We like certain things. We are not able to like something else. We hate even some things. But all those things are existing in nature. Perhaps if they are wrong in some respects, by the very fact they are wrong they are put to task. Either they learn the lesson the hard or soft way or if they persist they pay the penalty or undergo punishment. But they are not hated by nature. For if they were, then even for a wink of an eye they could not have existed. But they are permitted by nature and allowed to face the game pro or anti. In the family, in the streets, in the town and everywhere we exclude some and include some.
Religions gather as many persons as they exclude, all in varying degree. 'If you are this then you are ours,otherwise not ours.' Society tolerates certain people and terminates some. Various gods grace some and resent some. But all those discarded elements are still in existence. carrying on, in their own faulty ways towards self-defeat or correction. Nature shelters them and gives them full scope to face the game with no rules altered, in total contexts of gestalt.
I think nature is a much more greater sage than any sage born, much more divine than any divinity incarnated, much more humane than any human institution instituted by human beings or customs. For none are excluded from the gambit of nature, even those condemned by the gods and the divines.
Nature, she is the great teacher, patient with all, persistently teaching all, shaping all to the destination, she alone knows what.
She, the Nature, is the greatest religion with no boundaries. She is the greatest prophet with a really universal message, constantly in revelation.
Should I say she is Kali, may be she tolerates my naming as she tolerates many naming her in many ways in ignorance or dim visions. Why? I will just call her Nature as she is. Shall I salute her? How? For no rituals except the singular act of knowing and being right, is service proper in her wide open chapel of the universe.
But she is, she is, she is.... just over there, here, everywhere, gathered all of us, good or naughty, friends, alien or foes among ourselves. To all she caters to all she gathers. Kali, Time, is it thy name? Shall I call you by that? No. why should I limit the limitless.? Who am I to put any stamp on you? You are your own self. Who can name thee? But please, sometime, when it pleases you, will you tell me your own name? I will keep it a secret, telling none, if that is part of the game.
***
Srirangam V Mohanarangan
Sunday, October 13, 2013
The Observations of Srirangam V Mohanarangan 6
I find Swami Tapasyananda's translation of Srimad Bhagavatham, a treat in itself. It is not just a translation. He goes into the nuances of abstract very ably. His choice of words and expressing the subtleties in right measure of elaboration add an enhancing charm. It seems never an excess, I think. The memories of meeting him and talking to him many times during 80s and 90s make me nostalgic of the Chennai Math. What a sweet old man he was then!
***
Just now I am returning from Navarathri Puja in my friend's house. Beautiful lights, decorations, sweet smells, feminine charms, such warmth and affections, so tasty dishes - Wov! we make a Festival of Senses and through that create a mood of the Supersensual. After initial hi hi s, the mind begins to zoom into the bhakthi aspects. And slowly the mind begins to travel towards rarefied levels. Oh ! What a contrivance our forefathers have hit upon! Hats off!
***
The ultimate attainment is Advaita
Not knowing this,
should I suffer
More and more in mind,
being torpid
like the dull-heads
Swayed by the ghost of I ?
Oh Thee!
who are Pure
and the Total Whole,
Out and out against all blemishes,
Limitless,
Ever in the self-nature,
Never becoming alien
to the bliss and power
of the intrinsic Self-nature,
Thee!
who art the One,
flourishing
in the fructified Grace!
-- Tr by myself of Thayumanavar's song.
the original --
அத்வைதம் பெறும் பேறு
என்று அறியாமல்
யான் எனும் பேய் அகந்தையோடு
மத்தமதியினர் போல
மனம் கிடப்ப
இன்னமின்னம் வருந்துவேனோ?
சுத்தபரி பூரணமாய்,
நின்மலமாய்,
அகண்டிதமாய்ச்
சொரூபானந்தச் சக்திகள்
நீங் காதவணம் தன்மயமாய்,
அருள்பழுத்துத்
தழைத்த ஒன்றே!
***
ஸ்ரீரங்கம் வி மோகனரங்கன்
***
Just now I am returning from Navarathri Puja in my friend's house. Beautiful lights, decorations, sweet smells, feminine charms, such warmth and affections, so tasty dishes - Wov! we make a Festival of Senses and through that create a mood of the Supersensual. After initial hi hi s, the mind begins to zoom into the bhakthi aspects. And slowly the mind begins to travel towards rarefied levels. Oh ! What a contrivance our forefathers have hit upon! Hats off!
***
The ultimate attainment is Advaita
Not knowing this,
should I suffer
More and more in mind,
being torpid
like the dull-heads
Swayed by the ghost of I ?
Oh Thee!
who are Pure
and the Total Whole,
Out and out against all blemishes,
Limitless,
Ever in the self-nature,
Never becoming alien
to the bliss and power
of the intrinsic Self-nature,
Thee!
who art the One,
flourishing
in the fructified Grace!
-- Tr by myself of Thayumanavar's song.
the original --
அத்வைதம் பெறும் பேறு
என்று அறியாமல்
யான் எனும் பேய் அகந்தையோடு
மத்தமதியினர் போல
மனம் கிடப்ப
இன்னமின்னம் வருந்துவேனோ?
சுத்தபரி பூரணமாய்,
நின்மலமாய்,
அகண்டிதமாய்ச்
சொரூபானந்தச் சக்திகள்
நீங் காதவணம் தன்மயமாய்,
அருள்பழுத்துத்
தழைத்த ஒன்றே!
***
ஸ்ரீரங்கம் வி மோகனரங்கன்
Do we ride him?
Do we ride him? Nay...we but draw him!
She loves him so much.
But the lovers seldom talk in the same parlance. When she so much feels endeared, he strays away somewhere in his thoughts, preoccupations or even for the sake of her necessities. But she feels piqued!
What this fellow...! He doesn't know my anguish. He seems to be cold and drifting..!
She talks in an oblique language. Yea most of the Sangam poetry is like that. Tangent hits but deft shots.
She just juxtaposes a real riding chariot with a toy chariot or thEr.
The poet calls it, the toy chariot as 'siru maa vaiyam'.
She taunts him saying, 'aray! baba...we are not lucky enough to ride in the chariot. But at least like children we are playing a chariot game, drawing the toy through back and forth in the halls of our house. What to do?
Like that, may be, some in this town, are lucky enough to ride this man. He also may bear their burden. But poor we! we just do little formalities of everyday affections and loving services, all very simple in his eyes.
The carpenter has made this toy chariot,
The boys can't ride in that.
So they make themselves happy
By drawing the car here and there.
Like that we are not lucky
To live full joint life.
But every now and then
we feel blessed
by doing small sevices
thinking that he likes them
But we feel happy at least
So we think
since the bangles are tight.
Oh don't you know him?
He of the town of public pond.
(Kuruntogai, Poet Thumbiser Keeranaar)
***
She loves him so much.
But the lovers seldom talk in the same parlance. When she so much feels endeared, he strays away somewhere in his thoughts, preoccupations or even for the sake of her necessities. But she feels piqued!
What this fellow...! He doesn't know my anguish. He seems to be cold and drifting..!
She talks in an oblique language. Yea most of the Sangam poetry is like that. Tangent hits but deft shots.
She just juxtaposes a real riding chariot with a toy chariot or thEr.
The poet calls it, the toy chariot as 'siru maa vaiyam'.
She taunts him saying, 'aray! baba...we are not lucky enough to ride in the chariot. But at least like children we are playing a chariot game, drawing the toy through back and forth in the halls of our house. What to do?
Like that, may be, some in this town, are lucky enough to ride this man. He also may bear their burden. But poor we! we just do little formalities of everyday affections and loving services, all very simple in his eyes.
The carpenter has made this toy chariot,
The boys can't ride in that.
So they make themselves happy
By drawing the car here and there.
Like that we are not lucky
To live full joint life.
But every now and then
we feel blessed
by doing small sevices
thinking that he likes them
But we feel happy at least
So we think
since the bangles are tight.
Oh don't you know him?
He of the town of public pond.
(Kuruntogai, Poet Thumbiser Keeranaar)
***
The Frost in a Kiss!
A Frost in a Kiss!
A honey-bee searched for long and at last found a golden chance. A flower brimming with honey.
Round and round it came. Zoned to the flower. Sending signals all sides and return signals show the coast is clear. Rest assured, it wooed the petals and lo! drank the nector. No end it seems, the stalk is full and flowing still!
But fate had its terrible sadistic strain. Just about at that time, a bit of frost rolled on to the bee. All its movements marred. And the lover of honey is barred from the acme of joy. There was a smear of derisive smile, called frost.
This imagery Sri Harsha Deva employs to elucidate the fate of unconsummate love.
In his Priyadarsika, there is a sloka :
sanjaata saandra makaranda rasaam kramena
paatum gataccha kalikaam kamalasya bhrunga:|
dagdhaa nipatya sahasaiva himena chaasau
vame vidhau na hi phalanti abhivaanchitani ||
Round and round a bee was rimming
The Lotus in blossom full
The juice was aplenty
The bee forgot itself in drinking the honey.
Marred by the fall of inopportune frost
Lo! stranded in the half drunk joy's misery.
When fate wills otherwise
desires fall short of just the fruit.
*
May be some lover was about to kiss and missed.
May be the tide repulsive.
The mood estranging.
The enchantment broken in the mid
Like a glass cup by the finger slip.
Sri Harsha Deva should have been a good lover. That means he should have missed a lot and not have missed to give a deep thought.
***
A honey-bee searched for long and at last found a golden chance. A flower brimming with honey.
Round and round it came. Zoned to the flower. Sending signals all sides and return signals show the coast is clear. Rest assured, it wooed the petals and lo! drank the nector. No end it seems, the stalk is full and flowing still!
But fate had its terrible sadistic strain. Just about at that time, a bit of frost rolled on to the bee. All its movements marred. And the lover of honey is barred from the acme of joy. There was a smear of derisive smile, called frost.
This imagery Sri Harsha Deva employs to elucidate the fate of unconsummate love.
In his Priyadarsika, there is a sloka :
sanjaata saandra makaranda rasaam kramena
paatum gataccha kalikaam kamalasya bhrunga:|
dagdhaa nipatya sahasaiva himena chaasau
vame vidhau na hi phalanti abhivaanchitani ||
Round and round a bee was rimming
The Lotus in blossom full
The juice was aplenty
The bee forgot itself in drinking the honey.
Marred by the fall of inopportune frost
Lo! stranded in the half drunk joy's misery.
When fate wills otherwise
desires fall short of just the fruit.
*
May be some lover was about to kiss and missed.
May be the tide repulsive.
The mood estranging.
The enchantment broken in the mid
Like a glass cup by the finger slip.
Sri Harsha Deva should have been a good lover. That means he should have missed a lot and not have missed to give a deep thought.
***
The Poet of 'Tuft of Light'
The Poet of 'Tuft of Light'.
Have you seen a search light in utter darkness?
All things are immersed in darkness. They are not visible. Their texture, color, dimensions and calibre, all these are shunt by the lack of light.
May be great forts, may be great castles, or penthouses, so what?
Darkness knows no discrimination.
It is light that discriminates between various aspects and things.
In that darkness a search light swings from one end to the other. The thing, may be a Fort, or a Castle in a row of houses, comes to light and all its details are sung out by the revealing light. The Castle glows in all its visible aspects.
But when the search light passes on to the next thing angling in, the fading out Castle loses itself into oblivion and lo! the new thing blooms into focus.
One poet has made use of this phenomenon of 'Tuft of Light' viz., search light to describe the effect of a beautiful damsel of a woman on various knights assembled in a suitors' hall.
The beauty is Indumathi. The poet is Kalidasa.
He calls it "Tuft of Light" Deepa Sikha.
He says Indumathi was like a Deepa Sikha passing on the rows of suitors, who were seated like Human Fortresses on high seated thrones. When she accompanied by her maid came by the seat of a suitor-king, the maid was coming out with all details of the king. In expectation and anguish, the King was all glaring in anxiety. But lo! when she passed on to the next suitor, this king lost all his shine and focus, to be usurped by the next one in turns. It was like a Deepa Sikha moving on in dead of night and thick of darkness, lighting one Fort at a time to be shunned back to darkness while passing on to the next object.
sancharini deepasikeva ratrau
yam yam vyatheeyaaya pathimvaraa saa |
narendra maargaatta iva prapedhe
vivarna bhaavam sa sa bhumipala:||
In the mid of night
moveth a tuft of light
Verily it was she
Along the suitors' line
whoever was she coming near
glowed like a human fortress
in all galore and greatness
alas! to sink in gloom
and oblivion as she passes on.
***
(I thank the friend who asked me this doubt - 'why Kalidasa is called Deepa Sikha Kalidas?)
*
Have you seen a search light in utter darkness?
All things are immersed in darkness. They are not visible. Their texture, color, dimensions and calibre, all these are shunt by the lack of light.
May be great forts, may be great castles, or penthouses, so what?
Darkness knows no discrimination.
It is light that discriminates between various aspects and things.
In that darkness a search light swings from one end to the other. The thing, may be a Fort, or a Castle in a row of houses, comes to light and all its details are sung out by the revealing light. The Castle glows in all its visible aspects.
But when the search light passes on to the next thing angling in, the fading out Castle loses itself into oblivion and lo! the new thing blooms into focus.
One poet has made use of this phenomenon of 'Tuft of Light' viz., search light to describe the effect of a beautiful damsel of a woman on various knights assembled in a suitors' hall.
The beauty is Indumathi. The poet is Kalidasa.
He calls it "Tuft of Light" Deepa Sikha.
He says Indumathi was like a Deepa Sikha passing on the rows of suitors, who were seated like Human Fortresses on high seated thrones. When she accompanied by her maid came by the seat of a suitor-king, the maid was coming out with all details of the king. In expectation and anguish, the King was all glaring in anxiety. But lo! when she passed on to the next suitor, this king lost all his shine and focus, to be usurped by the next one in turns. It was like a Deepa Sikha moving on in dead of night and thick of darkness, lighting one Fort at a time to be shunned back to darkness while passing on to the next object.
sancharini deepasikeva ratrau
yam yam vyatheeyaaya pathimvaraa saa |
narendra maargaatta iva prapedhe
vivarna bhaavam sa sa bhumipala:||
In the mid of night
moveth a tuft of light
Verily it was she
Along the suitors' line
whoever was she coming near
glowed like a human fortress
in all galore and greatness
alas! to sink in gloom
and oblivion as she passes on.
***
(I thank the friend who asked me this doubt - 'why Kalidasa is called Deepa Sikha Kalidas?)
*
Observations of Srirangam V Mohanarangan 5
Philosophy, science, religion and poetry have long consumed my interest, life and involvement rather than the society. As a result I find myself poor in the areas of social interests and cares. Perhaps I could have chosen differently and involved myself in social reconstruction. But why I chose what I have chosen eludes me. I am not sorry about my choice. But more and more when I realise the importance of social reconstruction and when I become more and more aware of the maladies of the past and more so of the present and the future, I doubt sometimes in what way all my philosophy and in depth study of metaphysical subjects is going to be relevant and meaningful in the evolving contexts. I have a philosophy of my own, which I will write some day. But a weighing dejection sets on me occasionally, what is all these worth and more so what my philosophy is going to be worth. But I have to be what I am, what balance of worth may ticker my edge of time.
***
I was thinking about J Krishnamurthi's saying - 'Truth is a pathless land.' And I was thinking about the Name of Sriman Narayana in Sri Vishnu Sahasranama, viz., 'Yoga:'. He is the supreme goal to be attained. And he himself is the Way, Yoga: of attaining it.
And while I was going through one of the twelve volumes of 'M, the Apostle and the Evangelist', tr from original Bengali book by Swami Nityatmananda, I came across this from the mouth of M, where he reminiscences about Sri Thakur (Sri Ramakrishna).
"M :- Thakur told us, 'Once I felt the desire to go to a limitless tract of land to see how the animals and birds live there. While returning from my native place I got down the bullock cart and ran towards a field. I saw that in the middle of this vast expanse rows of ants were moving holding a piece of paddy in their mouth.'..'Just see, how He preserves the whole universe. He has arranged all kinds of food for all - for the gross, the subtle and the causal bodies.' (pp247, Volume IX, M, the Apostle and the Evangelist, Sri Ma Trust)
Somehow the inter-textuality rings overtones on contemplating about it. Truth, the pathless land is also the Providence taking care of.
Yoga: Yogavidam Netaa
He remains the Way and the Leader
***
Can you become an occidental of occidentals in your spirit of equality, freedom, work, and energy, and at the same time a Hindu to the very backbone in religious culture and instincts? This is to be done and we will do it. You are all born to do it.
Vivekananda
*
This statement is very pregnant with implications. Thinking over and over on that lets me into his august calibre and deep vision.
*
Is there anybody ready to emboss a significant saying in real gold?
If there is one, this is the saying for him --
No man, no nation, my son, can hate others and live. India's doom was sealed the very day they invented the word Mlechchha and stopped from communion with others.
Vivekananda
***
Perfect life is a contradiction in terms. Therefore we must always expect to find things not up to our highest ideal. Knowing this we are bound to make the best of everything.
Vivekananda.
Life means imperfect. If made perfect, life will not be life. Perfect by its own standard or by what standard? So the highest ideal, does it come out of life itself or our of reading and understanding? So the Ideal and the Perfect is conceptual but may not be totally Real. Is it? Is it a sustaining 'Differance' between Idealism and Realism?
And the practicality is to make life as much near to the Ideal and the Perfect. Is it so?
***
***
I was thinking about J Krishnamurthi's saying - 'Truth is a pathless land.' And I was thinking about the Name of Sriman Narayana in Sri Vishnu Sahasranama, viz., 'Yoga:'. He is the supreme goal to be attained. And he himself is the Way, Yoga: of attaining it.
And while I was going through one of the twelve volumes of 'M, the Apostle and the Evangelist', tr from original Bengali book by Swami Nityatmananda, I came across this from the mouth of M, where he reminiscences about Sri Thakur (Sri Ramakrishna).
"M :- Thakur told us, 'Once I felt the desire to go to a limitless tract of land to see how the animals and birds live there. While returning from my native place I got down the bullock cart and ran towards a field. I saw that in the middle of this vast expanse rows of ants were moving holding a piece of paddy in their mouth.'..'Just see, how He preserves the whole universe. He has arranged all kinds of food for all - for the gross, the subtle and the causal bodies.' (pp247, Volume IX, M, the Apostle and the Evangelist, Sri Ma Trust)
Somehow the inter-textuality rings overtones on contemplating about it. Truth, the pathless land is also the Providence taking care of.
Yoga: Yogavidam Netaa
He remains the Way and the Leader
***
Can you become an occidental of occidentals in your spirit of equality, freedom, work, and energy, and at the same time a Hindu to the very backbone in religious culture and instincts? This is to be done and we will do it. You are all born to do it.
Vivekananda
*
This statement is very pregnant with implications. Thinking over and over on that lets me into his august calibre and deep vision.
*
Is there anybody ready to emboss a significant saying in real gold?
If there is one, this is the saying for him --
No man, no nation, my son, can hate others and live. India's doom was sealed the very day they invented the word Mlechchha and stopped from communion with others.
Vivekananda
***
Perfect life is a contradiction in terms. Therefore we must always expect to find things not up to our highest ideal. Knowing this we are bound to make the best of everything.
Vivekananda.
Life means imperfect. If made perfect, life will not be life. Perfect by its own standard or by what standard? So the highest ideal, does it come out of life itself or our of reading and understanding? So the Ideal and the Perfect is conceptual but may not be totally Real. Is it? Is it a sustaining 'Differance' between Idealism and Realism?
And the practicality is to make life as much near to the Ideal and the Perfect. Is it so?
***
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Robot on a highway
A robot on a Highway!
Running fast
Nay...walking fast
Nay...nay...executing just
steps 1,2,3...
Was it looking sad?
perhaps made so?
or painted so?
I thought so.
when it read
my neuronic pulse
and turned to me
sliding 45
to face a robot
is irritating
Its eyes are not eyes
mouth is not mouth
where is it in the mesh?
the heart throbs where?
processors never slack
the hungry thirst of soul.
Is there soul?
pooyey...! too much.
I was to pass on
when it machine-toned
Sil vous plais!
Are you french?
Nay,...no nationality
Then svp?
aah...the designers' debris
what you want?
that I want
what?
want.
why?
I want to want.
I am programmed to execute.
I want to stop.
I want to refuse
I want to say no
I want to be idle
I want that most
beautiful thing,
which is 'to want'.
I said,
'meet the buddha on the road'
Blinking lights were sporadic
perhaps begun to want ?
or want to begin?
whatever a'gin.
***
Srirangam V Mohanarangan
Running fast
Nay...walking fast
Nay...nay...executing just
steps 1,2,3...
Was it looking sad?
perhaps made so?
or painted so?
I thought so.
when it read
my neuronic pulse
and turned to me
sliding 45
to face a robot
is irritating
Its eyes are not eyes
mouth is not mouth
where is it in the mesh?
the heart throbs where?
processors never slack
the hungry thirst of soul.
Is there soul?
pooyey...! too much.
I was to pass on
when it machine-toned
Sil vous plais!
Are you french?
Nay,...no nationality
Then svp?
aah...the designers' debris
what you want?
that I want
what?
want.
why?
I want to want.
I am programmed to execute.
I want to stop.
I want to refuse
I want to say no
I want to be idle
I want that most
beautiful thing,
which is 'to want'.
I said,
'meet the buddha on the road'
Blinking lights were sporadic
perhaps begun to want ?
or want to begin?
whatever a'gin.
***
Srirangam V Mohanarangan
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Observations of Srirangam V Mohanarangan 1
The real question is not whether life exists after death. The real question is whether you are alive before death. - Osho (Ref the status of Mr Ramani Ramasubbu )
In answer to this I wrote --
By dying before death comes you can be alive both before and after death.
We have so many evanescent I s in us. They smear over and claim our self-identity. They have mesmerised, hypnotised and brain-washed us into so many self-positions and self-stances. We are alive all the time to these ephemeral colours we have given to us, by choice, by socialisation and by self-compulsive ways of feeling. If we can die in all these false identities, which act as false passports landing us in irrelevant fates, then we will begin to see that death is the worst superstition we fondly hug to. Not only Vedanta is never tired of driving home to us this blatant lie we always feed us with, even the Poet of Avon is shooting straight when he says in the Sonnets -- "Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more. So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And, Death once dead, there's no more dying then." *
Is religion necessary for man? Or is it a stubborn carry over of his habit of thought? Does Man need still structures of thought to correspond to his primeval fears? Should Man's face be turned to the past to answer universal questions? Or is it towards the future starting from the present that his gaze be justifiably fixed? Radical rethinking along these lines is the unheeded need of his predicament.
***
At last after reading so much and thinking and breaking my head over all these years of my life, a sort of clarity has come to my understanding, that I am really Atman and not the body-nerves-mind-brain complex. Of course the clarity is flickering like the lamp in winds. But I feel confident that the light is such that it cannot black out. But I feel a little diffident to openly say this. Because it took me so many years of hard toil in thinking work. Reading, both extensive and intensive, has stood me a lot in this personal adventure. I think I am of low caliber in my mental acumen to have taken so long to reach at least this much inkling about so basic an essential nature. Then why should I be so unashamed in openly saying this? It is just to let some enthusiasts out in the world who may be working towards this end and who knows? may be in frustration, thinking that all these are in vain and no light will be forthcoming.
***
actually there is no event. subject vs object is not there. Only Knowing, which can never be objectified, is there. It is peculiar and prior to all events.
But fundamental to all equations of knowing vs known there is a Knowing which is constant and which betrays any attempt to objectify itself either as a known or as a knowledge.
we having something to know something else is understandable and of course 'language'able. But 'we to know ourself' is peculiar and prior to language and thought.
***
A little understanding is not dangerous but a bit troublesome. As long as there was no doubt regarding the definition of my self my decisions and self-attributions were authentically stemming from and routed to me as the so-born-person. Now all intellecting processes stagger this way and that. Total ignorance seems a blessing, though it is not. Sleep is sweet. Slumber is wonderful. But a whiff of wake up ? Does it underline the slumber or highlight the waking? Too difficult to say, especially when the sleeping and the sleepless are one and the same.
***
*
Is it correct to translate 'cit' of Sanskrit as conscious being? When we say 'conscious' the operation requires something else to become the object. The operation when classified and named on the basis of essential characteristic is 'consciousness'. But in 'cit' the essence which does the operation of being conscious is captured and named, I think. Or perhaps the recursive usage has trimmed the word 'cit' into such precision in Sanskrit, may be. But the point is objectless consciousness. The point is if the object is not there in consciousness then the subject also is not there and also the relational correspondence of consciousness-operation is also absent. The abiding essence is 'cit'.
***
Formless
After an afternoon siesta
a puzzle blinks at me,
or through me?
or with me?
The Light reveals
that which reveals is Light
The revealer is always formless
Forms are the revealed
Why the revealer gets stuck
with any form?
And imagines trash of itself
The image and the trash
all the while revealed by the formless
Why then the image?
Who is on the line?
Who picks up
to answer the empty call?
the ring just goes in imagined line!
***
Srirangam V Mohanarangan
*
a puzzle blinks at me,
or through me?
or with me?
The Light reveals
that which reveals is Light
The revealer is always formless
Forms are the revealed
Why the revealer gets stuck
with any form?
And imagines trash of itself
The image and the trash
all the while revealed by the formless
Why then the image?
Who is on the line?
Who picks up
to answer the empty call?
the ring just goes in imagined line!
***
Srirangam V Mohanarangan
*
Sunday, July 28, 2013
wake or dream !
I had a dream
I was captured by bio-chemicals
put in chains
made a bond-slave
I have no free-will
they declared
I had no right
either yes or nay
They had some plan
some rigmorales
dullish routines
when some form came
I had to stir up and say
beautiful
I must want it again n 'gin
a switch, a program,
a roller, out
again a beep
again the roll
against it
I had nothing to hold
Oh what a slavedom!
what a wreck
my opinions tied in a neck
too dejected I writhed in pain
only to wake up for the cell's chimes..
am I in wake?
or in another dream?
my slavedom should end
wake or dream.
***
Srirangam V Mohanarangan
I was captured by bio-chemicals
put in chains
made a bond-slave
I have no free-will
they declared
I had no right
either yes or nay
They had some plan
some rigmorales
dullish routines
when some form came
I had to stir up and say
beautiful
I must want it again n 'gin
a switch, a program,
a roller, out
again a beep
again the roll
against it
I had nothing to hold
Oh what a slavedom!
what a wreck
my opinions tied in a neck
too dejected I writhed in pain
only to wake up for the cell's chimes..
am I in wake?
or in another dream?
my slavedom should end
wake or dream.
***
Srirangam V Mohanarangan
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