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Ghost of Careerism

Careerism is a ghost haunting the prospective world of spontaneous living. Whole life people invest to make a straight, soothing, and decent image with no avail. The life of a career is nothing more than a speck of dust blown away by storms. Yet, human beings are trained to create a career, to live and die for it. The whole life is wasted for running after an image which is simply a creation of mind, an assemblage of external stimulus, and fixation of identity around symbolic representations and their meanings. This symbolic rationality is deeply embedded in the collective psyche of society like a smokescreen hiding the eternal truth. Every action is evaluated on the scale of career and the price of a person is evaluated on the parameter of its utility in terms of functioning as a career, within the career, and for the career. In the end, retirement gives a sense of loss of the economic and professional values accumulated by economic man, a sense of imaginary losses, which imprisons th...
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फ़ितरत

आदत नहीं हमें कि चंद सिक्कों पे लूट जाना है ज़मीर के सौदागर हमने पग-पग पे देखे हैं उल्फ़त की आँधी हो या बेचैनी का शैलाब जो राह पकड़ के चल पड़ा उसे कश्ती मिल ही जाना है देखे है हमनें बड़े पत्थर दिल वाले जो दिल को छू जाए वही जीवन को जाना है जो बात तोड़-जोड़ कर निकले उन्हीं बांतों में जमाना है अदा जब अश्क़ बन जाए सदायें ख़ुद से ख़ुदा हो जाना है ये कैसी नादानी है कि खिलौनों को खिलौने का शौक है तेरा गुरुर एक बुलबुले सा है कुछ पल में ही मिट जाना है तूने मन के लिबास पे  जो कलिखें पोत रखी है उस मलिन मन के भीतर वो बच्चा जो शांत सा बैठा है क्या तुमने कभी उसे पहचाना है?
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Birth of Name

Name, you are chasing and chased by You, do you really matter? What if you don’t exist? What if you’re a funny fiction; Invented by a few, fallen from spontaneity? Your fictitious glory is taken for granted As if, you are the beginning and the end You, the first and the final dogma The weaver of the life-stories The gene of romance and tragedy You, the fulcrum of human power The traces of memories  Whose erasure is truly a liberation From the burdening flashes of thy presence! Yet, you are blooming In an Age of Reason and Anxiety!
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Time and Love

Time passes by Like moving in a train of thoughts Its sequence is always forward Vibrating like a cosmic dance of Shiva Time is creating and engulfing The little waves of the ocean Going where? Nobody knows Like a dream does not have a destination It is as true as any absurd play With friends of pleasure It moves like speed of light With friends of need It is felt like a moving river Allowing a little moments of thoughts Before everything becomes a history With friends of virtue Time becomes a sublime touch Soothing and healing the pain Becoming a spectator To watch the cries and follies Beauty and ugliness The rainbow of joy And an album of suffering Time touches Yet it remains aloof Like Purush is witnessing The colours of prakriti Yet remains unblemished And untouched The union of two is always mystical Their touch is a source Of creation and transformation Time is witnessing everything In its sequential movements Who is witnessing time? What is independent of the originatio...
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Silence

At the juncture of the silence, The cosmos reveals its sublime beauty, The truth, the substratum of the Witness,   The holy mixture of atoms and their alchemy. Silence reveals the communion of matter and space,   Their constant dialectics,   Appearance and disappearance of forms,   By which the potency of matter is realised and unrealised. Silence lets the voice of nature,   To Blossom and reveal its potential meanings. Silence heals the wounds of speech,   Its therapeutic effects cement the social bonds,   In its profoundest horizons,   Individuality submerges into; The holistic union of finite and infinite. Silence is the mirror,   Which reflects the cosmic dance,   Of light, darkness, and their convergence. In the glory of silence,   Words move and produce,   The cacophony of prayers and meditations, The liturgical magic of religions,   The baffling discourses of academia,   Only encircle in a s...
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Glory of Power

Spectacles and Enchantment of Power, Power of glory; glory of power, O glorious power,  Where are your branches? Where are your roots? Where is that dark matter; Burnt and sacrificed for your glory? Burgeoning flashes of glory, Narcissistic fever of power, You, the witness of your thousand defeats, You, the player of little triumphs, You, the hero, You, the villain, Power, the inglorious history of glory, Your glory of which, God is also boundlessly jealous! O little thought, The shadow of clouds, The mother and progeny of glorious power, Where is the resting place; On which you stand and deliver; The narcissistic fever of Sapiens! How poetically you weave; The power of glory, And the glory of power? How imaginatively you create, The glory out of nothingness, And the glory into nothingness?
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Manas

Portrait Courtesy: Saatchi Art O Manas, the seed of all desires! The weaver and witness; of unending cosmic plays. Thy spirit inheres; in every form, in each movement. What manifests, without thy will? Where does the world disappear; if not under thy everlasting arms of compassion? Infinite worlds manifest and disappear,  through thy sight, in thy embodied spirit. O Manas, the progenitor of kalpana! The singularity of all the cosmic vibrations! Who else is the Creator; of the multifaceted dreams? Who else is the Witness; of the everlasting worlds? Their kaleidoscopic colours, and their engaged plays? If not thy spirit? If not thy imagination?
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