Green Tara and the Man who was Lost — A Short Opera

A haunting mini-opera where a lost wanderer encounters Green Tara (Buddhist goddess of compassion, tear drop of Avalokiteshvara) in a cold desert and receives devastating truths instead of comfort.

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The man was tired of walking for long in the cold desert. The sand was almost silver and stung his feet with the chill from last night. An equally tired, grey sun failed to warm the grains of sand. And then, when he had almost lost hope, Green Tara suddenly appeared out of thin air.

The man fell to his knees, joined his hands in supplication, and addressed the goddess:

O Green Tara, the tear drop of Avalokiteshvara,

have mercy on me, for I have sought you for long

You are the goddess of all those who are lost,

and I have lost myself, correct me if I am wrong

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The Goddess watched the man with pity. She knew him well. He was the child of sorrow and had been miserable all through his pathetic life. In fact, why the man was still alive, was what worried Green Tara.

She contemplated the wretched creature huddled at her feet for some time, and then decided to tell him the truth:

Yes, you are lost indeed, that I can see,

lost forever, a child of sorrow and pain

You have been cursed by the gods,

cursed when you were born in the times of rain

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The man turned his teary eyes to the goddess and asked:

But why me? Why was I cursed by the gods?

Isn’t it unfair? To be gifted with all the odds?

Green Tara thought some more and then answered:

Whom do you belong to,

and whom do you possess?

Whom do you beg and cry to,

when you are in a dire mess?

You are a man from nowhere,

with no principles or morals

No good deeds in your bag,

and to your name, no laurels

Whom do you seek for solace,

and from whom do you beg forgiveness?

Whom do you choose to walk along,

when you are grieving and in distress?

You are a man with no certain future,

with no notable past or a worthy present

No real and lofty victories to boast of,

and a million regrets to resent

Whom do you love without conditions,

and whom do you serve selfless?

Whom do you hate with a vengeance,

when you feel the drive to aggress?

You are a man with no attachments,

with no relief and comfort in sight

No real gains to be happy about,

and what awaits you is only plight

Whom do you see as your companion,

and whom do you look for love?

Whom do you expect not to judge you,

when you are low in sin and not above?

You are a man who cannot be loved,

with no pure virtues or real talents

No sincere affections to be proud of,

and when mistreated, no one repents

You are just an anomaly in the system,

something to be removed and corrected

You are the broken gear in the machine,

something to be trashed and rejected

You are the one true monstrosity,

and carry the heaviest burden of guilt

You are the grandest absurdity,

cheap wine, to be mocked and spilt

What makes you happy and what makes you sad?

These are questions you know the answers to

Happiness will come and sadness will go,

you know these two will never come true

You are the one who is eternally lost,

between what should be and what can be

You are the one who is forever damned,

for wanting something that can never be

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The man was dejected. He kept on crying for a while, and then, when his tears dried up, he raised his head and asked Green Tara:

What will become of me O Green Tara?

May I expect a salvation or perhaps a respite?

Or is it my destiny to be a lost wanderer,

a man without soul, or maybe a dark knight?

Green Tara looked at him with pity in her lovely eyes.

No respite for you and no salvation,

for your curse is eternal, no other repirmand

But only if you can let go of your ego,

and become what the others demand

You will find all you seek except yourself,

no doom and your fate, you’ll command

The Prophet and the Devil

Introduction

A haunting narrative poem exploring the eternal struggle between light and darkness within the human soul. This introspective piece delves into themes of moral duality, spiritual conflict, and the coexistence of prophet and devil in one person. Through vivid imagery of pain, redemption, and self-reflection, the poem examines how opposing forces of kindness and temptation shape our existence. Perfect for readers seeking deep philosophical poetry about human nature, internal battles, and the complex relationship between good and evil that defines the human experience.


Constantly walking down a dark alley of pain,

a cold path, leading to no loss and no real gain

He walks alone; he has always been walking alone,

each step is an agony, but he doesn’t groan or moan


He stops for a moment to take a tired breath;

thinking of his sad existence and a pitiful death

He sees a man sitting and leaning forward,

he doesn’t move, his posture so awkward


Brains blown out, there is silence in the hall,

no commotion, just blood splashed on the wall

His dead eyes, motionless, clouded and sallow,

that man is him, a life so deep and a death so shallow


Who were you really? He asks the dead man,

What did you really want? What was your clan?

Pulls onto his own hair matted with blood and brain,

he sees himself smile, though in actual he is slain


I was the product of imagination, the darkest of them all,

pain, sorrow, and suffering, an amalgamation of them all

Slowly cooked and roasted upon the fire of circumstances,

I took every risk and I availed all the chances


I hung myself all through my life, on the cross of desire,

my guilt and my regrets, lighting a damn big fire

My body laughed so hard, while my soul slowly bled,

the nails of remorse drawing blood, dark and red


I wore the crown of pleasure, dancing the dance of senses,

each conquest was glory, no qualms, no mending fences

But it was a crown of thorns, my soul writhed in pain,

and on the cross of desire, my character was finally slain


I was a prophet, I was the devil, the contrast burnt so bright,

the devil on the left always, and the prophet on the right

Kindness was the prophet’s domain; he ruled it so well,

sensuality was the devil’s game; he played it in hell


The prophet held hands and fanned the flames of life,

the devil played his flute and sharpened his sinful knife

The prophet bowed in humility, acknowledging his bounds,

the devil laughed in shadows and made his daily rounds


They were opposite in nature, but they shared a core,

crying over a broken heart, weeping for a whore

But when tired of crying, they both walked the earth,

in search of some joy, in search of some mirth


The devil broke some hearts, the prophet mended souls,

the devil stole some dreams, the prophet filled some holes

The devil caused some chaos, the prophet preached some order,

but the prophet stayed behind, while the devil crossed the border


Then they both sat together and wept and cried some more,

the prophet on his throne and the devil on the floor

The prophet told the devil that they had different fates,

the devil smiled and offered, ‘No, we are soul mates’


The dead fell silent and chose to speak no more,

he only thought in silence, shaken to the core

There was a dichotomy, though he always knew,

that it was no stark, he had no clue


He was two, not one, that was the only fact,

the prophet and the devil, it was a strange pact

He looked ahead and started to walk again,

the prophet and the devil, in the dark alley of pain