A comment on “A Flowery Prose in Shame”

A comment on A Flowery Prose in Shame:

This poem’s beginning line “Do not say: But for the Grace of God, Karma, Alhamdullilah” should not be taken literally. There is beauty in being grateful to God provided one understands that the relationship between us and God is a complex one involving each having the freedom and responsibility to act. For instance, in every scripture, God asks us to be good to others- the Grace of God is given through our freedom. In this sense, the injustice is in our choices. For us to give our choices the name of God’s grace without acknowledging our freedom in the result is abdicating our free will.

The reference to the forbidden tree; an old love and hate; both men and God playing roulette is again mystical and ought not to be taken literally.

Marvel

I am damaged beyond repair,

Breathing with an empty heart,

Pumped by God dancing in White Coat.

Dance no more and

Let Me Go

To my own rhythm and rhyme:

I have been dead a long time.

 

I am more than just a beating heart!

Note: This poem was written after I met a paralyzed man. This is not about me but the issues raised in our conversation.

The Way to Personal Freedom- 2, Veiled Beauty

I had written this poem a few years ago in a moment of  a spiritual ecstasy and union. It is a feeling of Union and Oneness with Everything.

My love with “It” has been a source of freedom for me. Meditation, knowing oneself, fasting a couple of days a week (or eating less), being awake from dawn to sunrise, all help with this experience. Why is this important? Feel it and you will know.

______

 

I see You in the redness of dawn;

in the virgin sky;

in awakened life at early morn;

in Thunder & Lightening;

in the silence of the Dark Night;

between my shadow and I;

in the glorious moon and the bright stars;

in sounds of raindrops:

In the carelessness of children while they play in

Your Thunder, Lightening and Rain;

In waves on an ocean shore;

In the moving wind;

In hope amidst fear;

In the lust of youth.

My Allah, O Veiled Beauty, yet I see you not in all Your Majesty:

I see the footprint but not the Foot;

the shadow but not the Object.

I am a shadow of the Object. The Sun will set upon me and my shadow will fade into the Dark Night.

All that will remain is You. I will return like a raindrop on the ocean back to its Source.

All will perish except Your Face.

My Allah, let me know You as a Friend and let me subsist Within You for an Eternity.

Let the shadow exist without a shadow: in oneness with You

Love is….

Love is

Beauty unveiled by Holy Verses,*

Imperceptible to the Naked Eye,

Practiced by those who know:

God is visible in Filth and

Hidden behind Beautiful faces.

Love is

Not ecstasy at delightful sight;

Photograph curtesy of Jordan Swavely, a photographer residing in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. http://jordanswavely.com/

Love is

A leper’s hand,

A deformed Child,

Mother Theresa’s embrace.

http://theinnerkingdom.wordpress.com/2010/12/07/let-us-love-one-another-by-mother-teresa/

Beauty unveiled by Holy Verses,*

Imperceptible by Naked Eye,

Practiced by those who know:

God is visible in filth and

Hidden behind Beautiful faces.

* Mathew, 25: 33-45, Holy Bible. Note: This blog endorses no religion but is supportive of spiritual gems found anywhere, including the Holy Bible.

Devil ain’t so Bad

Banished from His Presence

for a spectacle of Dust;

Banished from His Presence

for a question asked;

Banished from His Presence

for civil disobedience:

I am the Devil.

Devil ain’t so Bad after all.

Illusions Under the Christmas Tree

When all is said and done

in the silence of Night a Voice Speaks:

All Meaning is Created,

Order Imposed:

In the company of millions

We will walk alone to Nothingness.

And if you be lucky

an Illusion of meaning and hope will accompany you to your end.

There is no Santa, Dear Child-

God, even a bigger Lie:

But this truth is not for You.

Never expect a gift beyond what you can create:

Find your gifts under the Christmas Tree.

Note: The poem should not be taken literally. I do “believe” in “God”. These are expressions of experience. I hope and pray that you find your gifts beyond what you yourself can create!

The Grey

“Do something. Do something. You phony prick fraudulent motherfucker. Do something! Come on! Prove it! Fuck faith! Earn it! Show me something real! I need it now. Not later. Now! “-these are powerful lines by Liam Neeson to God in The Grey. I highly recommend this movie-it is a exploration of the questions of life. I say “a” exploration because you do not have to agree with it, only recognize it as a real attempt.

Another great poetry:

Once more into the fray,

Into the last good fight I’ll ever know.

Live and die on this day.

Live and die on this day. 

Happy Moments, Endings, Eternity & God!

1975

I see the passage of time and a moment of moments lived and appreciated in hindsight!

I am not a child anymore. The boy became a man and a shadow of himself. I now understand my beloved grandmother (Maa): This is a world of endings! Everything in it  perishes except the Face of God!

The song by Jagjit Singh, Who Kagaz Ki Kashti, captures the nostalgia Audio:  01 Woh Kagaz Ki Kashti. English translation follows:

Do take my gold, and my fame, if you must

 You can have my youth if you so do will

 But do give me back my childhood showers

 My little paper boat, the fresh rain’s thrill

Do take my gold, and my fame, if you must

 You can have my youth if you so do will

 But do give me back my childhood showers

 My little paper boat, the fresh rain’s thrill

My little paper boat, the fresh rain’s thrill

She, who, lived here as old as the road

She, whom we children, called granny

She, who wrapped fairies in sweet songs

She, whose wrinkles of years so many

 And who, try as much, could forget them

Her fresh long tales filling nights so tiny

My little paper boat, the fresh rain’s thrill

 To walk out in the scorching heat

To larks and those jays and chasing butterflies

We’d marry our dolls and fight over it

 High in our swings jumping far from watchful eyes

And those little trinkets of copper and bark

 Those deep scarlet marks of broken bangles and cries

My little paper boat, the fresh rain’s thrill

To drag our feet over smooth high dunes

A castle here, a hillock there

 Our innocence filling every picture and tune

Our life of toys and dreams

In a world of joy, relations none did prune

Wasn’t it beautiful, that life of ours?

Posted by Shaykhspeara Sha’ira at Tuesday, February 13, 2007 at http://albaal.blogspot.ca/2007/02/my-little-paper-boat-woh-kagaz-ki.html

Back to this World

I glimpsed behind this Curtain

and saw that there was no Curtain:

My grandma was with me all along.

She said, “Good to see you my Son. Now go back to the world.”

I did not want to:

We spoke without our lips moving,

our hearts under the warmth of the Mother:

Peace and Serenity all around.

“Why leave this bliss?  Why go back to the world? No!”,

I cried like the child I used to be.

But I awoke:

without the curtain or my Beloved.

I had an accident. I was back in this world.

Going Home

POETRY

by Leonard CohenJANUARY 23, 2012

I love to speak with Leonard

He’s a sportsman and a shepherd

He’s a lazy bastard

Living in a suit

 

But he does say what I tell him

Even though it isn’t welcome

He will never have the freedom

To refuse

 

He will speak these words of wisdom

Like a sage, a man of vision

Though he knows he’s really nothing

But the brief elaboration of a tube

 

Going home

Without my sorrow

Going home

Sometime tomorrow

To where it’s better

Than before

 

Going home

Without my burden

Going home

Behind the curtain

Going home

Without the costume

That I wore

 

He wants to write a love song

An anthem of forgiving

A manual for living with defeat

 

A cry above the suffering

A sacrifice recovering

But that isn’t what I want him to complete

 

I want to make him certain

That he doesn’t have a burden

That he doesn’t need a vision

 

That he only has permission

To do my instant bidding

That is to SAY what I have told him

To repeat

 

Going home

Without my sorrow

Going home

Sometime tomorrow

Going home

To where it’s better

Than before

 

Going home

Without my burden

Going home

Behind the curtain

Going home

Without the costume

That I wore

 

I love to speak with Leonard

He’s a sportsman and a shepherd

He’s a lazy bastard

Living in a suit

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2012/01/23/120123po_poem_cohen#ixzz1l8lV095RG