What do you think you will find in solitude?
We are never so close as we are in solitude.
10:30, the hordes descend upon recess,
And I bid farewell to what could have been solitude.
Lost in the rustling hustle of a crowd,
Bustling anonymity meets its twin: solitude.
Semi-quarantine keeps the virus at bay.
This is what it takes for us to begin solitude.
The blessing of human contact shoved aside
To buy the toilet paper we’ll hoard in solitude.
Guru teaches us the price of our greatness:
To reach our potential, first we must win solitude.
The breath of inspiration flows from silence.
Creation springs up primordially in solitude.
In deepest stillness, find the universe’s
Constant companionship that underpins solitude.
Expanding, multitudinous Unity,
And at last I meet Tandava, here in solitude.
Showing posts with label ghazal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ghazal. Show all posts
Saturday, March 14, 2020
Friday, April 20, 2018
Ghazal: The Light
Whether knowingly or not, all pursue the light.
Groping, stumbling, our eyes shut, we move through the light.
Creation’s vibration, the word, the wind, the AUM
manifesting one: the cosmic sound, and two: the light.
Around a black hole, space missionaries prepare
a daring expedition to rescue the light.
Though the sun shines equally on good and evil,
ubiquity can never devalue the light.
Morning breaks, in blazing glory, at 2 AM,
illuminating the one who miscued the light.
Dark ignorance can’t be beaten out with a stick,
but vanishes when you bring, O Guru, the light.
My eyes are closed, my spine straight, heart calm and mind still.
Then I see, golden and silver on blue, the light.
Our art is a witness to our aspirations,
thus, Tandava offers this poem into the Light.
Groping, stumbling, our eyes shut, we move through the light.
Creation’s vibration, the word, the wind, the AUM
manifesting one: the cosmic sound, and two: the light.
Around a black hole, space missionaries prepare
a daring expedition to rescue the light.
Though the sun shines equally on good and evil,
ubiquity can never devalue the light.
Morning breaks, in blazing glory, at 2 AM,
illuminating the one who miscued the light.
Dark ignorance can’t be beaten out with a stick,
but vanishes when you bring, O Guru, the light.
My eyes are closed, my spine straight, heart calm and mind still.
Then I see, golden and silver on blue, the light.
Our art is a witness to our aspirations,
thus, Tandava offers this poem into the Light.
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
Ghazal: In Time
A poem a day, and I must write them all in time.
My muse I’ll always remember to call in time.
The Golden Age once lost will come around again,
evolving and revolving, a vast sprawl in time.
A new father, singing, can’t hold onto the beat,
a challenge, getting the baby to bawl in time.
On Icarian wings I lift myself alone,
and though I rise in space, I fall in time.
My joints ache when they know that the rain is coming,
and my sinuses tell me when it’s pollen time.
Footmen with whiskers, on a faintly orange coach,
begging Cinderella to leave the ball in time.
Art as Immortality? No shield against the
blazing future, but a frail parasol in time.
Romans meet dinosaurs meet Daleks meet Doctor:
the Tardis is navigating a squall in time.
Those troubles you face, that loom so large before you,
know that even these—it’s true!—will seem small, in time.
Out in the herb garden, after the storm has passed,
we gather scattered rosemary and fallen thyme.
Now Tandava has finished his poem for the day,
sufficiently rhymed, lined, and done, withal, in time.
My muse I’ll always remember to call in time.
The Golden Age once lost will come around again,
evolving and revolving, a vast sprawl in time.
A new father, singing, can’t hold onto the beat,
a challenge, getting the baby to bawl in time.
On Icarian wings I lift myself alone,
and though I rise in space, I fall in time.
My joints ache when they know that the rain is coming,
and my sinuses tell me when it’s pollen time.
Footmen with whiskers, on a faintly orange coach,
begging Cinderella to leave the ball in time.
Art as Immortality? No shield against the
blazing future, but a frail parasol in time.
Romans meet dinosaurs meet Daleks meet Doctor:
the Tardis is navigating a squall in time.
Those troubles you face, that loom so large before you,
know that even these—it’s true!—will seem small, in time.
Out in the herb garden, after the storm has passed,
we gather scattered rosemary and fallen thyme.
Now Tandava has finished his poem for the day,
sufficiently rhymed, lined, and done, withal, in time.
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
Ghazal: To Shiva
And as I begin, I bow to Shiva.
May these lines soar, even now, to Shiva.
In darkness, delusion, despair or death,
look, through the light in your brow, to Shiva.
A mountain falling in love with the sky:
Parvati making her vow to Shiva.
Thou male-female, creator-destroyer,
single-duality: Thou Two, Shiva.
I could, like Ganesha, travel the world,
or cut to the chase, and bow to Shiva.
D.I.Y.—Destroy It Yourself, a book
not for dummies, titled: How To Shiva.
Om Namah Shivaya, I bow and sing,
my soul a transcendent shout to Shiva.
The end of life, the end of creation,
we will all return, somehow, to Shiva.
Tandava dancing, this music, this poem—
this life, an offering now, to Shiva.
May these lines soar, even now, to Shiva.
In darkness, delusion, despair or death,
look, through the light in your brow, to Shiva.
A mountain falling in love with the sky:
Parvati making her vow to Shiva.
Thou male-female, creator-destroyer,
single-duality: Thou Two, Shiva.
I could, like Ganesha, travel the world,
or cut to the chase, and bow to Shiva.
D.I.Y.—Destroy It Yourself, a book
not for dummies, titled: How To Shiva.
Om Namah Shivaya, I bow and sing,
my soul a transcendent shout to Shiva.
The end of life, the end of creation,
we will all return, somehow, to Shiva.
Tandava dancing, this music, this poem—
this life, an offering now, to Shiva.
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