Samrat Kar's Blog, page 2
April 20, 2014
Love dieth not
It's not that love dies
Rather its the focus on love
That gets dissipated by
The ignoble forces of our nature
Which haunts us
In the form of
The shallow busyness
Of the daily life!
The vocation of Simoni
Is to be centered on his Love,
And the trance of the beauty
Of the most beautiful eyes.
Focused and ever creative,
Not lured by the easy busyness
Of the daily life.
Through his songs, work and toil
Simoni continues to nurture
His meditation on his love -
His ever youthful love,
Rediscovering himself every dawn,
In the ever fresh and warm blessings
Of the Golden Deluge of the sage Sun.
As Sun re-kindles his fire of ardor
Of his Love for the Moon,
Recreating and realizing it anew forever.
So does Simoni,
Through his art and inspiration,
Reclaims his redemption
Every new morn, and every new eve.
It's not that love dies
Rather its the focus on love
That gets dissipated by
The ignoble forces of our nature
Which haunts us
In the form of
The shallow busyness
Of the daily life!
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Copyright© Samrat Kar. Kar Conversations.
April 4, 2014
Not the boulder but the Lotus
The blue clear gem
Lay abandoned
Amongst the lifeless boulders -
Arrogant and numb to life.
They proclaimed of having known the truth -
The futility of love and life!
For the black boulders
Were serious and veterans-
They knew all are transient shadows
To bind them to painful attachments.
Hence they lived undisturbed and unconnected,
In that far away world,
Foreign to any season of life and love.
In there stony heartless being,
They missed the point -
Were they not being attached to
The aversion to attachment?
Would ask the blue clear gem -
For he could see through the mirage.
Wanted it to transcend
Its limited predicament among the boulders black.
Eons of penance he did,
Passing through the burns
Of the blazing sun,
And the intimidating thirst.
But never he allowed his own clarity
To be blackened following the destiny
Of the boulders black.
Mother Earth could not bear
The burden of his pleadings.
Nor could creation take it anymore.
There was on one sunny day
Sudden springs of fresh water
Did burst out of the heavy heart
Of the Earth.
Saplings sprouted,
Flowers blossomed,
Clouds came and yielded to rain.
The springs and the fountains
Of satiating joyous water
Embraced the land all around
The clear blue gem.
Purified he became,
Of the veil of doubt,
Gushed was he
To the bank of a newly formed pond.
The new love and life of water
Brought seasons of freshness
and bounty all around.
The clear gem glistened at the bank
In playful moments
With the fishes and frogs.
There was a Lotus white
Right in the middle of the pond.
Mingled in all what was around,
Wet was it but damp was it not!
The clear blue gem
Saw in front what he was yearning for
An equanimity to both
Craving and aversion!
The lotus was at peace
Surrendered to all around -
The ruffles of wind, moss around
The freshness as well as the stink.
Neither was it fallen in attachment
Giving in to the wilting dampness,
Nor was it averse as a concrete slab.
Passing through the play
Of life and love,
Of the form and the formless,
Meandering through the valleys
Of drought and deluge,
The lotus saw all, played all, loved all!
But was always open and transfixed
To the Unity - the Absolute
Overarching the thousands interplay of forms and shadows.
The senses, the forms, the pains and joy -
All were gateways real and concrete
For the lotus to know the One!
The clear blue gem was enlightened!
He transformed to a shrine.
A shrine of love and life.
A shrine beyond attachment and aversion.
A shrine thriving in the sensuality
And the juice of life and love,
Knowing the One in process.
The Lotus was wet.
But never damp.
The shrine was a stone.
But never without spirit
Of the clear blue gem.
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Copyright © Samrat Kar
April 2, 2014
Beyond Right and Wrong
Beyond what is right,
And what is wrong -
There lies a valley pristine.
I will meet you there!
How simple it is to see through
And find faults, O Lord!
But isn't life not
A court for judgment?
Isn't it not at all,
An examination to pass?
For every sigh of Love,
Is nourished with the will
To suspend that disbelief,
To be blind to that shortcoming.
It is that poetic ardor,
To see the beloved as the Goddess.
Isn't every inspiration
An experiment with naive idealization?
Is not romantic fatalism,
The bedrock of a potent existence?
Sitting on the rock by the sea,
Simoni watches with amazement,
The love-making in the starry night,
Of the moon and the sea!
Had not the sea not even noticed
The blemishes of the moon?
Or might it not have
Created a romantic poetry
Out of the stuck stag in her,
Who is housed in its shyness
Of helpless and profound love?
As he plays the melody of love,
Through his gentle flute,
Simony spreads the symphony of Life,
Singing the voice of Beauty and Love,
Beyond what is right
And what is wrong!
____________________________________________
Copyright © Samrat Kar. KarConversations.
March 31, 2014
Destined to Love
Simoni sat on his shrine.
Was he meditating on his breath.
Thoughts from past,
Shallow and profound
Paid their visit unasked.
Like an old and bosom friend,
He welcomed them,
Made them feel comfortable,
And continued being one
With his breath.
The Sun, wind, rain and trees
The Earth, rivers, oceans and falls,
The songs, poems,
Equally the noise and discord,
All held Simoni amidst
Life's tapestry -
Alive in equanimity.
With all was Simoni in love!
All were special,
All were attractive
All were luscious.
For he knew,
The source of love and life,
Was not out there,
But very much within!
It was single and undivided,
The One.
Simoni was not destined
To be in love with just an aspect one.
But he was destined to be in love.
Just be in love.
For he knew the lady with the most beautiful eyes,
Shows up sometimes
As a silent and stoic canyon,
Or at times as the passionate and loud ocean.
Sometimes she is a pang of the most painful pain,
Or at times she is
Grace of healing love.
She is omnipresent all around,
Transcending time and space,
As the essence of life and love,
In forms innumerable and dissipated.
Meditating on the One truth,
The essence of his beloved,
Simoni continued his eternal journey,
To be in love,
In his sanctuary of meditation.
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Copyright © All rights reserved. Samrat Kar.
March 16, 2014
Its all about getting back home
The new born is already in its path to get back,
At the altar of death, beyond which it belongs.
The dawn is counting its moments,
To reclaim itself in the dusk,
The creation eager to be back in the quietude
In the lap of Goddess Night.
Its all about getting back home.
Meadows feel the bliss,
Listening to the thunder.
For impending is the shower of union,
To make all feel at rest.
The tired eyes look forward to sleep.
Joy for the spirit,
Health for the body.
Its all about getting back home.
Hidden with all the glitter and never-ending flux
Is the constant ardor and grief,
Whispered faintly in the longing sob of the gray dove,
The leafless tree standing in penance,
For the onset of the spring,
The gushing Ganges flowing onto the sea,
The westerly wind rushing to his beloved,
The fragrance of the incense at the God's altar,
Eagerly diffusing into the limitless expanse of life.
Its all about getting back home.
The essence of life, they ask.
Isn't it the only essence?
Is it the need of bliss,
Or an eternal permanence
Or a sanctuary of solitude?
All what is craved after
Its all about getting back home.
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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
January 13, 2014
God's Ardor
And came God running for his sake!
On the Pegasus white,
Galloped Simoni with Her in his arms.
Flying up, mingling with the clouds.
Simoni in his white robe
Was Zeus personified,
And She was Venus embodied!
Sun was golden and the breeze was warm.All the nature was aroused to see Her beauty. The passing wind whispered in Simoni's ears, "I envy you, Zeus to have the woman,With the most beautiful eyes, And the body of Gold in ur arms".
Simoni was proud n grateful, But laughed at the naiveté of the wind,For he knew she was not just a woman, Who was in his arms,But the embodiment of the creation of own Love,His own God - eternal and ephemeral!
Simoni continued galloping on the horse, Her silky hair kept winnowing,Her luscious bosoms bouncing. All were excited in deep pleasure of passion,The sky, moon, stars and the cosmos!
Her magical moans of fulfillment Mingled with the lovelorn wind, echoed all over. The sky was stunned to see this magnanimous spectacle on earth. The Earth was aroused in that extreme lustful scene. Simoni kept galloping and flew in the air. For the wind embraced the softness Of love within him.
All fairies and Gods, were singing with pride and accomplishment! What an exquisite creation they beheld! They sat in penance reclaiming that power of love.For they knew very well Her beauty is the artifact of their own potential!
For they showered the petals of their blessings, On Simoni, and Her, on the white Pegasus.Galloped they, basking in the glory of that celestial love. Her magical voice reverberated all around Sanctifying the place holier in Her flamboyance. What a fantastic vision was it!
For It was a deep trance of Simoni's regular prayers,To his Lord, his Art, his Love.______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
The Paper Doll
Afraid to be alive,
Scared to death would she be,
To risk the stance be throbbing with life,
For she knew then, death cannot be denied!
She remained a paper doll,
Hidden, frigid and scared throughout,
With impeccable pleats and folds,
Not a drop of water to wet,
Not a speck of dust to be shed.
In the same way she was made,
She remained forever,
Immortal and unchanged!
Seeing the permanence of the youth,
The ever present shimmer,
The never ending glow,
All were attracted to
The paper doll, in a row.
Seeing the gathering of men, young and old,
All around the paper doll,
Simoni passed with a smile of disgust,
For he knew the impeccable shine,
Was death in disguise.
For Simoni knew,
It is not the flesh and form,
That makes one beautiful,
But the grace of activity
That one enters into,
That brings in the beauty,
As a grace ever fresh and new!
For beauty is not in the wings,
But in the flight.
The beauty is not in the mouth,
But in the voice.
The beauty is not in the breasts,
But in the promise of that inseparable warmth,
Of belonging and intimacy.
The beauty is not in the paper or the ink,
But in the poem from a beautiful mind!
People long for a cozy house,
And a palace by the sea,
To rest in peace!
But Simoni knew,
The heaven of peace is not out there,
But in an effort to create that sanctuary,
Out of art, knowledge, skill, efforts and wisdom!
The paper doll remained perfect.
But never could she know what beauty is,
Never could she know what love is.
For love and beauty are the poet's song,
Flowing in the wind of creative efforts.
It is in the handwork of the sweaty nomad life,
It is in the toil of the peasant in sunny fields,
It is in the meticulous chiseling of the sculptor -
Busy searching for his true love.
It is in the twinkle of the fiery star,
Burning in the fire of his love lost.
Simoni, kept walking to the dusky horizon,
He knew not where he was unto.
Only that he knew,
He was weaving a tapestry of Love,
Through his song,
Amidst that dreary desert sand -
Where nothing stayed forever,
But all got created anew,
In fresh promise of eternal love,
Ever youthful promise of eternal beauty!
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
December 21, 2013
The Silence of The Woods
Simoni could hear
The fading in chirp of birds,
In the darkness after dusk,
The silence gradually devouring all the symphony,
In her lustful silencing embrace.
The music of the lazy river,
The whisper of the smooth wind,
They rest in each other's naked lap,
In that embrace of togetherness,
Voyeured earnestly by all the excited stars.
Such was the silvery deluge of that
Romantic moonlit touch.
Simoni was beginning to connect to all...
The untouched beauty of the
Pristine white lotus,
Stands amidst the cold indifferent pond,
Grounded unaltered
To the warmth of Love.
The black mountain
Mingles with the amorous sky in silence,
Surrendering all its might and pride,
Into the luscious embrace of her softness.
The moon radiating the glow of lovely charm,
Warms the bosom of the cold and frigid pond,
With the desire to be one, re-kindling that passion of lust.
It appeared as just a reflection.
But truth did only Simoni see -
Moon had descended all the way from heavens,
To be one with his love - the pond.
In the quietude of that fateful night.
All was so exquisite,
All was so heart whelming.
But Simoni noticed,
There was no word spoken anywhere.
Yes there was song, there was symphony, there was poetry!
But no words, no syllable no language!
All were in trance loving each other wildly,
There were no words,
But inarticulate cries, meaningless moans,
From the bottom of the most primitive being.
The squirting fountain of nectar of love was profuse, Straight from the sanctum of the depth of belly.
A piercing Joy was omnipresent,
Leaving all - Empty, Conquered and Silenced!
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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
The Path to Death
Being the clear stream -
Banked between boredom and thrills.
I remember not, from river which, was I born,
I keep flowing just they way I am,
Know not I, ocean which to shall I fall, worn.
Resilience of being a water,
Is the destiny of being a stream.
All that I know for matter.
Being part of the dynamic whole,
With the open blue Sky,
From the galaxies to the black hole.
The bright warm Sun,
The friendly bedrock of smooth stones,
And accommodating banks ready to be won.
Altogether we fit-in as kith and kin,
Completing each other,
With a faultless overarching sheen.
Privileged am I in this being.
A peaceful yet another vein of life in the cosmos vast,
Seeing myself as not just a disconnected stream.
Being yet another little note,
In the symphony magnanimous,
Feels good to bear a meaningful connectedness to tote.
I meander through the valleys and hills,
Being the clear stream
Banked between boredom and thrills.
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
The Argument
Simoni, confronts his younger self,Lovingly arguing against his stance,Standing by the river Nile,In his white robe,Being washed by the silvery moon light.He smiles and looks at the distant star,and says, "If she loves you back, will you still be who you are?Mimed will not be your song, if blessed by presence of her?Probably you would win her,But will not you lose something more precious?The preciousness of your pain?"
But then the little self, revolts again, accusing back-"you romanticize your defeat!"Simoni, smiles again, gazing at that distant star,Gives a passing remark, "Who knows what is defeat, and what victory is!"In that profound solitude, Simoni, kept walking by the bank of the Nile,In total surrender to the enigmaOf the suchness of creation.
Questions reverberated from all around,Sky, Moon, Wind and the river cold,All stared on to the eyes of Simoni, and asked,"Why it is that we feel. Why it is that we are!"In an effort to discover that missing part of the puzzle,Simoni continued to walk,By the bank of the Nile.
The ancient start, light years away,Kept looking at Simoni,And when he again looked at him,And their eyes met each other,Simoni could listen to that silent whisperFrom the ancient seer star!
The star twinkles burning In the fire of his love.All alone and abandoned In the vastness of the cosmos.But continues he to twinkle,Since eons passed by.For that is what is his destiny.He is a star after all. And he has to twinkle!He has to burn!
Simoni knew his answer to his little self.To sing his song was his destiny,To love was his purpose! Went back he, in silence, Towards the feet of his God,In total surrender.The feet was his altar of love,He built it with great care and art,Since ages, one tune at a time, One syllable at at time,Embellished by one song after the other!
The gap of pain between the Nile and the moon,Was the space in which that beautiful night was created!The same was the charm of the beauty,Of the solitary abandonment of the star,And the lonely journey of Simoni.
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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
