"Joy is a net of love by which you can
catch souls."
"Do not wait for leaders;
do it alone,
person to person."
-Mother Teresa
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"Love begins at home, and it is not
how much we do...but how
much love we put
in that action."
"The ocean is made
of drops"
-Mother Teresa |
"If Christians would
really live according
to the teachings of Christ,
as found in the
Bible, all of India would
be Christian today."
-Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948) |
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"..that we are destined for something greater,
that our hope is built on nothing
less than
the transforming power of Jesus
Christ"...Luca
A Few
POEMS
"Be blessed with the knowledge that
you’re loved."
Luca
Conversion
Simple paths to walk in search
of a dream
-
Intersect the illusion that knowledge
is
a suitable substitution.
Attaining that which is sustaining
by remaining
within your existing love,
The remembrance of intimate infusion
from
past days returns,
And like fire burns, consumes
the mantel
of madness from my eyes.
Source of sadness, immolated;
Desire remaining levitated to
embrace the
coming tune.
Manifesting the melody like a
reoccurring
theme,
As her life unredeemed, partitions
portions
of war torn emotions
To be terror in the thick solace
of night
-
Mediating between wrong and right
But all she hears are the tears
falling from
her conscience
Mingled with debris of devastation
from a
past altercation,
Or perhaps some revelation, in
which,
The voice of vindictiveness cries
out for
the blood of victims.
Compromise
Trembling in the seclusion attained
through
disinterest,
Goals are made for those bound
to product
born conclusions,
Yet Your preeminence is continually
filling
the sphere of time…
A companion to those diluted
by indulgence.
Transparent pallets filled with
paint…the
portrait limit's the artist,
And compromised creativity renders
counterfeit
greatness.
The shepherd's role has become
perverse.
Feeding on the flock is the latest
trend,
While tolerance is treasured
as the soul
of society,
The prerequisite to progress.
All our mired pieces of depraved
imagination
unite as one.
Dancing they form a mandala of
madness,
Portraying the pitiful plight
of wingless
pigeons -
Fallen from the power lines of
morality to
the pavement of abject survival.
Gullies are permeated with the
odor of those
approved by ignorance.
As the sun sets in the south,
the smoke of
man's final sacrifice lifts into
the sky.
The malady of malicious intention
spreads,
provoking the passive.
Insanity is the reward of one
emancipated
from authority.
Will Your wrath burn forever?
In repentance the tormented traveler
finds
his solace,
Not of personalized perfection,
but of Grace.
Pretense
Simulated circumstances, and fragile dreams
blowing away…
I watch your esteem drown, as
reluctance
is emulsified.
Similarly spontified is the expectation
for
some new hope to arrive.
Transmigrated burdens of self-service
indulge
the illusion and impoverish the
soul's security,
while the tainted tapestry of
the past seems
soiled.
Reconciling the differences between
regular
and decaf inevitably proves unable
to liberate
us from the debilitating state
of social
order, held above the fire, suspended
as
it were, by the silk like threads
of our
political process.
The milk has spoiled on top of
my tea…
Reclusively reckless in the cell
of this
mind; distorted, because reason
was thrown
into the rubbish bins in which
dumpster divers
rummage for remnants of the rich.
Those temporal toys that entertain
discontented
sidewalk sweepers survive,
and thrive as added accompaniments
to the
collections of consumers.
Callous conversions create cesspool
like
conditions for paranoia to propagate
amidst
the elitist groups of society.
Discard the shell and what will
show?
-Hollowed hopes for happiness
amid a monarchy
of machines, destiny determined
by the resolve
to remain in rebellion.
Widow's Song
-Dedicated to the widows of Varanasi -
Maid in the malady of toil and
woe,
Humbled to the place of miscreant
wanderer.
Disgrace does deface the beauty
behind her
veil.
She walks upon soil and water
in search of
the light,
Yet her feet are bare and often
bruised -
By the stones ever obstructing
the way
Journeying the forests of forgotten
memories,
The surrounding creatures call
out to her
though the wood,
But misunderstood, assumption
supposed the
voices -
To be merely the wind
Transcending the apparitions
of anguish from
which being was derived,
She sows her tears; seeds of
emotion brought
in reverent devotion to the divine.
But exhaustion in the end became
the companion
to her search,
From which little hope of success
seemed
sincere.
Committing herself to the sky
above,
With love she did rise into the
air,
And joined forever their host
of heavenly
lights,
This her radiant arrival to the
unveiled.
Requiem for Salvation
Truth pervasive, accompanying
the minstrels
of forgotten pasts -
Into mystical music transcribed
to the key
of salvation,
And with hesitation, I the participant
engage
the score.
Each note wrought in the core,
the inner
sanctum of spirit.
Wherein rests this redemption
composition…
The place of remission, from
which the crescendo
of submission is played
The illusory bond broken, my
spirit is now
permanently augmented -
To incorporate your every purpose
proposed
by providence.
A harmony of instruments merge
into one voice,
And with a subtle sense of the
eternal,
I forfeit my choice, content
rather to remain
a small part in the divine song,
Which erases all traces of wrong
from this
eulegy now liberated.
Awaiting guidance by the hand
of my Conductor
I find,
That He weaves the wondrous melody
into the
measures of my mind.
The tapestry testifies to all
whose hearts
are open, embracing the tune,
As the composer renders its truth
accessible
to those willing to listen
Prolog
Once blinded, binded by insecurity,
The ill effect of imagination
inverted, encased;
Collapsing upon my conscience
coffin
Wherein dwell reality remnants
from past
lives.
Remind my to distinguish the
various contrasts,
Those relative differences between
dim and
dark.
Existing as shadow my fallen
form inhibits
the nitya of night,
Wayward, wandering in the underworld…
Practice of penance at 3am under
a neon blinking
sign,
And I can make out the word "vacancy".
Enveloped, was mind merely a
misappropriated
metaphor -
Clinging to an illusion?
Within such dreams vision was
obscured.
The fatalistic philosophies that,
Embracing elevated states of
sought after
emotion, were,
If nothing more an appendage,
My crimson credentials for redemption.
Distill the water churning,
Burning in the solitude of my
soul.
Replace the evaporated elation,
Given relation in temperance
tested.
The veil has been lifted.
What dwells between the cherubim
is come
into view.
Grace being the tandem from me
to you,
Embroidered beauty in the fabric
of life,
and all is made new.
Interpreters sent from the realms
of radiance,
Now relating light to those understanding
night.
Fidelity I pray be the cause,
And all pride derived from the
valor there
of be not forgotten -
Until the blood of one Spirit
begotten,
Be infused with my life force.
Broken when spoken to, as if
the voice heard
were casting
Everlasting beams of brilliance
upon a temple
made of glass.
And livid light refracts a million
times,
Filling the shrines where memory
resides.
Prolog: a high-level programming
language
based on reasonable rather than
mathematical
relationships
Pardon the sedition toward the former way
of living,
It's an anthem for the apocalypse
of that
origin in clay.
Slay the imposter who fosters
forbidden feelings.
His contact with the Divine;
Sublime setting for spirit metamorphosis
Letting truth absorb the forest
faculties,
until,
Only a fragile frame is left,
Destined to be destroyed.
Heat harnessed through holiness…
A practical application for emancipation.
The salvation supposition is
intended to
lighten the load,
Yet goals identifying our quarterly
expectations
Communicate clearly the business
born alter
ego
Under which perpetual pressures
appear to
monopolize our menial tasks,
All held at arms length from
the scorching
scrutiny of rays falling -
From the magnifying glass of
time.
If the light in you is darkness, how great
is that darkness. For you were
once darkness,
but now you are light. Live as
children of
the Light.
Thoughts from 2002
I stood in the street and watched
the fires
burn; the people raise their
voice, their
cries sparked by neglect. Sitting
by candlelight,
the Sangit plays a soothing sound
for one
to dine with, yet she sits at
the gate waiting
with anticipation for the scraps
I'll leave
behind.
The guardians have strewn shards
of glass
upon the paths, and made the
children to
walk upon them. The shepherds
make feast
of their own sheep, and send
the rest to
feed the wolves.
They woke to find that life was
a dream,
and were happy, for such dreams
of devils
and demons serve only for the
torment of
souls. And in the midst I prayed
a silent
prayer for my own soul.
Giver of life, and taker in one,
how long
will the cries go unheard? Were
we the sight
and not merely the sound, perhaps
all would
change. But the hearts of men
grow cold,
and winter is fed by the darkness
of their
minds.
Locked in the confines of the
prison, I searched
for an answer, which would set
them free.
I found a Light which would lead
the lost
from darkness into a destiny
of hope. I pleaded
for them to come, but they reacted
with confusion.
Trying to lift the small and
weak, pushing,
pulling and doing all possible,
I finally
fell to the stone floor in utter
exhaustion.
Perplexed, I sat weeping. Then
stopped...Silence,
all is understood...
I too sit within the confines
of this prison.
Resounding echoes of lives gone
unaided,
ripples in the pool of humanity…
Peering into the water the reflection
is
not our own, but theirs.
The dust settles on the heads
of the unfortunate,
while we stand in line to shake
it from our
feet. The tune is played in eternal
repetition,
but no melody can be found within.
Watching
the sunrise over the world, sitting
on the
mountain, a dot in time. Eyes
follow the
outline of a stream as it meets
the river.
And on it's banks the authorities
of men
stack the pyres on which the
needy lay. The
smoke of the their flesh rises
in the air
circumferencing the earth, and
testifying
of our generation.
Splinters
Splinters in all you think and feel,
Beautiful pieces of the real-
Slipping through fingers made
of clay.
And angels turn to walk away
From all the pain attached to
life
Escaping that which causes strife.
Loosing a grasp on what you once
had,
Dreams like milk in the sun turn bad.
The deft and the blind alone
remain,
Those desiring truth lay slain,
In the same fields where once
flowers grew,
And sun kissed the top of each bead of dew.
Now desolate and bare the outsider
looks
in,
Hoping to see something more than his sin.
What do we give in place of their
grief?
Do we offer mere words impersonal and brief?
Or do we relate with the people
we see
Sharing the hope that sets all life free-
To live in the beauty of God’s
perfect love,
Reflecting the glory of things from above.
Choosing the truth in place of
a lie
One soars like an eagle high in the sky.
Transcending confusion, doubt
and fear,
The Author of life wipes away every tear.
And peace is found in winning
the race,
Splinters removed in the light of your face.
Bethzaida
The wound in my soul has turned
to a scar,
And heavenly skies hidden in
tar
Fail to appear anymore in my
sleep,
Subject to the pain of memories
I keep.
I sit on the shore near pools that churn
-
While the wound in my soul continues to burn.
Awaiting the moment of healing
within,
When skies again shine with the
absence of
sin.
Crippled and broken arriving
too late,
Hope dashed to pieces; my eternal
fate.
Now lingering behind the words
of my song,
The lyrics remind me of all I’ve
done wrong.
A voice speaks to me, says, “What
can I do?”
But my heart is too darkened
to see what
is true.
Trying to reach the water’s edge
first -
Has dried up my soul now I’m
dying from thirst.
Yet, the hurt and the pain caused
by so many
lies
Was instantly healed when he
looked in my
eyes.
The door to my hopes had been
closed with
a lock,
But He gave me the key and said,
“Rise up
and walk!”
Luca
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