It’s not complicated…

We live in times where a word or an action drives a thousand more. Communication is seamless and equally seamless are the possibilities of miscommunication. We have perhaps misplaced the comma in a world of instant reactions.

We often miss the ambience of an expression.  We don’t have to necessarily count unto ten to control our urge to misunderstand things, but we can always take a fraction of a minute to look at the backdrop of an ongoing conversation. Only hearing, but not interpreting what’s being said in the light of a larger picture, leads to a jugglery of justifications. No one wins, everyone loses in the end. Wise people either ignore or develop immunity to this syndrome. But when beautiful equations are thrown off balance it’s time to go back to basic grammar.  

Don’t lose my song in the dance of words.
Read not too much between the lines
I don’t write anything there.
As real as the sky above us
is the song on my lips.
A note you didn’t find
is a note I didn’t sing.
It’s a maze with no escape
let’s not go there another time!

Lot of energy is spent in reading between the lines rather than looking at the writing on the walls! We are more concerned about what may be hiding in the shadow while we totally miss what the apparent burst of light is trying to tell us. What may be implied gets more attention than what is shouted from a rooftop.

The pleasure of communication is only when it is received in the same sense as it is conveyed. It is such a simple joy when someone says ‘I get you’.


the monkey mind

The key to finding the inside monk is setting the inside monkey free. Both are wor(l)ds apart but both are homed within us. The trick is to retain the monk and let the urchin out.

And then sit calm and watch how the monk becomes all the wonderful things in the world. May the unsettled wander from tree to tree, and may it let go of the dream of enlightenment.

May we all find the monks in ourselves.

Tree knows not another way

shelters them both

Monk under the tree

Monkey atop the tree

Summer knows not another way

suns them both  

Monk down to earth

Monkey dances for the sky

Monk becomes the tree

becomes the Sun

the moon


Monkey shifts

tree to tree

Monkey sets free

a dream

an awakening.

October splashes

Looks like haikus have me hooked for a while, so much so that I had to create a pond for them. Until the splashes last let me soak my fingers.

pc -Karen Arnold (public domain)

reading the daylight
a bookworm in sepia
sparrow bird ethics

Known to be a joyous bird often seen working hard in teams. The simple sparrow has its own moments of reflection and recreation. Seems like it’s having a ‘me’ time trying to read the fortune the day’s weather may bring.

pc- pixabay

she drifts with such ease
moored to the mercurial
the greenwood lover

How nature pairs up the wavering and the unwavering! Each not intimidated by the other’s conflicting personality. Instead there’s a graceful acceptance and peaceful co existence.


Midas leaves no tree

turned to gold they wait the spring

sages of the woods


It’s autumn again. Midas lingers in the woods touching the green sages in penance.
Looking to the sky, rooted deeply in the earth for ages, I wonder what truth they seek!
If a boon they must ask, it must be to be born a tree again.

pc- pixabay

To look upon them as pious is how we can revere the noble souls for all that they give us. While fall is all a burst of colors to the worldly eye, there must be more to it. Losing is winning is what trees try to teach us. Every year autumn anoints them in gold perhaps to test their resolve. Politely returned all the wealth surrenders by their feet. The onus now is upon the spring to breathe green into the leaves. And when it does trees are all smiles again!

from my album

Japanese short form poetry

stock photo

The focus in short forms is on the brevity and economy of words. It’s the art of saying all that we want to while saying too little or not saying anything at all.

when a raindrop says it all

why talk an ocean!

Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine publishes all Japanese short forms of poetry. Happy to have my poem here. To read and contribute to this flourishing community of poets click

Here is a detailed write up on Japanese poetry which I found very interesting. Sharing the link here for those who would be curious to know more.

Happy Japanese poetry writing!

Between the mind and body…

Who wins the obedience medal between the mind and body? I am thinking only of normal people. People whose lives are controlled by the two mischievous brats they have raised. It’s an odd combination if the two don’t age correspondingly. That we can control neither is the biggest truth and life’s most important feature. Wisdom lies in gracefully accepting this enlightenment, and also our limitations. All we can do is channelize the energies of the mind and body and churn a healthy brew.

A good fitness regime, as much as our health and age permit, is a basic necessity of our body. Likewise we must have a custom made regime to flush out the toxins of the mind. There’s a way to keep a watch on the body. There are sure tell-tale signs. But it’s the mind that takes a beating. The whole process is abstract. We will never know how, where, when these toxins royally march into our mind. Isn’t it strange that our mind knows how to keep our body fit? It tells us how much we must eat and when we must stop eating and when it’s time to exercise etc. But when it comes to keeping itself fit, it’s rather casual. I am tempted to compare the mind to a slightly older sibling who gets away with a little sermonizing over the younger one, a little monitoring and perhaps some bossing.

The mind too needs to be cornered. The mind needs to know that we cannot play favoritism. The mind needs to find the regime that works best to flush out the toxins. Meditation is one way to drive away the crazy calories of the mind and restore some sanity and peace. It’s quite challenging to bring our mind to behave itself. A proven vagabond that it is, holding its reins takes some real effort. I wonder how such vulnerable mind is tough and ruthless when it comes to overseeing the physical fitness activity. But we are at least half done if our mind doesn’t tempt our body into an unhealthy lifestyle.

The other half is a difficult mile to run. Some days the mind begins to run amok even before the net is cast. It’s such an instinct of the mind to escape knowing well that we are out to fix it. There’s lot of action, hide and seek, and luring, happening behind the closed eyes. That’s the time I realize I haven’t been able to tame my mind one bit. What an embarrassment contradicting the calm and serene outward appearance! I let it wander aimlessly and wait for it to be tired and get home. When it finally happens I feel like a winner.

In the poem, which was published in Strange Horizons, I am being courteous and large-hearted by calling the mind a pilgrim.

My comfort niche recedes
into the mogra mist
homeless, unhinged
within myself
I grow a pilgrim’s feet.
chakra to chakra
greys to gleams
apogees to perigees.
An aberrant sixth demon
has carved her nest
peeled three layers of bark
blued the veins of rootless trees.
In her maya
mazes in mazes
I’m lost
I’m lost.

A restless frog
breaks the pond moon
a thousand times!
I can’t escape
the allure
of the water mirror
It’s not a myth
of the sepia pond
that faces are epicenters
of brewing storms
ripples moving outward
from the ajna chakra
reaching for the ashwatha,
Mired in delphic ponds
I wander
I wander
cities of glyphs

Cosmic drifts
of a pin head universe
frank the homecoming
of the conqueror.
A lotus
of folded palms
for my acharyaa.

for the bougainvillea

These fresh beauties deserved more than quick mobile clicks. But I can try and make it up by accessorizing them with a poem of mine. The poem ‘decode’ was first published in the journal ‘Strange Horizons’.

Flowers don’t lie, he tells me one morning
weaving his words carefully around the kernel.
My question ‘why flowers of all things
doesn’t make a headway through the shell.
His hands were always mud, birthing buds
from all plants that flowered.
His doctrines germinated from little saplings
in big to medium to small earthen pots.
The blooms took all the gravity of his conclusions.
In the backdrop of his enlightenment
the plants, the rooted disciples were too discoursed
to shake a leaf to his sermons
and touching the gaze of a longing breeze, too much to ask.
I remember one face from my childhood,
he said, trimming off a bold shoot
a peeve among the crusties
an un bastardized element among the alloys
took to flower love all of a sudden.
If he had looked into the mirror now and then
he would know there was sunshine beyond the baldachin
he would know the onset of his drift.
I touch the flower faces and wonder
how much of a lesson there is
to learn outside a flower life
how much of sunlight must have cheated him
and caressed the cheeks of his virgin blooms. 
I follow him, studying the niches of bare feet on wet earth
some mornings are about understanding the totems.

- Daya Bhat