"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

"Be blessed with the knowledge that you’re loved."


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.


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.


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


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 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.


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!”


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