Tag Archives: contemplative poetry

The Last Song

Posted in Poetry English by

When the last song is sung, nothing is denied—not love, not guilt, not longing.

_______________

Come let us sit by this brightly burning fire;

let us forget all and everything, the good and the dire

Let the high flames defrost our frozen souls,

all the cold voids within and all the black holes

_______________

Come let us search for and grab our broken violins;

let us sing songs, and remember and repent our sins

Let the warmth of our company mend our broken hearts,

all the joys and regrets - together and in parts

_______________

Come let us lament, the fading memory of old love;

let us caress our nostalgia - the delicate, grey dove

Let the stories we tell mark our long and sad past,

let them cherish our tears, which dried up so fast

_______________

Come let us remember innocence, which was lost forever;

let us applaud corruption, the seduction was so very clever

Let us rethink all our deeds, so lofty and so dark,

let us not pass a harsh judgment, with a red mark

_______________

Come let us sit by this brightly burning fire;

let us blow it anew, the flames loftier and higher

Let us say farewell to everything, ambition, and desire;

warmly welcoming the end, the savior, and the pyre

Anger & Silence

Posted in Poetry English by

Introduction

A contemplative poem featuring an old monk under an oak tree who explores the profound relationship between anger and silence through a series of striking metaphors. This meditative verse contrasts the destructive chaos of anger with the transformative power of silence, presenting them as mother and child, thunder and rain, sword and force. The poem delves into Buddhist philosophy and mindfulness teachings, examining how anger represents momentary experience while silence embodies lasting wisdom.

_____________________________________________________________________

Under a Banyan tree, an old monk sat,

his life - cool shade and a bamboo mat

Eyes were closed, and his heart so still,

oblivious to pain and sharp n’ harsh chill

_____________________________________________________________________

‘Anger is the wind,’ he muttered to himself,

‘whispering in the trees, calming down itself

Anger is the mother, and silence is the child,

a fiery dragon and her offspring, so mild’

_____________________________________________________________________

‘Anger is scalding chaos, silence brings order,

chaos and order - there is only a vague border

Anger is the thunder, silence is the rain,

anger is so loud while silence stills the pain’

_____________________________________________________________________

‘Anger is a sword, while silence is a force,

violence and the power, the ego is the source

Anger is a hammer, while silence is patience,

anger is so bold, while silence brings complacence’

_____________________________________________________________________

‘Anger is a curse, while silence is a blessing,

what is true and what is not, there is no harm confessing

Anger is a burden, while silence is a treasure,

shedding and protecting, both beyond measure’

_____________________________________________________________________

‘Anger is experience, silence is the wisdom,

anger is a moment, while silence is a kingdom

Anger lights the blaze, silence is the smoke,

knowing is the product, wrapped in a cloak’

_____________________________________________________________________

‘Your time has ended, now leave me all alone!’

the monk addresses anger and marks it in the stone

‘Silence has begun - its reign feels so cold,

along comes the knowledge - so cruel and so bold’

The Autumn Outside, and the Autumn Within

Posted in Poetry English by

A season that never ends.

_____________________

Outside, autumn reigns with colors of gold and rust,

walking in fancy colors, is really a sad, old whore

Within, the autumn stays forever, heaps of ash and dust,

it was born when I was born, will die when I’m no more

_____________________

Outside, there is a verdict, a cruel and harsh judgment,

unsolicited and uninvited, yet delivered firmly in the face

Within, there exists failure, dark, rotten, and repugnant,

it was born when I was born, will die when I quit the race

_____________________

Outside, there is refusal, a hard and cold rejection,

imparted cruelly, yet justified and utterly sensible

Within, there exists misery, a bitter and dark dejection,

it was born when I was born, will die as I am dispensable

_____________________

Outside, there is warmth, an almost useless affection,

a product of reciprocity, mere courtesy, and manners

Within, there is love - a brightly burning perfection,

it was born when I was born, will die with lowered banners

_____________________

Outside, there is sadness, and within it is always blue,

in perfect harmony, the weeping violin and the crying cello

Outside, the autumn reigns, and within, there is an autumn too,

were there when I was born, will fade as the ink turns yellow

When the Golden Butterflies Return (Previously, Dance of the Golden Butterflies)

Posted in Poetry English by

A meditation on despair, resurrection, and the fragile courage of hope.

__________________

The pale sun loses its gold crown,

tired of all the sickness that it sees

The exhausted wind slowly dies down,

hurt by cruelty in times like these

__________________

The birds tenderly flap their wings,

flying to their refuge and shelters

The galaxies begin to appear in strings,

seeing the sinful, both the young and elders

__________________

The moon tiredly pulls itself up,

fearing the world’s misery that it beholds

The blue-black sky drinks from the inky cup,

witnessing the race of all silvers and golds

__________________

The clock reverses, and another cycle starts,

light wages a war on the black, silent night

A new day is in the offing, as written on the charts,

time passes so gently, yet great is its plight

__________________

The Milky Way breathes a great sigh of relief,

the tired moon dips and smiles a sleepy smile

The lonely stars go all off, in sorrow and in grief,

it is over, yet another day, another tough trial

__________________

The morning breeze moves, playing the allegro,

the waking sun bats his big, orange eyes

The birds and the bees and one odd crow,

it is chaos once again, all laughter and cries

__________________

There is a resurrection of life, once feared dead,

all the colours break out in a dazzling bloom

The yellow is vibrant, brilliant is the blue and the red,

brilliant is the sight of the peacock’s new plume

__________________

The hope of a new day is smiling once again,

serenity is promised and peace is a white dove

The golden butterflies start hovering and reign,

life welcomes me again with a promise of love

Chronicles of a Pessimistic Optimist

Posted in Poetry English by
anti-inflammatory-diet-for-depression-1200x675

Between hope and despair lies a grey hall filled with regret and guilt.

_______________

I have always been a pessimist and also an optimist;

my life is a grey hall, filled with a rainbow mist

My past had been dark, and my future seemed so bright;

the night had been dead, but I said, long live the light

Yet my thoughts had been honest and so very true;

my mood had always been the darkest hue of blue

_______________

I push open the window and scrutinize my past;

I recall everything clearly, the first and the last

I see so many butterflies riding the sunbeams;

some ugly and the others pretty - nightmares and dreams

The womb was very warm, and it was so secure;

but the shelter was a curse when the doom seemed sure

_______________

My memories, when I open the old, musty book;

time had passed so fast, like a fast-flowing brook

Faces and images always passed by in a hurry;

my nostalgia was always chaos, even the chaos was blurry

Within this chaos, bitter conflict had always been a must;

all the treacheries of life and only a little bit of trust

_______________

I have been the prophet of hope and a seer of visions;

but my regret is so bitter for all the bad decisions

The wounded birds, I always made them fly again;

but each time they left a parting gift - a cold pain

I cannot be a savior; it was just a false belief;

there was no pleasure in the pain, just cold, dark grief

_______________

I treaded new paths, and also the dark forbidden places;

roaming in the spirit of adventure, leaving dark traces

Sin appeared to be the wisdom, and virtue seemed bland;

the sense of curiosity kept on burning and was so grand

Desire was the clear water, regret was the muddy silt;

but I always paid the price in the soiled coins of guilt

_______________

Desires were sirens, they bewitched and seduced;

wishes were the flames, but to dust they were reduced

Hope always lived on, but she is a devious bitch;

and disappointment has been so abundant and rich

Wisdom came leisurely; it danced a slow waltz;

the pessimism was true; the optimism was always false

_______________

Life is always a glass half-filled; it is quite right;

darkness always sighs with a promise so bright

Sorrows and joys in a long and tiring queue;

but more of the former than the latter, it’s also true

Within each light, resides a dark shadow;

perched on every tower of hope is a black crow