Tag Archives: philosophical poetry

Anger & Silence

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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.

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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

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‘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’

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‘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’

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‘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’

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‘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’

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‘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’

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‘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 Inevitability of Sorrow (Previosuly, Seeds of Happiness and Fruits of Sorrow)

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What if happiness is only the beginning of sorrow?

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All those who cultivate seeds of happiness,

will one day surely, eat the bitter fruit of sorrow

It’s your destiny, and your legacy, my dear child,

just follow your past, don’t seek a new tomorrow

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All those who know how to love and how to care,

will one day surely meet a sad and lonely end

It’s bound to happen, oh please don’t weep or cry,

it’s not something broken that you can readily mend

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All those who dance, and who laugh clear and loud,

will one day surely shed the bitter tears of loss

It’s the rule, my friend, you can’t run and fight,

you always pay the price, you always bear the cross

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All those who forgive and carry no black grudge,

will one day mourn the loss of their own hearts

You can’t keep on giving, giving more and some more,

there’re always expectations, even when hope departs

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Those who plan and cater for all possible regrets,

will certainly be the most regretful of all in the end

Regrets are the fires that keep the memories warm,

without regrets, there’s only coldness, you can’t tend

The Custodian of Unfulfilled Dreams

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A kingdom where broken dreams go to die—and a king who refuses to abandon them.

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Far away from all this filth and all this stinking mold,

there is a secret and silent realm of unfulfilled dreams

The realm is colorless, neither silver nor purple nor gold,

no laughter or singing, just a chaos of cries and screams

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Each dream, once it’s shattered, and in pain it cries,

it enters the realm, hearing some command unspoken

The horn of time does not blow; it is silent and so wise,

as the dreams lay trampled, crying and utterly broken

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There he sits at the gate, the old and tattered King,

the sad custodian of dreams, he protects and lovingly guards

He has neither a throne, nor a seal, nor a royal ring,

he wears only a crown of thorns and sharp glass shards

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The dreams are his children, a few are even his very own,

he cradles their delicate heads and lovingly treats their sores

Some dreams have broken wings, and some have never flown,

yet he loves them all, whether they are his own, mine, or yours

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The King has tears in his eyes; he cries over the wounded dreams,

he knows they are going to finally die, his efforts are all in vain

The dreams whimper as life bleeds out, in rivulets and in streams,

the King knows they are the last drops of a rare desert rain

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Each dream, when it breathes its very last and silently dies,

he gently kisses its dead eyes, singing the last lullaby

The King is sad, oh, he is so very sad, but still he desperately tries,

caring for dreams, without asking ‘to what end’ or even a ‘why’

When Love is the Last Illusion (Previously, the White Dove of Hope)

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Condemned by fate, and mocked by hope, until one dangerous word appears – love.

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Oh, you sad children of a time so evil and dark,

you are all the product of undesirable circumstances.

Your love always went stale before it could spark,

though you availed all the emerging chances

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You were the anomaly in the grand scheme;

you should have been smothered when born

Sadly, the plan remained only a dream;

though conceived by the Devil with open scorn

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You knew while you grew, you had no roots;

you were the useless moss clinging to a boulder

You had no character, no faith, and no attributes,

yet the burdens of life, you carried on your shoulder

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But you all survived, and yet you go on living;

for what purpose, may I ask in all sincerity

When both fate and life are so unforgiving,

your sustained survival becomes a vulgarity

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Desist! I suggest, or surrender, I would advise;

nothing will help you persist or even grow

Throw the cards down; please be a little wise,

just cease all efforts and go with the flow

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What did you just say? Do I hear the word ‘love’?

Yes, perhaps, love is the only solace you may ever find

It is your golden butterfly, a beautiful white dove,

in a world filled with hatred, this word sounds so kind

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Go on then, caress its warmth while you can,

till the white dove forsakes and abandons you

You will be all done with life; there is no other plan,

nothing else over the horizon for you to view

Loss and Wisdom

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Loss isn’t tragedy—it’s the key, the doorway, the only path to wisdom; those who embrace it understand love, desire, God’s loneliness, and life itself.

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Loss is the key and loss is the doorway,

the doorway beyond which wisdom lies

Loss is the one path and loss is the only way,

the darkness beyond which light cries

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Loss is the memory of a terrible past,

broken pieces of the mirror called self

Pick up all the pieces, the first and the last,

Fingers will be cut, blood will ooze out itself

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Taste each drop of the oozing blood,

the taste will remind you of her mouth

The body and the secretly hidden bud,

her warmth, her freshness, and her couth

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Loss is how you understand love and desire,

the essence of lust and the furiously raging fire

Loss is how you see the world as a quagmire,

all the selfishness, being played on the lyre

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Loss is how you perceive the loneliness of God,

it is the only true legacy of the wise

Loss is understanding life and feeling all awed,

seek it, embrace it, until the day you rise