I Do Nothing

I am asked often, what do I do these days. Well, I do nothing. My days go wayward, hours and minutes run helter skelter, knocking into each other. I do nothing. I find it difficult to say these three words and I wonder why. I find myself asking why is it  that I need to be doing something in order to feel worthwhile.That I should become a doctor, engineer, teacher, healer, whatever in order to feel worthy of my existence. That if I don't do something, don't have a profession or a goal, my time spent on earth has been a waste. As a child, I was asked so many times what would I become when I grew up.Today, I ask why is it not enough for me to just be?

I am immortal spirit in human form. I am bliss incarnate. This human life has been taken for the human experience. And this experience could be anything. I may have taken this birth just to know what it is like to eat, to drink, to sleep, to see, to hear, to touch , to feel, to know what it is to die. There are so many ways to die and maybe I just want to experience one of them. I could be here for anything, anything at all. Who is to question that ?

And so I now do battle with this thought whenever it raises its head in me. That I should be doing something. I explore that within me which wants to stick labels on myself just so it feels its existence justified.

These days, I watch the change of seasons on the tamarind tree outside my home. The colours of its leaves change with every passing week, interesting combinations of different shades of green.I listen to the sound wind makes in the coconut grove, next to my home. I go out into my balcony and watch the sunset. The  fiery brush strokes on the sky are new every evening. I wonder about this celestial artist painting his fleeting masterpieces around me. He does not seem to want to preserve them for posterity or aspire for them to displayed on museum walls. Such aspirations are left for humans like me battling transience, seeking to leave behind my footprint, somehow, somewhere by doing something of so called significance.

I watch the seasons change within me. Sometimes sadness sweeps through and I see the season of  falling leaves and bare branches. Then it passes, joy finds its way back and I see spring with its abundance of flowers. Highs and lows, summers and winters, I see them all within me, changing by the hour,by the minute. A play of thoughts and feelings.I watch them change like a kaleidoscope changes. New all the time, never the same.

These days, I converse with myself. I listen to the soft being within me who has never really been heard as I have always been so busy listening to the world. I listen and then speak to her using tender words which I have used with others but never before with her. I listen to her fears, her sorrows, her joy, her hopes and disappointments. I hold her close and accept them all.

These days, I do nothing.

.

The River Died

The river died.

They could hear the murmuring flow 
quieten
as it dwindled and stood  still
in vapid pools.

The river died.

They could only watch
as mourning killed the birdsong
turned verdant fields into wastelands 
where hunger alone
germinated and flourished.

The river died.
They could do nothing


~ Rwits
111

distance

your eyes speak of darkness

 in desperate alleys

your lips crack in smiles

of bright market places

in the distance between them

I try to read your story

110

shade

I carry you with me
a little patch of shade
my hidden parasol
when rooms drown in brightness 
of forced merriment
where the language of heart
is foreign to tongues
I wrap your shadow around me
and find refuge

~ Rwits

Markandeya

Markandeya, do you ever think

of the day when as a boy of fourteen

terrified by the vision of Yama's death noose 

you had rushed to embrace your beloved Shivalinga

And He, that great giver of boons

had rescued you from death, forever?

Markandeya, now that you are

a great sage, full of wisdom

do you ever regret that moment of fear

when you had chosen your eternal imprisonment

in this cage of flesh and bones?

Markandeya, do you sometimes wonder

what if, on that day, 

you had embraced Yama instead?

You might have found hidden, behind his dark visage

the shining light of true immortality.

Markandeya, maybe, now you know

a boon can sometimes be a curse.

108

Holding you

fragance wept
from bruised flowers
patience reaped
from fallow fields
yearning drawn 
from drying wells
holding you in many ways
my heart dances like a dervish

108

twining

some trees grow far apart

but deep under the earth

unspoken, unseen

their roots seek each other out 

in a quiet twining

107

Love Rises

smouldering incense
rising love
every pore
fragrance imbued
burning can be sweet

106

lost tears

somewhere

in some forsaken corner

a pile of tinder smoulders

fuelled by tears

that were never allowed 

the way to my eyes

acrid fumes burn

in silent retribution.

105

of being

the sun rose higher and as it rose
it stole the chill from her bones
she opened like a flower does
slowly and slowly into the warmth
she felt the gentle ripening
of promises seeded in her soul
all untruths withered and fell away
rich lushness of the fruit was hers
whispering of the wine to come
she knew then, there was nothing
nothing left for her to do
but to whirl in joyous abandon
in the sheer amazement of her being

What Matters

it does not matter what you are
a mirage , an illusion or an impossible dream
concocted, for all I know
by the sum of my hoarded yearnings
what matters really is the fact
that the moment I first saw you
a lost river rose from my deepest deep
broke ground and quenched the waiting sands
the desert bloomed with the promise
that it will never wither again

dreams

I sometimes think
what gives more sorrow
tug on the sleeve
of the dream unfulfilled
insistent whining of a hungry child 
or the butterfly of the captured dream 
dead, dried and faded
pinned to the board

The Tavern

I have heard stories and stories

of a tavern full of drunks

where at the door, with tender hands,

they wipe your sorrows away

where they welcome you in with words of love 

the likes of which you have never heard before

as I walk carrying the unbearable weight of my heart

eyes blinded by tears, no longer can see

my ears seeking sounds of drunken laughter

lead me on my way

forest

I walked through the forest

the forest spoke to me

showing me her placid pools

scurrying creatures

quiet trees and winding creepers

there is nothing, nothing , nothing 

that you will have to do

it is just enough to be

you hold within yourself

the same eternity

hearth

on the road to selfhood she found

 her hunger fed on another's hunger
wolfish it grew
her thirst drank of another's thirst
higher it flamed
her emptiness clutched on another's emptiness
sheer desperation it became
when she saw that every other
was a wanderer in search like her
she turned back home
and lighting the fire
sat quiet in the warmth of her hearth

letting go

slowly she loosened

her clenched fists

opened her fingers

and felt on her palms

the coolness of release 

a thousand butterflies

alighted on her shoulders