Diminishing volumes of the rising mountain.

Sometimes, some words become a trigger to more words, thoughts to more thoughts, volitions to more volitions. 
I am thankful to a blog friend, for one such trigger. In a recent beautiful verse, Susan triggered this very poignant question-
http://susanspoetry.blogspot.in/2016/01/ascension.html#comment-form
"What are we to the atom “earth”?  How vast is

the space between particles in our mystery?"

And so are from my ink

more thoughts from thoughts,

more words from words,

more volitions from volitions...

Diminishing volumes of the rising mountain.

We are

the reason the atom spins

a reason produced from its spinning.

We make it

stable or unstable

cold or warm

clearer or hazy.

We are

the particles

of our own mystery

measuring spaces

between-

what was and what is,

what is and what should be.

And like particles we oscillate

between dream and fear

between here and there.

Here

we resolve

the mystery

of the particles

which give us mass.

There

we destroy, disintegrate, diminish

our volume

when we kill, burn, wreck

or just ignore

our present and our past.

Our volume diminishing

and mass multiplying with layers and cloaks,

our density increases.

Hence, our hearts are heavy today with achings.

Are we not turning cold?

But cold air sinks.

Is that why we are sinking?

as a species.

We are becoming 

a diminishing mountain

a drying lake

a barren desert

a psychotic prancer.

We are becoming

the space

between the particles

of our mystery, forgetting

that we were supposed to be

its answer.

Why I weep.

A fossilized religion weeps

in the pages of 
a scripture, a ritual,

or in the sanctum of a shrine.

“Why is this human

you kill in my name

not divine?”

Both are creations.
The former, yours.
But the human you kill today
was mine.

picture credit- Moai Statues on Easter Island by Matthew Henningsen

I am silence.

I am silence.
beneath these languages of
this man and that
this state and that
this nation and that
this world and that
and I sing the same song beneath-
I am humanity.

I am the granite
beneath your cave sculpture.
I am the canvas
beneath your mural colour.
I am the idea, not the sculpted Buddha.
I am enlightenment.
I am the devotion, not the idol of Jesus or Krishna
I am non- dualism.

I am the pilgrimage
of the Sufi who dances
the Shamana who compassionately glances
the builder who builds
the individual artist and guilds
who create me
in words, scriptures or monuments.
I am silence
what this world knows and feels
but does not hear or see.
And I am silence,
what this world wants and craves for
but does not let it be.

But does not let it be.

So,
Will you just let me
be?

But I am silence.

I can kill

this man and that
this state and that
this nation and that
this world and that
I can kill-
humanity.

I am silence
that this world has heard and seen

before revolutions and wars.
And I am silence,
that this world let it be

before genocides and their shrieking scars.

So,
Will you just let me
be?

*THESE ARE SOME STANZAS FROM MY SOON TO BE RELEASED BOOK*

picture source https://in.pinterest.com/pin/567805465494381784/

Resistance.

Who engraved you in stone in its head?

Time spills skeletons of past from its mouth
like a ductile superconductor wire
spills electricity at its absolute zero
sans resistance

Shivering in cold for some warmth and resistance,
I don't want to time travel and change my past.
I want my present to change my past
by changing me.

All the city needs to survive
is change.
photography source https://in.pinterest.com/pin/320107485986097546/

Because lost is found.

Joy is
to lose yourself to the fog at dawn-
for some moments
letting it take over
and embrace your senses,
blurring everything else
breaking all the fences
and masks you had built
for this world 
all those defenses...
so you can meet 'you'
as the moisture of the air
meets that of your eye.
Joy is
finding yourself in the fog at dawn.
meeting that someone to whom 
you can't lie.

photograph source https://www.pinterest.com/pin/542754192570473637/