Recreating Existence

A painter, a poet and a dancer

went to a Himalayan resort

for a friendly get together

and to find their creative burst.

Nature, being joyful and kind,

showed them such wonderful hues.

It mesmerized them all and

gave them their creative cues.

The idle brush beckoned the painter.

He spread the red, blue and crimson,

and drew on the canvass a stunning picture  

with cloud silhouettes and setting sun.

The poet let the words flow freely

in his oneness and exuberance.

Adjectives galore, praises aplenty,

described the unlimited existence.  

The dancer felt the music of the space

and began a wonderful dance,  

expressed his bliss through the grace

to consummate his hilly romance.

They gathered again and admired

the wonderment of their creativity,

but looked at the sky and wondered

how nature beats their created beauty.

They figured that human creation

is limited even in its awesomeness,

that no expression is a true reflection

of existence so eternal and limitless.

The friends then joined their hands.

In unison, they closed their eyes

and savoured the expansive vista,

and let existence fill in their pores.

In a moment

In a moment,
there is no sound,
neither there is light or taste,
nor is there touch or smell.

In a moment,
there is no thought, perception or judgment,
neither there is memory, fear or movement,
nor is there love, label or prejudice.
In a moment, everything just is.

In a moment
everything is stationary,
for streams don't flow,
trumpets don't blow,
leaves don't rustle,
crowds don't jostle,
birds are suspended in the blue drape,
and clouds are fixed in the landscape.

In a moment,
a yelling man is stuck with an open mouth,
a kisser on the bed is unmoved with a pout,
a dancer on a stage is awkwardly posed,
a cyclist on a road is magically disposed,
a gymnast on a rope is beautifully balanced,
a climber on a cliff is precariously placed.

In a moment,
we neither breathe in,
nor out,
we are all dead
and yet alive.
In a moment,
life is just a snapshot.

A perception is a collection
of moments.
Life as we live can't exist
without a trail of moments.

In a moment,
there is nothing
but in that void,
it bears everything.

Intelligence and Wisdom

Intelligence makes atom bombs.
Wisdom says, “you better not use it.”

Intelligence says, “I can win.”
Wisdom says, “It doesn't matter.”

Intelligence answers. Wisdom questions.
Intelligence competes. Wisdom holds hands.

Intelligence yearns to take credit.
Wisdom hankers to share it.

Intelligence needs to prove a point.
Wisdom has nothing to prove.

Sheer intelligence rankles. Wisdom soothes.
Intelligence dissects. Wisdom synthesizes.

Intelligence speaks out.
Wisdom is silent until spoken to.

Intelligence mocks at the foolish.
Wisdom respects the unwise.

Intelligence is a roaring stream.
Wisdom is a calm lake.

Intelligence without wisdom is wild fire.
Intelligence with wisdom is a trained horse. 

What would I be?

What would I see if all the eyes were mine?

What would I hear if I heard through all the ears?

What language would I speak if I spoke through all the tongues?

What would I hold if all the hands were mine?

What would I feel if all the hearts were mine?

What would I do if I was in all the minds?

What would I be if I was in all?

What would I experience if all was in me?

How would I react if it dawns that it’s true,

that I am all and all is me?

But wouldn’t the all-knowing me know already

that I was to discover the real me?  

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This poem was inspired by the first verse of Purusha Sukta, which is a part of Rigveda. Purusha Sukta belongs to the section dedicated to the Purusha, the "Cosmic Being".