THE WIND
The leaves touched the sky
the branches waved to the tune of the wind.
Brushing with a desire
that it alone knew.
But in the midst of the calmness
it whispered into my heart,
Can I be free, beyond the boundaries of my touch?
Then it went along, brushing my blues,
leaving marks that reveal,
the impressions of my underlying passions,
which were until now buried,
in the depth of my memories.
THE SOUL
The angst of my primitive soul
bursts into marks.
Those which appear as impressions.
The captive heart yearns to
set rules those defy who made them.
Rules of compassion…rules that we breathe,
sigh out as voices.
Some are heard but misunderstood,
to reveal an identity,
that is far beyond the perceptual.
Now, who will hear them and what will be heard…
The cry continues as a melody
adapted passionately by a deaf musician,who misunderstood them …as notes from eternity.
IN SEARCH OF THE FINE I GO.....
In search of the fine I go,
beyond my will I go.
In search I go, I go
and into a past
that was never mine..
My will, thus way
into the depths of my mind and soul,
but still I go, I go
in search of the fine I go..
Itdoesn't seem too far nor too near.
Yes! it exists, but know not where..
I surrender my will
when I find none,
for nothing seems to exist,
So I go and go where my will shall give,
where none to receive,
what could this fate be,
neither could I find, nor was it found.
So goes my journey on and on.
Thus I go and go in search of the fine
into the doom of infinite...........
FLAMES THAT FAME.
Faces walking around,
spreading the warm glow.
The burning flames reflecting
images of our HEROS,
reminesance of our beloved,
whose sacrifices won the battle.
The battle of suppression.
Now, the freedom plays on our faces,
reserved for the years to come.
For those who remain in us,
as memories that pave our path.
The pledge of blood,
appearing in the soft candle flame,
tells us incidents that still live in our hearts.
OH! MARTYRS!
We will march to the end
where starts the beginning.
Its time to share and give
to build a new tomorrow
on which the feathers grow,
to be more strong,
for the strength has yet to glow.
Let us all remember
that, the cost of our freedom
is the blood of our beloved nation,
to which we all cling
like the feathers to a bird.
We know, our beloved souls
that you still live in our hearts,
like a flame that glows forever.
YES! WE ARE PROUD OF YOU, MARTYRS!
I REST ON YOU.When I rest my head on you
my soft cheeks caresses
the woven thread,
stroking my desire to commingle
with your exasperated being.
The stars set into motion
scattering all over me.
The eternal form of space
where the moon dances to the rhythm
of the nocturnal tunes.
Into the clouds I disappear
far beyond the suppressed
where the cotton wheels spun you
into another form.
I vanish into the soft dunes
above which my body rests.
My crush over you is but
the crush of the night.
I enter into the vision of eternal being
where I rest my head over you.
You my softy, my SOFTY PILLOW.
THE MANIFESTED BEING
The reality and the realistic,
the imagined and the mystified,
the living and the dead,
all that is visible and invisible,
is but, EXISTING.
The invisible existence
and the power behind the formless.
The imagination of existence
and the existence manifested,
the process of continuity
ending in a manifested DEATH.
We THINK that we are living
but, we think nothing after we die.
The conscious being,
the subconscious ruling
and the unconscious living
is all that is happening while we are living,
like nothing of what could happen
after our death is happening.
What we see happening
and what is happening unseen
are all but manifestations
of our creative imagination.
The mere form of our body
is but a vision manifested.
The only true manifested being
is perhaps infinite.
This is the real life
that is what is death
the actual being,
where, the Soul just exists.
This is thus,
for we have even manifested this thought,
leaving no space
for a reason to exist
of the non-manifested being.
LIVING TO DIE
This curious and unceasing verve to survive seems to end nowhere, but in death.
It leads to an end- an end by itself.
Each moment ticks by tantalising me,
As to what I am?
Don’t you think oh my innocent pellucid soul?
That living is such a waste, for we are born to die someday
Life is nothing but traversing the gap between life and death,
Guessing how we would die?
It’s a mere solace.
As we struggle to survive, we survive to perish.
Don’t you feel an eternal power is playing a practical joke on us, where we are playing so innocently a role bestowed on us? Oh! How mean are thy ways?
THE KITE
Thin the way I am,
light as a leaf.
I flutter in air
when the wind cuts me.
Cunning the way I am
I twist and turn,
never in tune with the wind,
appearing arrogant in being.
Colourful the way I am,
stroked with Mondrian's palette
I stand out amongst others
bright and shining.
I dive in the space like a rainbow arch,
making the sky colourful.
The world looks small under me
with the roof's so tiny.
I thought I was flying,
flying as high as the Kite.
Happy was I until I realised
I am tied to a string
which is held by the OTHER.
O MOTHER!
O Mother! What other call can be more soothing than this.
Each time I call you, you were there for me.
Each time I wanted to touch you
I felt you with my heart.
Each time I feel you, my heart gets heavier
and all the troubles seem distant away.
If not thee Mother who else can take care of me.
Sometimes I wish your mortal presence should have been here,
only to witness to my content about my being
for I am no more than a mere human being
diminished to the minute particle of dust,
which can be carried away with the slightest blow of the wind.
Sometimes it becomes too hard to conceive your presence
for what have I to offer unto you?
than a tiny tear.
It is indeed a fact to rejoice
for I was born unto you.
In your absence I let your presence felt.
Let all that love I was to shower on you
be given to all those who need it.
Let me be plain and simple and touch every heart.
For, where else can I find, the hidden meaning of life?
if not in YOU.
Here I remain O Mother! Your humble soul
taking every step, which could make me, be your child.
I remain yours O Mother! Forever and ever.
THE WONDER THAT WORKS
The wonder that works, works while working.
The innocent souls work,
with duty surmounted over their will.
The magnum force behind their capacitated mind.
The flowers waiting to be shrouded
at the feet of the spiritual soul,
spreading the beauty and fragrance
beyond the multitude of mortal consciousness.
The senses stretching beyond the natural
touching upon the spiritual mind and soul.
Transcending into thin air, surrounding the holy space.
Sometimes the presence of the unknown is felt
but it disappears with every breath of despair.
The joy of living and the committed spirit
encompasses all that is divine
in the souls that await;
to spread the words of humanity
like sowing the seeds in the healthy soil
which trees into the glory of the eternal sky.
Once again the mind touches upon
the silent spirit, which appears
as the light from heaven above,
with a power marked with pure delight.
All the energies follow the path of desire,
the desire to attain the unlimited truth,
that which need to be peeled
beneath which lies the holy spirit.
So bright and absolute,
calm and serene, pure and clear,
that we become one with it.
In the name of almighty the Holy Spirit.
Amen!
THE SAVIOUR
On the night of the stride
I bow unto my image
for I am the superior,
an I but none.
I bow unto you OH! Eternal being.
I believe in you
for you believeth in me.
I shall not let thine joy dwindle
for what has all this life to offer,
but PAIN.
I give unto you my beloved,
my blood, so that all your sins
would wash the marks left on Thee.
SPACE (LESS)
There it goes into the space
where there is nothing to hold.
The whisper floats with a rhythm
that tunes into a form.
It creates a form, which I had dreamed of
not as what I wanted it to be,
but that which I never wanted to see again.
The space becomes so space less
that the whisper contained in it
becomes too heavy for it to hold.
Like an atom, it explodes
and then multiplies
making the space more congested.
It was too hard to contain that whisper
with its rhythm already forming its tune.
A piece of work that determined its own existence
has now declared its freedom.
Space was all it needed
but then even the space looks to be too little
for it to be free.
Like an unbound melody,
the fugues blend into a piece of work
to which the space gets blown
although the space was never contained by.
It seemed to be a journey into the eternity
where everything became a note
that descended into an empty soul.
It was waiting to be filled
but with something that can be as light as a whisper.
My soul thus wandered asking everyone if I was alive.
THE FLAT EARTH
All I ask of u is your love.
Do I need it or do I need to give.
Where is it and where can it be found.
I searched it in the house
and I searched it in the well.
I neither found it in the neighborhood
nor in the museum.
The mummies asked me
if I have seen their love pass by.
But I said I was a knight traveling to pass my love.
The trees shied away and the waters dried away.
The path seems to open up where I found my place.
The birds kept crying for they lost their eggs.
The serpent’s stomach was full with stones
yet she was happy.
The knight went by and the water sprang up
only to see that it was falling up into the air.
Now the earth seemed to be flat
and the bottom was not too far.
There goes a tunnel into the dark shades
at the end of which I saw a light.
Edison passed by with his fused bulb in hand.
I was smiling.
But he could not see
the beam of light between my teeth.
Instead, he gave me a brush
and asked me to paint it white.
I wonder when my teeth have turned red.
Finally, it was light and the sun seems to be glaring at me.
I told to myself how beautiful it was
when I was sitting under the earth where I left my love.
Giggles here and giggles there
With shy eyes staring at me.
For once I thought if I ended up
in Alice’s wonderland!
The splashes of colours
And the clicks behind the lenses,
With endless engravings
That paved the paths on surfaces so fragile.
Oh! What a bliss it was
to share my ideas with the souls
so young and innocent
that left a mark so deep and pristine.
With the spirit of a comrade
I navigated through the Maze
Reaching a common goal
That united our common aspirations.
I played a role that I was given
I played it to the fullest of my honesty
I am sure I left marks on a few
I hope they stay where they belong.
With love
Sudhir Duppati
Dec2020
the branches waved to the tune of the wind.
Brushing with a desire
that it alone knew.
But in the midst of the calmness
it whispered into my heart,
Can I be free, beyond the boundaries of my touch?
Then it went along, brushing my blues,
leaving marks that reveal,
the impressions of my underlying passions,
which were until now buried,
in the depth of my memories.
THE SOUL
The angst of my primitive soul
bursts into marks.
Those which appear as impressions.
The captive heart yearns to
set rules those defy who made them.
Rules of compassion…rules that we breathe,
sigh out as voices.
Some are heard but misunderstood,
to reveal an identity,
that is far beyond the perceptual.
Now, who will hear them and what will be heard…
The cry continues as a melody
adapted passionately by a deaf musician,who misunderstood them …as notes from eternity.
IN SEARCH OF THE FINE I GO.....
In search of the fine I go,
beyond my will I go.
In search I go, I go
and into a past
that was never mine..
My will, thus way
into the depths of my mind and soul,
but still I go, I go
in search of the fine I go..
Itdoesn't seem too far nor too near.
Yes! it exists, but know not where..
I surrender my will
when I find none,
for nothing seems to exist,
So I go and go where my will shall give,
where none to receive,
what could this fate be,
neither could I find, nor was it found.
So goes my journey on and on.
Thus I go and go in search of the fine
into the doom of infinite...........
FLAMES THAT FAME.
Faces walking around,
spreading the warm glow.
The burning flames reflecting
images of our HEROS,
reminesance of our beloved,
whose sacrifices won the battle.
The battle of suppression.
Now, the freedom plays on our faces,
reserved for the years to come.
For those who remain in us,
as memories that pave our path.
The pledge of blood,
appearing in the soft candle flame,
tells us incidents that still live in our hearts.
OH! MARTYRS!
We will march to the end
where starts the beginning.
Its time to share and give
to build a new tomorrow
on which the feathers grow,
to be more strong,
for the strength has yet to glow.
Let us all remember
that, the cost of our freedom
is the blood of our beloved nation,
to which we all cling
like the feathers to a bird.
We know, our beloved souls
that you still live in our hearts,
like a flame that glows forever.
YES! WE ARE PROUD OF YOU, MARTYRS!
I REST ON YOU.When I rest my head on you
my soft cheeks caresses
the woven thread,
stroking my desire to commingle
with your exasperated being.
The stars set into motion
scattering all over me.
The eternal form of space
where the moon dances to the rhythm
of the nocturnal tunes.
Into the clouds I disappear
far beyond the suppressed
where the cotton wheels spun you
into another form.
I vanish into the soft dunes
above which my body rests.
My crush over you is but
the crush of the night.
I enter into the vision of eternal being
where I rest my head over you.
You my softy, my SOFTY PILLOW.
THE MANIFESTED BEING
The reality and the realistic,
the imagined and the mystified,
the living and the dead,
all that is visible and invisible,
is but, EXISTING.
The invisible existence
and the power behind the formless.
The imagination of existence
and the existence manifested,
the process of continuity
ending in a manifested DEATH.
We THINK that we are living
but, we think nothing after we die.
The conscious being,
the subconscious ruling
and the unconscious living
is all that is happening while we are living,
like nothing of what could happen
after our death is happening.
What we see happening
and what is happening unseen
are all but manifestations
of our creative imagination.
The mere form of our body
is but a vision manifested.
The only true manifested being
is perhaps infinite.
This is the real life
that is what is death
the actual being,
where, the Soul just exists.
This is thus,
for we have even manifested this thought,
leaving no space
for a reason to exist
of the non-manifested being.
LIVING TO DIE
This curious and unceasing verve to survive seems to end nowhere, but in death.
It leads to an end- an end by itself.
Each moment ticks by tantalising me,
As to what I am?
Don’t you think oh my innocent pellucid soul?
That living is such a waste, for we are born to die someday
Life is nothing but traversing the gap between life and death,
Guessing how we would die?
It’s a mere solace.
As we struggle to survive, we survive to perish.
Don’t you feel an eternal power is playing a practical joke on us, where we are playing so innocently a role bestowed on us? Oh! How mean are thy ways?
THE KITE
Thin the way I am,
light as a leaf.
I flutter in air
when the wind cuts me.
Cunning the way I am
I twist and turn,
never in tune with the wind,
appearing arrogant in being.
Colourful the way I am,
stroked with Mondrian's palette
I stand out amongst others
bright and shining.
I dive in the space like a rainbow arch,
making the sky colourful.
The world looks small under me
with the roof's so tiny.
I thought I was flying,
flying as high as the Kite.
Happy was I until I realised
I am tied to a string
which is held by the OTHER.
O MOTHER!
O Mother! What other call can be more soothing than this.
Each time I call you, you were there for me.
Each time I wanted to touch you
I felt you with my heart.
Each time I feel you, my heart gets heavier
and all the troubles seem distant away.
If not thee Mother who else can take care of me.
Sometimes I wish your mortal presence should have been here,
only to witness to my content about my being
for I am no more than a mere human being
diminished to the minute particle of dust,
which can be carried away with the slightest blow of the wind.
Sometimes it becomes too hard to conceive your presence
for what have I to offer unto you?
than a tiny tear.
It is indeed a fact to rejoice
for I was born unto you.
In your absence I let your presence felt.
Let all that love I was to shower on you
be given to all those who need it.
Let me be plain and simple and touch every heart.
For, where else can I find, the hidden meaning of life?
if not in YOU.
Here I remain O Mother! Your humble soul
taking every step, which could make me, be your child.
I remain yours O Mother! Forever and ever.
THE WONDER THAT WORKS
The wonder that works, works while working.
The innocent souls work,
with duty surmounted over their will.
The magnum force behind their capacitated mind.
The flowers waiting to be shrouded
at the feet of the spiritual soul,
spreading the beauty and fragrance
beyond the multitude of mortal consciousness.
The senses stretching beyond the natural
touching upon the spiritual mind and soul.
Transcending into thin air, surrounding the holy space.
Sometimes the presence of the unknown is felt
but it disappears with every breath of despair.
The joy of living and the committed spirit
encompasses all that is divine
in the souls that await;
to spread the words of humanity
like sowing the seeds in the healthy soil
which trees into the glory of the eternal sky.
Once again the mind touches upon
the silent spirit, which appears
as the light from heaven above,
with a power marked with pure delight.
All the energies follow the path of desire,
the desire to attain the unlimited truth,
that which need to be peeled
beneath which lies the holy spirit.
So bright and absolute,
calm and serene, pure and clear,
that we become one with it.
In the name of almighty the Holy Spirit.
Amen!
THE SAVIOUR
On the night of the stride
I bow unto my image
for I am the superior,
an I but none.
I bow unto you OH! Eternal being.
I believe in you
for you believeth in me.
I shall not let thine joy dwindle
for what has all this life to offer,
but PAIN.
I give unto you my beloved,
my blood, so that all your sins
would wash the marks left on Thee.
SPACE (LESS)
There it goes into the space
where there is nothing to hold.
The whisper floats with a rhythm
that tunes into a form.
It creates a form, which I had dreamed of
not as what I wanted it to be,
but that which I never wanted to see again.
The space becomes so space less
that the whisper contained in it
becomes too heavy for it to hold.
Like an atom, it explodes
and then multiplies
making the space more congested.
It was too hard to contain that whisper
with its rhythm already forming its tune.
A piece of work that determined its own existence
has now declared its freedom.
Space was all it needed
but then even the space looks to be too little
for it to be free.
Like an unbound melody,
the fugues blend into a piece of work
to which the space gets blown
although the space was never contained by.
It seemed to be a journey into the eternity
where everything became a note
that descended into an empty soul.
It was waiting to be filled
but with something that can be as light as a whisper.
My soul thus wandered asking everyone if I was alive.
THE FLAT EARTH
All I ask of u is your love.
Do I need it or do I need to give.
Where is it and where can it be found.
I searched it in the house
and I searched it in the well.
I neither found it in the neighborhood
nor in the museum.
The mummies asked me
if I have seen their love pass by.
But I said I was a knight traveling to pass my love.
The trees shied away and the waters dried away.
The path seems to open up where I found my place.
The birds kept crying for they lost their eggs.
The serpent’s stomach was full with stones
yet she was happy.
The knight went by and the water sprang up
only to see that it was falling up into the air.
Now the earth seemed to be flat
and the bottom was not too far.
There goes a tunnel into the dark shades
at the end of which I saw a light.
Edison passed by with his fused bulb in hand.
I was smiling.
But he could not see
the beam of light between my teeth.
Instead, he gave me a brush
and asked me to paint it white.
I wonder when my teeth have turned red.
Finally, it was light and the sun seems to be glaring at me.
I told to myself how beautiful it was
when I was sitting under the earth where I left my love.
FOUND IN TRANSITION@MGC2020
I sit here in this glass
cube
a quiet evening that is yet to dawn.
The tranquil air suspended the moment
like a frozen frame of a movie clip.
a quiet evening that is yet to dawn.
The tranquil air suspended the moment
like a frozen frame of a movie clip.
I looked deep into my
thoughts
to ponder how I ended up here,
where spaces that flexed authoritatively
And windows that had their own lenses.
to ponder how I ended up here,
where spaces that flexed authoritatively
And windows that had their own lenses.
Giggles here and giggles there
With shy eyes staring at me.
For once I thought if I ended up
in Alice’s wonderland!
The splashes of colours
And the clicks behind the lenses,
With endless engravings
That paved the paths on surfaces so fragile.
Oh! What a bliss it was
to share my ideas with the souls
so young and innocent
that left a mark so deep and pristine.
With the spirit of a comrade
I navigated through the Maze
Reaching a common goal
That united our common aspirations.
I played a role that I was given
I played it to the fullest of my honesty
I am sure I left marks on a few
I hope they stay where they belong.
With love
Sudhir Duppati
Dec2020
http://duppatipoems.blogspot.com/
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