Chaos

Chaos hardly gets its due credit for filling your void,

The complaints against Chaos sometimes feels like pretentious quarrel between a couple,

You blame them as your curse but cannot sustain your existence without,

For the mind lives and dies a rookie in its management.

Worthy of an Ode

The air around transformed into fire 

Consumed to burn, burned to consume

'I'm not this, this is not me', fought the air

An Identity in trance, blinded in gloom

It's world got tipsy, beliefs in crisis

The air laid bare it's only Truth 

It's existence, a gift of nothingness

A surrender past it's rightful wrath

The time in "air-years" felt like decades

A notion of faith in action in auto-mode

Destroying atom by atom a million facades

Birthing heat and light worthy of an ode.

The Runs

The runs past flagposts one after another,

Uphill sometimes, flat grass beds at others

The spring at the feet, greased with love, Through flashes of Art and the beauty that fuels it.

Time

--

Time moves like a yogi, still but moving, unperturbed by the swings of life

Not carrying sins or gifts, just witnessing life as it dances in ebbs and flows

Allowing all the dimensions of truth play out, while being its single source of existence 

Just knowing this dance continues one after the other until there's no dance.

No one cares to take notice or learn from Time

They only judge if it's good or bad for them,

they blame it for running slow or fast

But Time heals wounds, works miracles, like an agnostic yogi

Time remains still while moving.

--

Voice at the Table

--
Beauty germinates in perception, behind locked doors, less known, less spoken about
But words steal the thunder making it all about themselves
My instincts crack open the locked doors to detect the unsung heroes
Alas! Beauty is at the mercy of my instincts getting a voice at the table
--

I believe...

I believe blessings beget things that we do not fathom we could do
I believe a naive, ignorance of fear to beseech begets blessings
I believe an unconditional, constructless loving admiration begets ignorance of fear
I believe an incomprehensible entity called universe begets loving admiration

Thus, life is Beautiful

The beauties present themselves when you are not looking for them

In split-second bets you make, they wait to unravel themselves.

Like the patterns on the rocks that the boring, non-stop waves beating them formed

Going through the motions of the wayward lives, some art peeks in, speaking to the intense lives the beings lived.

It's pointlessness made worthy by the suspense of not knowing what next

Like you're watching your own movie, off-script and sans-script sometimes. 

All birthed by regrets that did not have a chance to be born

Painting lives with hues of green, blue and shades of everything beautiful.