All posts by chiroharithmanush

I love to live as a Not-self in this impermanent phenomenon till the end of the life. I don’t crave, I don’t whine and I don’t complain. And I strongly believe that “all that we are is the result of what we have thought ….”. So, here my first step is to be a great mind along with right view, right intention, and right speech.

After the end of all hopes

I always dote on to you throughout the samsara

Like a lonely star in the empty sky.

A leftover of memories after the annihilation of all stars

And they also bound to be converged like you and me.

After the end of all hopes

While a seagull takes a flight within the border!

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Tantra Meditation, Psalm Isadora and a few wordings

 

 

Since from the last two years I’ve been getting so many invitation letters from a site called Mind Valley.  Only once, I had tried to contact with them but while listening the lectures, I utterly became uninterested since the whole concepts appeared as polar opposite from me. But yesterday,  I’ve once visited the page and it’s subordinate pages out of the blue. And I finally learned about  the front mortal of Tantra Meditation who’s name was Psalm Isadora and who took her own life just a few months ago. I got hurt, I got hurt because a 42 years old lady still talking about the body, sex and the relevant accessories. How shame at that age when a man or woman remains imbecilic! Buddha said, they grow in size not in wisdom. I hope, she might realized the trivialities of sex or Tantra sex before she encountered with self-destruction. I wish, if finally she had realized that this body carries nothing but mind is everything. Hopefully in her next streaming consciousness would careful about the virtues of mind.

Immortality

Immortality scatters sparsely likewise the wind trailer around the woods,
Sorrow-less madrigal sprawls and falls from the cobweb apparently seems suicide..
While falling down through a parachute someone thinks dead is just near far….
Or what Turing thoughts about the life, is it timeless during the sacred bites taking place…or did Gibran realize that love is truly timeless..
While our very impermanency, and our forlorn Wee-ness are they propagating their illusions throughout the parallel universe so fast…
No, no you don’t have to concern about that just tear out your concentration from your watch and let it immerse into the whole history of Time or just let swallow the whole package and permeate the rhythm of your heartbeat around the space………

In the memories of Fir Trees

In the memories of Fir Trees
And that rain-wash climbing road,
From where have vanished
Your varsity and foolish family life.
Still we listen that crowing of the pigeons
Throughout the loneliness of our beloved dead City.
Still drag us to that vibrant Veranda
Always intervenes by the firing of Stan-guns,
And wounded many a kind of Guernicas
Or else sprawl out as a junk of Dead Sea Scrolls.
Or even resembles the scattering colors of a thousand of Sonatas
Or like the sacred garden of the Sonalu Flowers
Longing for the illicit Poppies that will surely arise,
But yet through the sudden simmering whim
The poem appears as like as Water Hyacinths.

It’ll  quench fully automatically

 

 

You could buried the life alive

About to be happened

For this life!

Hence for an unknown reason

I had to born thrice

For a good slice!

Being born thrice

Means encounter adolescence

Also thrice!!

Thus a notable span of time

Have been blowing away

Only to get the fruition.

What is the age?

I asked the mirror instead of clock

While a heap of manly Mona Lisa’s sorrows

Being gathered at the back stage.

But yet life still blinks as the light of toilet

Nothing couldn’t interfere her

It’ll  quench fully automatically

Completely………..

 

 

 

14th March, 2017

 

 

One’s mysterious lonely stance

The road that had gone into my mind

And then lost into the mystery

I live with that thrill, utterly.

Yet I never grasp its unfathomable mystery

Yet sometimes through the melodies

Sometimes through the words

And again penetrate into the mind game

Called chess, what never ended up

With a simple lively hiccup

But wasn’t it enough?

Where there are scattered edges of melodies

That I once broke them into my orchestral dreams

Even the rhododendrons, magnifying glasses

That had swept by the scavengers unconsciously

Should I had to stopped, the chess mind think twice!

What I’ve left only for the manifestations!

That never rebounds as mystery!!

Lies, lies or lies all remained as fallacies once,

Hence, it hurts when it’s only sounds

That is why, I keep myself mute

In this remnants of time.

Embodied softness with the dark supple wings

Into the known periphery of mystery.

 

12th march, 2017