The Eternal Hitchhiker

A cosmic fable of kindness, exhaustion, and the price of wandering.

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People call him the eternal hitchhiker;

he hitchhikes rides on the shooting stars

Hoping to reach some peaceful planet,

away from the chaos and the raging wars

But each time he hitches a ride,

he pays a certain heavy price

He pays it with a piece of his heart,

each time, sadly, an odd roll of the dice

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People call him the eternal hitchhiker;

he hitchhikes rides on the shooting stars

Hoping to find light, joy, and happiness,

within the darkness that kills and scars

But each time he hitches a ride,

he realizes what has always been clear

He can give happiness - anytime to anyone,

but to be unhappy forever is his only fear

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People call him the eternal hitchhiker;

he hitchhikes rides on the shooting stars

Hoping to finally rest and laugh aloud,

amongst the butterflies and a million flowers

But each time he hitches a ride,

his dreams are burnt and turn into cinders

It’s time to stop hitching rides forever;

it’s time to finally sleep in the eternal winters

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

Messiahs of the Broken Birds

“They called them messiahs of the broken birds—healers who could mend any wounded soul except their own.” A deeply touching poem about the unsung heroes who dedicate their lives to healing others—the counselors, caregivers, and compassionate souls who mend broken spirits only to face the inevitable loneliness when those they’ve helped move on.


Some said they came down from the grey hills,

with kind and smiling eyes and no other skills

Others called them children of the silent lake,

with a goodness so genuine and not at all fake


They nursed the ugly wounds and gaping holes,

their whispers, brought back to life, dead souls

Maybe there was old magic, lining their words,

they were truly the messiahs of the broken birds


They were no shamans, no charm but simple love,

broken themselves, more than a wounded dove

They shared with us only one common bond,

they cared for us with love and even beyond


No other mantra, hope was their one message,

optimism, the only ticket, to secure the passage

Life, as they saw, was unending ups and downs,

kindness, the only way to tread the grounds


They were prophets indeed, but prophets of loss,

their heart were all soft, covered in green moss

Their legacy was loneliness, night and day,

for in the end, their birds always flew away

Katto, the Sad Squirrel (Revised)

Once upon a time, in a jungle far, far away, lived a tiny squirrel named Katto. She was a beautiful squirrel with a silver coat of fur, a long, graceful and bushy tail, and to top it all,  a charming, toothy smile. God had blessed Katto with a heart as lovely as her looks. It was large enough to shame even the heart of an African elephant.

But like all really beautiful things and beings in this world, Katto’s beauty was not perfect. A great flaw marked it as she was totally blind. A great misfortune indeed, but it made no difference to her. She was one happy squirrel, though unaware of her own beauty and charm. Katto lived within a comfy old crack in the trunk of the tallest Oak. This crack had always been her home. There was a bed made of the softest moss and ample storage space for the winter nuts.

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