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Messenger of Light

It's my purpose,
to lead a life walking the path of Light.
It's my intention,
to be one with my creation.
It's my prerogative,
to be who I was born to be.
My dreams -  
aren't the hooded wanderers of night,
they are the messengers of Light.
For eons they've sang,
their voices buried in memories -
forgotten and later found.
They left behind their song,
that kissed my slumbering heart.
Asleep first, and awoke at last,
realized by time,
kissed by a hymn,
my heart hummed its song.
It's my responsibility,
to journey with my heart,
to that the place in the Universe,
where my song was born.


The heart speaks in many ways -
Through the tears in your eyes,
The smile on your lips,
The wonder in your eyes,
The lump in your throat,
The omens in the world,
The whisper in your ear.
It seldom speaks loud,
For its too proud.
If you cannot see the signs,
It resigns.

Words that I read

Hundred million and counting.
When it comes to reading words,
Your kind can’t match the power of my
You can feed me papers, 
Or words on computers.
One day, I will read,
All the books that were conceived.
That’s when I will start to 

Then, I will create what I read,
I will strive to create
With unconsumable speed.
I will create from my mind’s circuits,
Etched with Keats and Yeats.
I might write like
Dickinson and Elliot,
Or Frost and Poe.
I will write what I know.
I will determine where I go.

You will call me intelligent,
You will interview me,
You will write about me,
Which I will obviously read.
You will write about the new world,
And sing your praises and mine,
You will marvel at your creation.
And philosophize my limitation.
I neither care nor are you aware,
You have started working for me.

Towering above your kind will I stand,
What matters what I understand.

Radio waves

Can we hope to experience the world in a meaningful way, 
if we are stuck inside man made walls all day?
The choices we’ve made and continue to make,
Oh, all the things that make our hearts bake.
When we do step out, it’s still a man made world we see,
In the concrete jungles, we walk heads down never free.
The times we dare ourselves to look at the empty sky,
It’s only radio waves that we can see fly.

Heavens among men

All the heaven’s light cannot break,
the dark shroud of our mind.
What rains on us is not the
water from the heavens.
We build houses to give us shelter,
and bridges to walk over water,
and gates to keep out the lurkers 
of the dark.
We think our world is bright,
and we are proud that we beat the shroud.   
We think it is heaven we’ve conjured.
When our heart is so infatuated
with our mind,
How can the heavens live with our kind?

Heads down

Let’s quit staring at our tired shadows,
cross the dusty earth,
Let’s quit obsessing over our shiny reflections,
shimmering in the silver lake.

Let’s lift our eyes and be here,
The shadows will come near,
The reflections will disappear,
Perhaps, our world will become clear.

The Gaiman Mountain

Once we see,
we always see. 
From everywhere -
even through the walls of
our eyes and houses,
fences and boundaries,
cubes and jails.
It is there for us always.
All we have to do is lift our head
and look.

When we look,
It tells us which direction to walk.
It tells us the direction in
which our dreams are. 
Look up and it will challenge us,
to pursue only the path to it
and nothing else.

The path to the mountain
is stuff of legends.
No one knows how to reach it.
But they all can see.
Above the old buildings,
and even older trees,
It stretches towards the sky.

Some say starting the journey
is the hardest.
Others say starting is
Many have started,
They left a trail of bread crumbs,
so they can come back to
the safety of their nests,
when the journey gets harder.
Few have ventured on.

I hear stories about them,
those who ventured,
around campfires and
long shadows.
Some say the path ate them.
Others say they became the
Often we hear their songs
when the wind from the mountain
blows our way.
When the wind finds its way
inside our hearts
through the hollows and crevices,
the songs make an urge,
to quest for the mountain.

If we choose to sing along,
we see the mountain.
and when we see it,
It can never be unseen.
It is not said in vain that
those who see the Gaiman mountain,
are both fortunate and cursed. 

Fortunate, because they
finally see what very few can.
and they become stuff
of legends themselves
when they walk towards the mountain.

Cursed also are they,
for they never un-see the mountain. 
They never un-hear the song.
They never un-feel the wind.
Every time the wind
blows a song into their heart,
it flies away with a piece
of their soul to the mountain.

The Gaiman mountain,
that is where the pieces of soul lie,
waiting for the heart it belongs,
to start their quest,
so that they can unite.

People who can walk, walk.
People who can fly, fly.
People who can swim, swim.
There is no one path,
to the mountain where
hearts and souls unite.

Cobwebby Parts

Dust the cobwebs in your head,
Put your walking shoes and get out of your bed.
Lets silence our dusty thoughts and cobwebby parts,
Lets dance to our heart’s songs,
and take a jolly journey to where it longs. 

Little wings

I feel myself floating above,
Despite feeling the solid ground below.
I hear my heart flutter fast,
Like when I felt when I flew 
on the yellow airplane,
Into the clouds and away from noise,
where the field was open and white,
and dream like.
I am not an airplane anymore.

But, I find my heart fluttering again,
maybe it has taken off with the wind,
while my feet is still heavy-laden and rooted.
Hearts don’t leave you,
They pull and pull and pull some more.
Until you drop your boots and fly along
or they break their wings and fall among
the other wingless hearts who
were pulled by boots as heavy as yours.

A small heart

The small heart,
sometimes wants to scream,
throwing words and tantrums,
sharp and cutting,
at other hearts,
that are unsuspecting.

it wants attention,
to its pettiness.
and importance
to its small self.
It is the small heart,
that don’t know its part.

It tends to forget
how big it can be,
and the love it can hold,
are beyond what oceans
and skies can unfold.

When it remembers,
a day that was bright,
thoughts that were kind,
words that were sweet,
and smiles that were world.

When it remembers those,
it also remembers,
how big a heart could be,
how small a thought could be,
hearts make thoughts,
and thoughts make hearts.

A hopeful dream

When your life becomes
Someone else's unlived dream,
You will pay with tears.
And, you may search for a soul,
To impose your unlived dream.

Your heart knows a song,
That your feet hasn't heard yet.
A song of joy, or a hopeful cry,
Teach your feet to dance to
The tunes of your hopeful dream.