I Love The Black Stone

For I love a magic stone

Once a fellow must have thrown.

Named it God, I had known

& I loved the black stone.

Why u love the black stone?

Asked all the friends i knew

Is it magic? Is it great?

Dream of it else, why do u?

Is it super natural?

Can it cure from fatal?

What i lost can it bring?

Can it bring in winter spring?

Why u sing praises of it?

Light of knowledge can it lit?

Why pour water? Why waste milk?

Will it cover my life with silk?

For my heart loves it so

For heavens there not to go

The moment i touch, fills me with joy

Not ever i found anywhere.

Peace and silence fills me in

Love and joy flows within.

So i love the black stone

Magic it has, i have known.

So I Love The China Rose

It reminds me of the place I rose

So I love the china rose.

Deep inside the womb bed

Only lies the blood red

Comes out to give a life this blood

Taking a life not instead.

So I love the china rose

So I love its blood red.

Holy Mother loves the gift

When Her eye does shift

From the glitters n the gold

To Her love red old.

Red the blood She had in

Brought a life Her within

So She loves it as the blood

& She loves the red blood.

She lives where's the china rose

Reminds me the place i rose.

So I love the hibiscus
Where She had brought up us...

A Voice

As a kid I asked my mamma,

"Do u love me?"
She said ya.
But then again,
When I did something she wont love,
She wont love, me too.
So I longed to see the one
The one who loves all.
The flowers of the garden; loved by all
But He'd love the leaves that fall.
A voice said, He'd come.
Even in the lashes of storms,
It'd say He'd come.

SO i went from one to two
Friends & all who called 'em so
Nowhere I found, what i heard
Nothing more than to woe.
Once i asked,
My best friend,
"Do u love me?"
& She said yeah
But nodded as nay.
I donno what she meant
Nor did she lend
The hand when i need
May be was mah fault too, that she wont know
May be for i hated to bleed.

I asked mah master
"U love all
What about me?"
Yeah, he said,
"How auspicious they stay, see,
Pure & pious
Arent u like them too?
What do u say?
The flowers of garden, who not love?"
I silently said,
"The rotten ones, who do love?
One rotten, will rot
None loves the black spot."
Except the one
The voice said.

With that ray of hope I live
I laugh n it smiles
I rejoice n raise mah voice
For this i walk, miles n miles.
I tire, the fire burns
But lits inner light
Amidst the night
And then again i fight.
To see the end,
Whether He'd come, My True Friend?

How Inauspicious Is The Auspicious!

Most inauspicious My Love
Most inauspicious U love
What lies that is auspicious?

All we use all we have
All have been used by some
Hence all are inauspicious.

Plant brings fruits, flowers n seeds
Throws them out & never needs
That we eat & offer U
Thus we live & keep U.
How inauspicious is the auspicious!

Again they take the rotten things
Leaving the fresh for other beings
Fresh for them is really bad
Useless too n makes them sad.
So we eat, what they excrete.

See the smallest ones of all
Who lives to rot them all
But are friends for those who give
Whom the plants need to live.
See how inauspicious they are!

Pious the water what we drink
Ganges water's pious we think
The waters we use, had been used
That a body must have left.
The most pious is inauspicious.

Oh! The inauspicious of all
All auspicious to U must fall.
Yet U are inauspicious
They reamin auspicious
How inauspicious is the auspicious, My Love.
How auspicious is the inauspicious, My Love.


[In Hinduism there are two different ways to achieve realisation, the right handed way or the auspicious way(right hand is considered as auspicious) & the left handed way or the inauspicious way(left hand is considered inauspicious). This left handed way mainly consists of Aghora & tantric rites & processes. The crude & the knife-edged path(kshuradharasya pantha) of tantra n aghora are considered to be faster ways to realisation because the primary necessity here is to detach from everything.
For those who are interested are requested to check the books of Aghora series by Robert.B.Svobodha.]

Eye-Camera

Oh! What a camera this Man has made
Of innumerable pixels
Thousand GBs storage
& a warranty of lifetime!

Oh! What do I call this Man of grace?
Just a second we need to edit
The audios & videos we store,
& Insert millions of emotions!

And it works in every mode
With so many shades n colours
& Lights dim or night
The pictures it casts are fabulous.

And lo! So minute exposure it needs!
Of fraction of second may be
Till we see,
The masterpiece He made for us.

What should I call it now?
May be the eye-camera?
Or the I-camera?
Or My-camera?
Just remembered,
Even a penniless man has it!

Oh! Now i am jealous of this Man.
It takes years to produce a piece
& he made the masterpieces in 7 days?
Oh! How could He???

Oh! What colours He used in the canvas of space?
We even cant copy it's image
& get oscars n nobels,
& people call us great scientists n artists? Huh!

Shouldnt we be ashamed of us now
To destroy the beauty
Which we see
But couldnt reproduce
In past, present &
May be in future too.......

Why?

In this beautiful Self sky
The cloud thoughts remain, why?
I asked my Lord.

If I am to only be
Why feel pain, joy in glee?

If You are the place to go
Why You create this ego?

If I am only here
How others bring me fear?

If others are also me
Why cant I really see?

My Lord answered
Because u dont want to see
What really are in ye.

When u'll wish so without fear
Only this thought remaining clear

When I be your only dear
I shall come to your near.

Till then,
Have patience
With My remembrance,
Love all
Even if u fall,

Till I come for u
N' u go with me
To the abode of
Peace, joy n' non-duality.......

Question

As alms, the man his cows gave
When his son asked in voice grave,
"Why the cows you're giving are old,
The best to give are in stories told?"

The next part we all know
& That's how the myth to go.
The kid was sent to Lord of Death
To whom he asked, "At last breath
What dies?"
The Lord of Death was taken aback
& Failed to give an answer back
& Thus goes the story of heroic child
Nachiketa's questions remain alive.

The most innocent questions asked
Unveils all that stand masked.

I was happy till I learnt
The biggest storm, the hardest word- "WHY".

That day on my friends were foes
& That's how my story goes
Parents, teachers went away
& All what really I would say
Was, "Thank God"
For showing me they were not my Lord.

When I asked my Master the same
Silence was all that remained
Whom I revered once so much
By a word was washed away.
All I did say was "Thank God"
For showing me he was not my Lord.

Since when I started to ask WHY
Blizzards & tempests swayed my life
The funny part is:
For whomsoever would I ask This "why"
Always stood against me, not by!

May be they wanted to have peace
Like I had before asking these
Before the storm of "why" arose
While I slept, till I rose.

Then I met this man of grace
For whom I was to be amazed.
Once had lived this life of "why"
First time someone stood me by.

He knew
How to stop this tempest of why
With another question "Who am I?"
So today I ask
"Oh my beloved God,
Art Thou my true Lord"?