At a far distance, the cool night sets. A Purnima. The Goddess in red, out her idol steps...in the abandoned temple.
Tag: Writing
Conversation in Saffron
"You don't love or worship the destroyer unless your soul is ready to let him destroy your life." "Why would someone choose that?"
Homecoming
In the room of the soulshining a light,was the name of God.Guilt crouched in a cornerand looked up in shame... But found only loveWhere pain and grief sobbed as heartbeatsThe name soundeda song so sweet,they danced in respiteDeeper withinas embers seething, angerwas seen- and unwatered,bathed cool by the light...for there was only loveTo greed and… Continue reading Homecoming
Stupor
What do you enjoy doing most in your leisure time? In my leisure time I do nothing (as one must)and yet somehow find dregs of syllables when done and surrounded by my rhymes
The Eternal Witness: 2025- the year that came to break me but ended up being the making.
2025 will always mark a before and an after in my life, not because of the transformation my photographs from earlier this year to now reflect, but the one from death to life, fear to faith, and grief to the Guru. People speak of healing as if it's something in our control and that's where… Continue reading The Eternal Witness: 2025- the year that came to break me but ended up being the making.
Bhasmā
We sit atop the mountainBreath, one with the icy Himalayan breezepuffing away the pipeSilence, beauty, warmthof each soul one with GodPraying for the salvation of these burning logsNamaḥ Pārvatī Patayé Har Har MahādevAs if Mahéshwarā Himself has come to chant...to dance the destruction dancewe all love
Kaliyuga
Scene: A young, scholarly priest walks past the banks of the holy Ganga, as a pale yellow evening settles. Visibly brooding, he takes no notice of the sights and greetings around him, and makes straight for home, where, laying the plain jute satchel of books atop a wooden desk, he pulls out a loosely bound one and begins to write, just as the early eastern skies begin to darken.
Night-time poesy: Unlatched
No… pray until your heart opens, like a door He quietly unlatched at dawn where every chant, spelled to silence breaks at the throat, to become bird-song... and you let your soul step out
The Beginning
"In the beginning was the..."
Sea, the woman
What pretty, precious oystered pearls amid buried, bedded bijouterie! She knows of breath beyond deaths, knows of the lost in living lives... Boundless, bottomless, her intelligence. She unmasks… She mystifies…
Ishaisms 
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