"Joy is a net of love by which you can
"Do not wait for leaders;
do it alone,
person to person."
"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
"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)
For those interested in getting fresh updates
(straight off the press) the address is:
Write a note of request and you will be
added to the e-mail list.
"..that we are destined for something greater,
that our hope is built on nothing
the transforming power of Jesus
"Be blessed with the knowledge that
Simple paths to walk in search
of a dream
Intersect the illusion that knowledge
a suitable substitution.
Attaining that which is sustaining
within your existing love,
The remembrance of intimate infusion
past days returns,
And like fire burns, consumes
of madness from my eyes.
Source of sadness, immolated;
Desire remaining levitated to
Manifesting the melody like a
As her life unredeemed, partitions
of war torn emotions
To be terror in the thick solace
Mediating between wrong and right
But all she hears are the tears
Mingled with debris of devastation
Or perhaps some revelation, in
The voice of vindictiveness cries
the blood of victims.
Trembling in the seclusion attained
Goals are made for those bound
Yet Your preeminence is continually
the sphere of time…
A companion to those diluted
Transparent pallets filled with
portrait limit's the artist,
And compromised creativity renders
The shepherd's role has become
Feeding on the flock is the latest
While tolerance is treasured
as the soul
The prerequisite to progress.
All our mired pieces of depraved
unite as one.
Dancing they form a mandala of
Portraying the pitiful plight
Fallen from the power lines of
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 malady of malicious intention
provoking the passive.
Insanity is the reward of one
Will Your wrath burn forever?
In repentance the tormented traveler
Not of personalized perfection,
but of Grace.
Simulated circumstances, and fragile dreams
I watch your esteem drown, as
Similarly spontified is the expectation
some new hope to arrive.
Transmigrated burdens of self-service
the illusion and impoverish the
while the tainted tapestry of
the past seems
Reconciling the differences between
and decaf inevitably proves unable
us from the debilitating state
order, held above the fire, suspended
it were, by the silk like threads
The milk has spoiled on top of
Reclusively reckless in the cell
mind; distorted, because reason
into the rubbish bins in which
rummage for remnants of the rich.
Those temporal toys that entertain
sidewalk sweepers survive,
and thrive as added accompaniments
collections of consumers.
Callous conversions create cesspool
conditions for paranoia to propagate
the elitist groups of society.
Discard the shell and what will
-Hollowed hopes for happiness
amid a monarchy
of machines, destiny determined
by the resolve
to remain in rebellion.
-Dedicated to the widows of Varanasi -
Maid in the malady of toil and
Humbled to the place of miscreant
Disgrace does deface the beauty
She walks upon soil and water
in search of
Yet her feet are bare and often
By the stones ever obstructing
Journeying the forests of forgotten
The surrounding creatures call
out to her
though the wood,
But misunderstood, assumption
To be merely the wind
Transcending the apparitions
of anguish from
which being was derived,
She sows her tears; seeds of
in reverent devotion to the divine.
But exhaustion in the end became
to her search,
From which little hope of success
Committing herself to the sky
With love she did rise into the
And joined forever their host
This her radiant arrival to the
Requiem for Salvation
Truth pervasive, accompanying
of forgotten pasts -
Into mystical music transcribed
to the key
And with hesitation, I the participant
Each note wrought in the core,
sanctum of spirit.
Wherein rests this redemption
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
A harmony of instruments merge
into one voice,
And with a subtle sense of the
I forfeit my choice, content
rather to remain
a small part in the divine song,
Which erases all traces of wrong
eulegy now liberated.
Awaiting guidance by the hand
of my Conductor
That He weaves the wondrous melody
measures of my mind.
The tapestry testifies to all
are open, embracing the tune,
As the composer renders its truth
to those willing to listen
Once blinded, binded by insecurity,
The ill effect of imagination
Collapsing upon my conscience
Wherein dwell reality remnants
Remind my to distinguish the
Those relative differences between
Existing as shadow my fallen
the nitya of night,
Wayward, wandering in the underworld…
Practice of penance at 3am under
a neon blinking
And I can make out the word "vacancy".
Enveloped, was mind merely a
Clinging to an illusion?
Within such dreams vision was
The fatalistic philosophies that,
Embracing elevated states of
If nothing more an appendage,
My crimson credentials for redemption.
Distill the water churning,
Burning in the solitude of my
Replace the evaporated elation,
Given relation in temperance
The veil has been lifted.
What dwells between the cherubim
Grace being the tandem from me
Embroidered beauty in the fabric
and all is made new.
Interpreters sent from the realms
Now relating light to those understanding
Fidelity I pray be the cause,
And all pride derived from the
of be not forgotten -
Until the blood of one Spirit
Be infused with my life force.
Broken when spoken to, as if
the voice heard
Everlasting beams of brilliance
upon a temple
made of glass.
And livid light refracts a million
Filling the shrines where memory
Prolog: a high-level programming
based on reasonable rather than
Pardon the sedition toward the former way
It's an anthem for the apocalypse
origin in clay.
Slay the imposter who fosters
His contact with the Divine;
Sublime setting for spirit metamorphosis
Letting truth absorb the forest
Only a fragile frame is left,
Destined to be destroyed.
Heat harnessed through holiness…
A practical application for emancipation.
The salvation supposition is
lighten the load,
Yet goals identifying our quarterly
Communicate clearly the business
Under which perpetual pressures
monopolize our menial tasks,
All held at arms length from
scrutiny of rays falling -
From the magnifying glass of
If the light in you is darkness, how great
is that darkness. For you were
but now you are light. Live as
Thoughts from 2002
I stood in the street and watched
burn; the people raise their
cries sparked by neglect. Sitting
the Sangit plays a soothing sound
to dine with, yet she sits at
the gate waiting
with anticipation for the scraps
The guardians have strewn shards
upon the paths, and made the
walk upon them. The shepherds
of their own sheep, and send
the rest to
feed the wolves.
They woke to find that life was
and were happy, for such dreams
and demons serve only for the
souls. And in the midst I prayed
prayer for my own soul.
Giver of life, and taker in one,
will the cries go unheard? Were
we the sight
and not merely the sound, perhaps
change. But the hearts of men
and winter is fed by the darkness
Locked in the confines of the
prison, I searched
for an answer, which would set
I found a Light which would lead
from darkness into a destiny
of hope. I pleaded
for them to come, but they reacted
Trying to lift the small and
pulling and doing all possible,
fell to the stone floor in utter
Perplexed, I sat weeping. Then
all is understood...
I too sit within the confines
of this prison.
Resounding echoes of lives gone
ripples in the pool of humanity…
Peering into the water the reflection
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
but no melody can be found within.
the sunrise over the world, sitting
mountain, a dot in time. Eyes
outline of a stream as it meets
And on it's banks the authorities
stack the pyres on which the
needy lay. The
smoke of the their flesh rises
in the air
circumferencing the earth, and
of our generation.
Splinters in all you think and feel,
Beautiful pieces of the real-
Slipping through fingers made
And angels turn to walk away
From all the pain attached to
Escaping that which causes strife.
Loosing a grasp on what you once
Dreams like milk in the sun turn bad.
The deft and the blind alone
Those desiring truth lay slain,
In the same fields where once
And sun kissed the top of each bead of dew.
Now desolate and bare the outsider
Hoping to see something more than his sin.
What do we give in place of their
Do we offer mere words impersonal and brief?
Or do we relate with the people
Sharing the hope that sets all life free-
To live in the beauty of God’s
Reflecting the glory of things from above.
Choosing the truth in place of
One soars like an eagle high in the sky.
Transcending confusion, doubt
The Author of life wipes away every tear.
And peace is found in winning
Splinters removed in the light of your face.
The wound in my soul has turned
to a scar,
And heavenly skies hidden in
Fail to appear anymore in my
Subject to the pain of memories
I sit on the shore near pools that churn
While the wound in my soul continues to burn.
Awaiting the moment of healing
When skies again shine with the
Crippled and broken arriving
Hope dashed to pieces; my eternal
Now lingering behind the words
of my song,
The lyrics remind me of all I’ve
A voice speaks to me, says, “What
can I do?”
But my heart is too darkened
to see what
Trying to reach the water’s edge
Has dried up my soul now I’m
dying from thirst.
Yet, the hurt and the pain caused
by so many
Was instantly healed when he
looked in my
The door to my hopes had been
But He gave me the key and said,