today - one such day

Today –

one such day –

that I hope…

when I look up at the stars

tonight

my wish will be granted…

like sugar icing is sprinkled on cake

coriander on salad

masala on curry

paint on canvas

water on soil

words on paper

and there’s a song of joy -

the joy of being a joy.

Everybody has a wish -

once in a while - don’t we?

What makes one undeserving?

I cannot bring myself to think;

I can only imagine the stars being pleased.

Perhaps I think kindly of them.

Yet it’s not that my heart doesn’t sing -

the song of joy –

that springs from my garden of gratitude

of being alive and living

budding, blooming

budding again, blooming again;

a life akin to flowers,

but more than flowering.

Perhaps,

it’s just a fancy passing thought –

wishing for the stars’ favour

as if they had every reason to

and I was the Chosen One.

When I see the stars –

the way they shine so bright –

they appear to smile at me

and I’m pleased

like a little child given a lollipop.

I smile back – a child’s smile, I’m sure –

a musical flutter in my heart…

like a butterfly’s landing on a flower.

But who’s to stop this mind of mine

from turning to the stars,

pleading?

It’s nature’s gift,

my hope natural -

my wish to be granted

and to think the stars

will do the honours.

Who doesn’t have a wish?

Everybody does.

I do too.

For me to say I don’t,

I would have to bury myself

deep down,

underground,

where I can be quietened,

my mind shut down.

Now, THAT I wouldn’t wish

- ever!

This earth holds us for a reason

that I must honour –

the least I can do.

But today –

one such day –

that I have this wish,

the reason is beyond reasoning.

I shall wait for the stars

to paint the sky

tonight -

like any other night –

my wish to be granted,

that I can unfalteringly

breathe out happiness

to de-polute the air

of anger and hatred.

Tomorrow,

perhaps you see me dance

more merrily?

a matter of choice

When we shut down our minds, we live in a box. The box can only be filled and we might just take what we’re given. 

What we have that we can give may have no space other than the box itself. The box eventually gets crammed. 

We feel suffocated. No air to breathe. Unhealthy. Our minds lack nourishment. The rest is quite obvious. 

We do what our dying minds can afford and our actions get feeble. In time, our bodies shut down and we walk about like zombies. 

Now, somebody might ask, “Can’t you empty the box?” 

I’d say, “To empty the box, the mind has to be opened...set free.” 

It’s really a matter of choice, but some choices need courage. The courage comes from our integrity to things that matter.

 

If we have the might to endure the pain of being who we're not, 

we most likely can sail through the risks of freedom.

a moment, one morning

a moment today -
a car starting and a snore,
a woman’s stern voice,
sweet little children screaming
and the busy road below

and yes, yet again,
another car starting – loud!
a man’s snore - louder
as if in a noise contest
for the day’s precious award

while I still in bed
wondering about the weather
anxious of tremors
loud noises outside rolling
hardly escaping my ears

just another day
yet different - the way it feels
a soft subtleness
and news on tv reminds
of impermanence, lost souls

my mind – it travels
to a small mourning nation
in devastation
endless compassion flowing in
from good souls near far and wide

to other nations -
where girls molested, murdered
poor farmers hope lost
people warring and killing
corruption, injustice, lies

at the same time
a deep longing in my heart…
for my village folks
my daughter far far away
my son in the land next door

snore getting louder
more and more cars starting
I’m helplessly conscious
of fear lurking in my mind
and I ask, “What would Buddha do?”

suddenly a yawn
I turn slowly to my left
a sweet smile greets me
I smile back, stretching my arms
a tight hug, a warm kiss – bliss

Times have changed

Times have changed
marvelously, in strange ways.
The child I was,
I see not in today’s child.
The parent I am,
I remember not of my parents.
The education I had,
I find not in today’s education.
The teacher I am,
I remember not of my teachers.
The grandparents I see, of my children,
I wonder if I’ll be to my grandchildren;
my own grandparents I saw none.
Times have changed.
Change is permanent,
as everybody says.