(On the Mother’s day)
Born out of my mother’s womb,
My hazed eyes of the present day
Converge the soft soil of this samsara
Feeling the amorous warmth
Of illimitable and immeasurable
I'm quite conscious of.
Grown up I'm
In the tough and sturdy legs
Massaged by the pure oil
Of immeasurable mind.
Matured I’m as the absolute man -
The conception of
My affectionate motherhood.
In the time passing by,
When my mother turned
Old enough to fragility and frailty,
Then my mindful memory
Erased my own childhood -
The nam* and roop*
Of my mother in me.
I'm occupied this much
To set myself morally uprights,
Bemused I’m in my right
To concede you like my own,
Stayed far away from your presence.
The suffering you confronted
In your old and fragile body,
My nature of looking intently at you
Fell down your mind into despair.
When my mind stuck in
Brahma Bihar, the Assembly of Divinity,
I grasped you utterly.
Alas! You were then only
A lustrous star in the sky.
Merely for a day of each year,
Contentment flaunted in me by
Peeping your Nam and Roop
In me and mine
In the beholding mirror
Of the immeasurable universe.
*
Bramha Vihar, also called Chatu Bramha Vihar –
The assembly of Divinity or immeasurable
in Buddhism has four moral virtues, namely
Loving Kindness (Metta), Compassion (Karuna),
Sympathetic Joy and Equanimity (Upekkha)
Samsara – The material world
Nama – Mind and mindfulness
Rupa – Shape or form
The Immoralists Next Door
There is/was a struggle
The scuffle of symbolists—
Dreaming of Succor
Masturbation & Comfort
Left & Right, Neither Right nor Wrong—
I hold a coin, and before flipping it, I ponder
The world is not good
I tell these stories to make you feel better
There are humanitarians and caregivers
Men and women of valour
There are benefactors, globalists and monsters who sleep well at night, unperturbed at being monsters
We are mortals, We wake, work and dream
We ache all day and commute with heartbreak and pains
As the universe expands, our tolerance and imagination dwindles
We are man, broken and ignorant
No facades exist here, no light beneath the shadows. We are exactly what we seem
Nevertheless, the problem is not only in the ideology but also the methodology
Before I flip it, I examine both sides
HEADS:
Just people see shades of grey and hesitate to do whats right
A lie of omission is still a lie
A crime of inaction is still a crime
Good men do good for recognition of those within their sight
Their good is half measured, born out of convenience rather than necessity
Right taken out of necessity should not be the goal we aspire to but look around you
It has to be stirred within us; it needs a diatribe
That need, that passive feeling to let evil bloom till it is so overwhelmingly obvious is nocuous
That when the sins are named, and ignorance is brought up
Morality bows to logic yet arguments are long worded, tautological with no substance and vacuous
Good men are magnanimous
The universe is everything but
TAILS
Evil, it seeps and crawls
Grabbing all within its thrawls
Good men find options, good people hesitate
Evil is meticulous and calculated; it is the nature of hate
It is anything but laggard
Always one step ahead, while planning for the far future
Men of evil vary yet are united for they are all dastards
They are sequacious chthonic and fear the repercussions by covering themselves metaphorically or physically with hoods
The worst of men believe they are the best of us
The truly despicable... convince themselves they are the greater good
It lands upright, the overlooked variable
IT STANDS:
Hope is immaterial
Without actions, it can never be realised
Truth outshines the darkness, only if it is viewed
Our presence and actions make the untouchable real
Justice is undefeatable
Being in the presence of someone who wields it is ethereal
Finding someone that pure is almost impossible
Becoming that person is a thrill
I speak like a man who does not see the world from his abode
I think like a man who has never encountered a forked road
Evil grows, and good cowers
Until it is reversed I say:
The world is not good
I tell these stories to make me feel better
SO LET'S FLIP THE COIN.
Criteria Of The Fallen
We are judged, not by how softly or
well meaning we have dealt with
each other's foibles alone
But we are immeasurably judged anyhow by -
the companies we join, families that we have,
friends with which we tag/go along
Almost assuredly our minds are
measured too, by some type of
psychometrics
But I would never understand
the mind of corruption,
the ways of crime, perhaps
People fighting off their men.
In the future, chopping off their heads—
if the right conditions shall be given
Over pedophilia, war profiteering,
orgiastic incontinence;
as if gluttonous craving.
—Only God will judge;
—in heaven.
I'm waking up.
I raise my glass, to this life as I walk that line never knowing if what I'm doing is right.
I had lost my faith and came close to just giving up.
Drove hard and fast as I gambled it all on just my luck.
Left abandoned on this highway of pain, this road of misery
lined with banks and gas stations it is a real slaughterhouse facility.
To the Tar pits for our field trips out on this new Vegas strip.
Reach out and strangle someone and when your scared you will always go for that gun.
We allow fear to keep us captive always struggling to find ourselves.
Searching for that reason to keep fighting deep within our own hells
and when that swarm finally does break and you can see the silver lining on the horizon.
Redemption was not cheap, salvation was not easy and one day you will see that sun.
To the pits of hell for our quest to fail, on our dreams we set sail.
There is no voice to the words now spoken, saying everything and knowing nothing.
Holding onto the last of the shadows left in the room as the bad taste is still lingering.
Walking around blind, searching for something we lost but will never again find.
It was the past. It was a lesson to teach us to value and to understand the meaning of time.
Nothing will last if we continue our course. The ship will sink and you will drown.
To this day should I survive it any other way, on the wings of hope I would say.
On the edge of this cliff, the precipice of our sanity becomes the alter to our suicidal tragedy.
At birth we are conditioned to believe in the lie, that vanity even matters.
Talking a big game but still acts like money trumps a child's laughter.
Where greed and obsession became the cancer eating away at man's heart.
These are just a few addictions to our wicked sins that is tearing our souls apart.
To the energy that never dies, a heart that never lies on the tears of those who never compromised.