriedly hungryly
unknown lands
Your pomegranate kisses,
soft seeping blisses
Your dainty little hips
and your nipple tips

Will they move like this till morning.

Ginger faced gypsy,
I quietly left
Knowing
we 'll never cross our paths again
But i still think of you
Wondering
what your gypsylittle name was.

Mumbai city souvenirs.

I

Bombay city,
parts of you exhausts me,
So many eyes haunted by a nameless disease of the mind.

Bombay city,
your music is only the sound of rushing, cars, trains, people.

Bombay city,
my eyes too have been eaten by your vultures,
and my flesh is being torn.
Through your dark tunnels, subways, lanes and piles of buildings
i hear
the coughing human heart.

Bombay city,
your nights are'nt really quite;
amidst the thick gloomy fog
in the neon lights
the hankering hawkering still goes on.

Bombay city,
indifferent to life and death
what more can i say about you.
Cries , moans, shouts, screams,
headaches,heartaches,soulaches.....
Blood and gutters, life and germs,
all mingling in our genetic pool.

II

Mumbai;
the otherside -less glorious;
The green blue gutters,
far lethal than acid,
a green tree grows from it;
a sparrow sips from it;
A child sits besides relieving his constipated belly.

Through the subways
the train moves in the morning
From the suburbs to the city.
A hundred thousands of them
shitting between the raiway tracks;
And cancerous shrubs sprouts,
on flows the gutters from somebody's toilets, urinals, basins;
A million streams where children play in the monsoon rains;

Mumbai,
you tell me that life goes on.


III

Slums
and more slums;
growing daily
in the lies and deceptions of the city.

Brawls ,fights, rapes, molests, glamour.
A child with a soul
must kill the soul to live.

IV

Allergic and allergic again;
Sights and smell nauseating;
developping, deteriorating,
Don't touch me Bombay city
When parts of you are so full
of sickness, pus and phlegm,

how can i say that all is well.


V

In two brief hours
how many suicides i 've committed
I can't digest your cruel laws.
Men in the streets
knock
before doors
that won't open.

A soul stood before me
knowing not
what to trust,

But it stood there
till the downpouring rain came
Looking
at passing blank faces.

VI

My nose burns,
my lungs like two black air bags heaves;
Slowly the city enters - making me a part of it;

Showing me where to fit in.

Cyanide dust is everywhere
in my eyes ,
in my thoughts,
In my heart,
in my breath,
in my laughter.

Living in cyanide- you know, what it is.
I'm dying.


VII

Mumbai,
what have i seen in you
to have loved you.