Samrat Kar's Blog, page 5
April 20, 2013
Letting Go
Growing up and letting go,
Flowing like the clear stream,
From tip of the fall,
To the vast ocean,
Life is all about letting go.
The seed in the soil,
Lets go to the sapling supple,
Innocent, soft, and naive.
The sapling lets go to the huge firm tree,
Giving shade to the travelers weary.
The tree lets go her flowers and the fruits,
And then after years of giving,
She lets go herself to the Mother Earth,
Mingling to the dust, from where she came.
Letting go for another seed, another sapling,
Fruits and Flowers anew,
With colors more vibrant,
And songs more melodious and novel.
The infant lets go to be the toddler,
The toddler lets go to the teen,
The teen, to the adult, and then to the old.
Finally all lets go to the finality of death,
Just to open up new possibilities,
Of new generation, better and more beautiful.
The whisper of the hidden hopes of the expectant dawn,
Lets go to the crimson quietness of the tired dusk,
The throbbing heart of arduous passion,
Lets go to the awareness of the transience to unfurl,
Into the cold spread of the reality of pain.
In this game of letting go,
Its exciting to be part of the roller coaster,
Letting go the hope, equally with fear.
Letting go acceptance, equally with rejection.
Letting go pride, equally with embarrassment.
Letting go all that a man can have,
Letting go all that a man can be.
It is that surrender to the mere suchness,
The suchness that I was when I was born.
The suchness, that I will be when I die.
The suchness, that I was always before I existed.
The suchness, that I will be eons after I die.
All this play is a transient rising tide.
It will rise, and then gain fall,
Mingling into the eternal train of the line of eternity.
Nothing matters,
At the same time,
All that is - Is just this. And nothing else.
In this practice of letting go,
Somewhere deep inside my heart,
A deep ridge is sown,
With love, understanding, compassion, openness and courage.
In this breaking apart in openness and surrender,
I absorb the nectar of being alive,
In all its color, sound, smell and appearance,
Knowing for the first time, every moment,
Yet again and again,
Who am I, and who am I not.
Engulfing the eternal expanse of life,
Within me, All that his human, All that is life.
Both in its exquisite zenith of inspiration,
And it its darkest nadir of existence.
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
Flowing like the clear stream,
From tip of the fall,
To the vast ocean,
Life is all about letting go.
The seed in the soil,
Lets go to the sapling supple,
Innocent, soft, and naive.
The sapling lets go to the huge firm tree,
Giving shade to the travelers weary.
The tree lets go her flowers and the fruits,
And then after years of giving,
She lets go herself to the Mother Earth,
Mingling to the dust, from where she came.
Letting go for another seed, another sapling,
Fruits and Flowers anew,
With colors more vibrant,
And songs more melodious and novel.
The infant lets go to be the toddler,
The toddler lets go to the teen,
The teen, to the adult, and then to the old.
Finally all lets go to the finality of death,
Just to open up new possibilities,
Of new generation, better and more beautiful.
The whisper of the hidden hopes of the expectant dawn,
Lets go to the crimson quietness of the tired dusk,
The throbbing heart of arduous passion,
Lets go to the awareness of the transience to unfurl,
Into the cold spread of the reality of pain.
In this game of letting go,
Its exciting to be part of the roller coaster,
Letting go the hope, equally with fear.
Letting go acceptance, equally with rejection.
Letting go pride, equally with embarrassment.
Letting go all that a man can have,
Letting go all that a man can be.
It is that surrender to the mere suchness,
The suchness that I was when I was born.
The suchness, that I will be when I die.
The suchness, that I was always before I existed.
The suchness, that I will be eons after I die.
All this play is a transient rising tide.
It will rise, and then gain fall,
Mingling into the eternal train of the line of eternity.
Nothing matters,
At the same time,
All that is - Is just this. And nothing else.
In this practice of letting go,
Somewhere deep inside my heart,
A deep ridge is sown,
With love, understanding, compassion, openness and courage.
In this breaking apart in openness and surrender,
I absorb the nectar of being alive,
In all its color, sound, smell and appearance,
Knowing for the first time, every moment,
Yet again and again,
Who am I, and who am I not.
Engulfing the eternal expanse of life,
Within me, All that his human, All that is life.
Both in its exquisite zenith of inspiration,
And it its darkest nadir of existence.
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
April 12, 2013
The Rendezvous with the Eternal
In his studio ancient,
With hammer, chisel and his family of tools,
Was Simoni working on his art.
Around him were sculptures he made long back,
There were men, women, tigers, and tulips.
All in white deeply gazed Simoni busy at his work.
Suddenly Simoni was distracted with the angry gaze,
Of the tiger and the rhino.
And the eyes of disdain,
From countenance of stale old statues of men and women.
Surprised at the anger and hatred, he looked deep into their eyes,
Trying to make out the reason.
Looking into the eyes of the tiger and the rhino,
Simoni, observed in him the ebb and flow
The spasm of the pain of rejection.
Discerning deeper, found he a deep seated need,
Deep down his heart,
To be embraced in the all accepting warm embrace.
He found in him, the infantile craving of a motherly hug -
A symbol of acceptance and love.
Taken aback was he,
To confront face to face,
His weak, emotional need - his handicap.
And that superstition of meeting that need
From the tiger and the rhino in marble.
He was like a child looking out for a crutch.
Then suddenly hit him the wind of the fragrance of acceptance,
From the tulip, silently watching him in adoration, by the side.
He felt immensely comforted by the solace of kinship,
He was wallowing in the wave of love.
He felt strong and happy.
Discerning deeper again he was stunned at this new found strength,
The strength which was just an incarnation of a deep seated weakness.
A weakness of the ardor to be accepted,
From one and all, and the tulip included.
It was again that weakness of a longing of embrace of love.
And then, once established in that strength,
He could sense the tinkling of the hope,
A hope of a constant adoration from the tulip.
And then there was fear hidden under the hope,
"Hope she never leaves me alone"
In all his unrest with the gaze of the tiger and the rhino,
The amorous advances of the tulip,
And the disdaining looks from the stale old men and women,
He discovered the barriers in him,
That was crippling him and weakening him,
That was obstructing him to become fully who he is.
The barriers would get dissolved when he is deep in his work.
When deep into his art of chipping away those extras from the marble rock,
To shape it to the most beautiful angel,
He remembered there was that infinite wave of love,
That he created within himself,
Out of his skill, passion, creativity, and toil.
He remembered that the Eternal Loving Embrace
Was already within him,
And he was the source of that,
All along his journey of creation.
He was the source, and the world was just a reflection.
He realized that neither the beauty of the tulip
Was dependent on his adoration of her,
Nor, his sense of being loved and accepted,
Was dependent on the whim of the tulip.
For that the hatred in the eyes of the tiger and rhino,
Might be self created, or the objective truth out there,
But that does not matter to him,
As he is already fulfilled in love and acceptance,
Creating that wave of passion for himself, and his art,
Deep inside his heart.
No, Simoni is not indifferent to the tiger of the tulip.
Simoni, stands in acceptance and love,
For all around him.
He might not be fraternal,
He might not be part of the group.
But, he stands there entirely fulfilled,
With no needs, but a bag full of gifts,
Gifts of love, acceptances, compassion, respect, humility, and wonder.
He returns to his sculpture,
In white he was chipping the bosom of the angel,
Being able to see through the beautiful heart of hers,
Beneath the luscious curves.
An angel who was his heart, his creativity, his passions, personified.
Who was bright, youthful and brimming with joy.
The angel was in no need.
But was existing only to give.
For she was the Simoni's fulfilled and Joyous Heart.
Simoni went in trance,
Amidst the sound of his chisel,
And the softness of the presence of the angel,
Deeply engrossed in his work and toil,
He had a passing thought -
Was this the Rendezvous with the Eternal?
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
With hammer, chisel and his family of tools,
Was Simoni working on his art.
Around him were sculptures he made long back,
There were men, women, tigers, and tulips.
All in white deeply gazed Simoni busy at his work.
Suddenly Simoni was distracted with the angry gaze,
Of the tiger and the rhino.
And the eyes of disdain,
From countenance of stale old statues of men and women.
Surprised at the anger and hatred, he looked deep into their eyes,
Trying to make out the reason.
Looking into the eyes of the tiger and the rhino,
Simoni, observed in him the ebb and flow
The spasm of the pain of rejection.
Discerning deeper, found he a deep seated need,
Deep down his heart,
To be embraced in the all accepting warm embrace.
He found in him, the infantile craving of a motherly hug -
A symbol of acceptance and love.
Taken aback was he,
To confront face to face,
His weak, emotional need - his handicap.
And that superstition of meeting that need
From the tiger and the rhino in marble.
He was like a child looking out for a crutch.
Then suddenly hit him the wind of the fragrance of acceptance,
From the tulip, silently watching him in adoration, by the side.
He felt immensely comforted by the solace of kinship,
He was wallowing in the wave of love.
He felt strong and happy.
Discerning deeper again he was stunned at this new found strength,
The strength which was just an incarnation of a deep seated weakness.
A weakness of the ardor to be accepted,
From one and all, and the tulip included.
It was again that weakness of a longing of embrace of love.
And then, once established in that strength,
He could sense the tinkling of the hope,
A hope of a constant adoration from the tulip.
And then there was fear hidden under the hope,
"Hope she never leaves me alone"
In all his unrest with the gaze of the tiger and the rhino,
The amorous advances of the tulip,
And the disdaining looks from the stale old men and women,
He discovered the barriers in him,
That was crippling him and weakening him,
That was obstructing him to become fully who he is.
The barriers would get dissolved when he is deep in his work.
When deep into his art of chipping away those extras from the marble rock,
To shape it to the most beautiful angel,
He remembered there was that infinite wave of love,
That he created within himself,
Out of his skill, passion, creativity, and toil.
He remembered that the Eternal Loving Embrace
Was already within him,
And he was the source of that,
All along his journey of creation.
He was the source, and the world was just a reflection.
He realized that neither the beauty of the tulip
Was dependent on his adoration of her,
Nor, his sense of being loved and accepted,
Was dependent on the whim of the tulip.
For that the hatred in the eyes of the tiger and rhino,
Might be self created, or the objective truth out there,
But that does not matter to him,
As he is already fulfilled in love and acceptance,
Creating that wave of passion for himself, and his art,
Deep inside his heart.
No, Simoni is not indifferent to the tiger of the tulip.
Simoni, stands in acceptance and love,
For all around him.
He might not be fraternal,
He might not be part of the group.
But, he stands there entirely fulfilled,
With no needs, but a bag full of gifts,
Gifts of love, acceptances, compassion, respect, humility, and wonder.
He returns to his sculpture,
In white he was chipping the bosom of the angel,
Being able to see through the beautiful heart of hers,
Beneath the luscious curves.
An angel who was his heart, his creativity, his passions, personified.
Who was bright, youthful and brimming with joy.
The angel was in no need.
But was existing only to give.
For she was the Simoni's fulfilled and Joyous Heart.
Simoni went in trance,
Amidst the sound of his chisel,
And the softness of the presence of the angel,
Deeply engrossed in his work and toil,
He had a passing thought -
Was this the Rendezvous with the Eternal?
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
March 19, 2013
The Love of the Pond
Under the open blue sky,
Center of the dreamlike green meadow,
There lies the solitary Pond.
An old soul is he,
Older than
All the lands happy and sad,
All the fun and melancholy,
All the exhilarations and heart break,
All ups and downs,
Right there he sits,
Meditating - still and silent.
With his heart brimming with -
His love for the bright yellow Lotus,
His ardor for the luscious pink water lilly,
His limitless care for the swans swimming,
His affection for the wriggling schools of fish,
His longing for that special fairy from the heavens,
Beyond the stars and all starry noises of the tranquil dark sky.
He knows all his love,
Will never be his.
For his love is bigger than his embrace.
And his love is too alive to be an object of his possession.
For his love is infinite.
Taking forms innumerable,
Sometimes in form of a song, or a poem,
Or might be just a gush of calm breeze,
Caressing his body with all her affection and love.
His love stands in that tranquil presence,
Close to his heart,
In manifestations countless outside,
But just only one - deep within his heart,
His love, and his being,Two - always entwined with each other,Deep bonded, without any crack of anything visible.
His love is an expression of life.
Which expresses herself all around,
In forms countless,In myriads form and colors,In countless voices and symphonies.
But, unknown is his love,
Of that eternal longing of the Pond,
For her and only her.
For she is herself,
Eternally busy with her dance,
With the countless of loves of her own!Decorating the fabric of the world,With hues of a thousand rainbows.
All deeply in love, The yellow Lotus, the pink Lilly, the swans, and the fish.The Heavens, and the Earth.
Being in that space of peace,
Celebrate the beauty of life!
All are unaware of the silent, solitary and still Pond. Under the open blue sky,Center of the dreamlike green meadow,An old soul,Older than
All the lands happy and sad,
All the fun and melancholy,
All the exhilarations and heart break,
All ups and downs.
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
February 25, 2013
Blessing of the Fakir
The fakir, wanders the barren land,Down the rocky ways, meandering streams,
Lost in the world of the music of his poems.
He watches the vastness of the blue sky,
The generosity of the great Banyan tree,
The acceptance of the Mother Earth,
The carefree stream of loitering water,
The passionate tides and tireless ocean,
Mesmerized is he to feel his Lord,
Invisible through all that is manifest!
Amazed is he, just to be in the presence,
Of that limitless Being,
Invisible, but so real.
Continuously claiming herself,
To each of the patient eye,
Each longing heart!
What else I want,
Utters the Fakir,
The nearness of my Beloved - my Lord.
So close you art with me,
For I see you in me, and me in you!
The Fakir blesses his Love - his Lord,
For being so alive, dancing with life,
In forms unlimited,
From the small acorn,
To the giant oak tree.
From the thin trickle of stream,
To the limitless ocean,
From the darkest nights,
To the brightest days.
All manifesting in multitude,
Just the One.
Quietly the Fakir lies down on the footpath,
With a smile in his face,
Relaxing in the bosom of the Mother Earth,
Caressed by the beloved Moonlight,
Cuddled by the fleeting sensuous breeze.
Lost in the intoxication of his love,
He partakes another journey in the world of his dreams.
But as in the world of matter,
So in the world of his dreams,
His beloved is always with him,
His love - His Lord!
The fakir, wanders the barren land,
Down the rocky ways, meandering streams,
Lost in the world of the music of his songs.
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
February 24, 2013
The Fakir's Symphony
The warrior amidst the battle, singing the song of the Truth.
Playing the symphony eternal,
There he strolls carefree - The Fakir.
With dirt on his clothes, hair in shambles,
Mud and dust on his face, dried is his throat,
But continues he sings, the song of his heart.
There he strolls - The Fakir.
All the twinkling stars up in the sky
And the curious Moon shining up high,
Wonders at the mystery hidden in his heart,
Giving way to the symphony and the Profound Trance!
There he strolls - The Fakir.
In the fond remembrance was he,
Meandering the memory lanes
Of those ageless stories of truth,
Which all think just folklores,
Those momentous sighs of the longing heart,
Which men dismiss just as gush of breath.
Those lightness of the naive heart,
Believing the illusion for the truth!
There he strolls - The Fakir.
Ages and eons passed by
For he was looking for his Beloved, out there in the world,
Trying to snatch and have that shadow for himself,
Only for himself - To have her for ever.
For sure he bumped upon idols, temples, signs and posts.
He mistook them for his Beloved.
Sometimes he believed he got Her. But then, she was again gone.
Like that luscious mirage eluding the thirsty traveller.
Till the Fakir, on one of those solitary strolls,
Lost in his fantasy of his Beloved,
Bumped onto his song! His own song!
From the inner chords of his own heart,
With the accompaniment of the beauty his own mind.
Now the Fakir strolls as the creator,
Eternally bonded in love with his beloved.
Invokes he, his Damsel,
At any time, at any place.
For he knows, his Beloved and he is One.
There is nothing outside there,
But all is within - Here and Now
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
February 13, 2013
A Valentine Day Wish
Venus - By Sandro Botticelli - 1486Here is my heartiest wish to you,
On this special day dedicated to Love, Just Love.
May the sail of Compassion and Love,
Always guide your boat through the ruthless waves of life.
May you discover that wonderful person in you.
May you always be your most loved valentine,
Even if the whole world looks down on you.
For I have known, it is impossible to know one,
Without the eyes conditioned in love,
The mind guided with empathy,
The heart garbed in compassion.
May you never cease to be in love,
Even if you are stoned to death.
For life has no meaning without love.
May you know for sure,
Whatever appears devoid of love,
Is just a farce, No matter how convincing it appears.
May you always express your love,
For the rose wilts away in dark,
It needs the light of the world,
To shine and spread its fragrance.
It is only when you sing your song aloud,
You recognize your own voice.
Singing out your love,
Would make you present to your own love.
When you plant a wish,
When you have a thought,
Nourish it with only love, and nothing else.
It is only love, that is real,
All else is just illusion.
May you always remember,
It is more important to be kind, than to be right.
May you always take things in your own pace.
No matter how fast or slow others are.
May you do what you think is right,
No matter who tells, it is wrong.
May you have the perspective,
That Love is a desperate search
In the eyes of others,
That what is most special in yourself.
May you be one with your Valentine -
Your own special and unique self.
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
February 12, 2013
The Futile Struggle
That struggle to bring Her into form,
That sense of awe,
That feeling of likeness,
That solace in heart,
Is a futile errand.
Each time I attempt to put in words,
That inspiration, or that ecstasy,
Each time I try to bring into color,
That wish, that dream,
Each time, I try to sing
That unsung desire.
All what comes to form,
Is not that inspired in the first place.
All in the world of form,
Appears just a metaphor of
The real Invisible.
I think with awe, about the masters bygone,
Who could bring into reality,
Their love, their vision,
From the labyrinths of hidden darkness,
To the light of the day.
Why then I can't carve out my Love,
That inspiration, that enchantment, that Divine,
In my poems, in my song, in my life?
I know the struggle is futile.
But I shall keep trying.
May be this is what life is for me.
Being in the journey of a disciple,
Lovelorn for the Ideal,
Trying to see her in my poems,
Trying to feel her in my songs.
For one day for sure,
Before I cease to exist in form,
Before mingling into the invisible again,
May be I would have found her,
My Ideal, My Lord.
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
That sense of awe,
That feeling of likeness,
That solace in heart,
Is a futile errand.
Each time I attempt to put in words,
That inspiration, or that ecstasy,
Each time I try to bring into color,
That wish, that dream,
Each time, I try to sing
That unsung desire.
All what comes to form,
Is not that inspired in the first place.
All in the world of form,
Appears just a metaphor of
The real Invisible.
I think with awe, about the masters bygone,
Who could bring into reality,
Their love, their vision,
From the labyrinths of hidden darkness,
To the light of the day.
Why then I can't carve out my Love,
That inspiration, that enchantment, that Divine,
In my poems, in my song, in my life?
I know the struggle is futile.
But I shall keep trying.
May be this is what life is for me.
Being in the journey of a disciple,
Lovelorn for the Ideal,
Trying to see her in my poems,
Trying to feel her in my songs.
For one day for sure,
Before I cease to exist in form,
Before mingling into the invisible again,
May be I would have found her,
My Ideal, My Lord.
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
February 6, 2013
Prayers from a rustic soul
In the trance, here I stand,
With my words, my letters, and the invisible Inspiration.
For I know these are not just words,
But are prayers, from rustic soul!
Held strong is the connection,
Since millennia days, and seasons,
With the thread of love. Just Love.
Love for that all inclusive humanity.
Where there is nothing which is alien.
Where there is no separation,
But just unity and fraternity.
In that deep bond, held I am ever strong.
Grounded in faith, and friendship to one and all.
A space shared by all,
Where all belong to me, and I belong to all.
For sure, we are not all same,
For better we differ!
Different shades of the rainbow,
We all are,
But sharing the same sky,
The same space,
We hold each other by hand,
Stand shoulder to shoulder,
Arching the sky from one horizon to the other.
In the trance, here I stand,
With my words, my letters, and the invisible Inspiration.
For I know these are not jus words,
But are prayers, from a rustic soul!
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
February 4, 2013
The Journey of Love
In love was born a little but an infinite and immortal soul.
Eons ago, when there was no creation around.
What simply existed was silence and darkness dead.
The Soul was in love.
He was in his journey eternal,
To see, hear, smell, touch and taste,
That part in him that he priced the most!
That he could see as a reflection,
In his love for his lady with the most beautiful eyes.
Didn't know he about his beloved.
But just he could have some apparition
Here and there, sometimes in his dreams,
Sometimes when fully awake,
His Beloved playing hide and seek,
Either in the blossoms of the spring,
Or the wetness of the monsoon.
In that journey, he discovered for himself,
The ever bright assertive rising Sun,
The soft and silvery mellow Moon,
The ecstatic wild arduous oceans,
The still, meditative mountains high.
Strangely all seemed to be in love,
Craving to embrace in all their passion,
There own personal love,
In the best way they could.
Millions of years did pass away,
The ever youthful soul,
Still looks for his beloved,
In his eternal journey,
Finding for himself,
The reflection of his love -
In those most beautiful eyes,
In those luscious trembling petal like lips.
Hanging from the edge of time,
Like the dew drop from the tip of the leaf green,
Passes the soul from one form to the other,
Covering centuries, millennia and eons,
Sailing in the curved continuum of time and space,
Looking out for his lady love -
Those most beautiful eyes.
That eternal journey,
Is the soul engrossed in,
Discovering his love,
Thus knowing himself better.
His love gave rise to the flora and fauna,
And all the humanity,
Held together in the bond of love,
Ever growing all around,
Extending the silver lining of that immortal love.
Each time today,
When a child gasps at the Grand Canyon,
Or wonders at the rapturous Niagara,
When he looks wonderstruck onto the starlit sky,
With the twinkle in his eye,
Knows he not,
All are just reflection of the love of the little soul,
His love for his lady with the most beautiful eyes.
Transcends the love of the little soul,
From the tiniest insect to the blue whale,
Extending all over the oceans, deserts, mountains and plains,
Throbs his love with ever renewed passion,
To see, to know and to embrace,
His Beloved deep inside in the temple of his heart.
______________________________________________
Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
Eons ago, when there was no creation around.
What simply existed was silence and darkness dead.
The Soul was in love.
He was in his journey eternal,
To see, hear, smell, touch and taste,
That part in him that he priced the most!
That he could see as a reflection,
In his love for his lady with the most beautiful eyes.
Didn't know he about his beloved.
But just he could have some apparition
Here and there, sometimes in his dreams,
Sometimes when fully awake,
His Beloved playing hide and seek,
Either in the blossoms of the spring,
Or the wetness of the monsoon.
In that journey, he discovered for himself,
The ever bright assertive rising Sun,
The soft and silvery mellow Moon,
The ecstatic wild arduous oceans,
The still, meditative mountains high.
Strangely all seemed to be in love,
Craving to embrace in all their passion,
There own personal love,
In the best way they could.
Millions of years did pass away,
The ever youthful soul,
Still looks for his beloved,
In his eternal journey,
Finding for himself,
The reflection of his love -
In those most beautiful eyes,
In those luscious trembling petal like lips.
Hanging from the edge of time,
Like the dew drop from the tip of the leaf green,
Passes the soul from one form to the other,
Covering centuries, millennia and eons,
Sailing in the curved continuum of time and space,
Looking out for his lady love -
Those most beautiful eyes.
That eternal journey,
Is the soul engrossed in,
Discovering his love,
Thus knowing himself better.
His love gave rise to the flora and fauna,
And all the humanity,
Held together in the bond of love,
Ever growing all around,
Extending the silver lining of that immortal love.
Each time today,
When a child gasps at the Grand Canyon,
Or wonders at the rapturous Niagara,
When he looks wonderstruck onto the starlit sky,
With the twinkle in his eye,
Knows he not,
All are just reflection of the love of the little soul,
His love for his lady with the most beautiful eyes.
Transcends the love of the little soul,
From the tiniest insect to the blue whale,
Extending all over the oceans, deserts, mountains and plains,
Throbs his love with ever renewed passion,
To see, to know and to embrace,
His Beloved deep inside in the temple of his heart.
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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
January 13, 2013
The perfect place in the world
The perfect place in the world,For me is my study,
With open books all around,
With book marks reminding a train of revolution on hold,
Waiting to be synthesized
With thoughts ancient, new and unique,
Creating a world beautiful, in real!
For today, tomorrow, and through eternity.
With my pen, my computer,
This beautiful mind and heart,
Working through the ideas of masters many,
Spending hours trying to grasp their ideas,
Their passions, their inspirations.
The perfect place in the world,
For me is my study,
Sitting on the recliner,
With closed eyes,
Reflecting upon the power of human mind,
Creating the expressions as creatively breathtaking,
As the Vedas,
And as heinous and derogatory as the Holocaust!
And then following the chain of the civilization,
And gasping at the magical train
Of Human ingenuity, holding as silver lining,
The hope of an inspiring future!
Inspired with the undaunted spirit of human expression,
Defeating on its way all the anomalies and aberrations.
The perfect place in the world,
For me is my study,
Meditating with gratitude,
At precious heritage of human history,
At the unique point when I am alive,
Working tirelessly,
Towards communicating,
The creative legacy of the human race,
To myself, and the world.
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Copy Right © All rights reserved - Samrat Kar
http://karconversations.com
