Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Yogi Vs Flower...

In the silence of midnight
taking solitude from the quotidian life for a while,
sitting on the grass with a flower beside,
clouds of thoughts, for the moment, have just settled
some baffling questions, never discussed, are revealed;

The flower's a creature so am I
it's the divine innocence with which we were born,
but, it's flowering with all that it has
contrary to me, as if, something with me is wrong;

I like its beauty, does it likes mine?
it blooms in its totality that I deprive,
its very presence is spreading joy
unlike my true self, which is hidden, and too shy;

Its rhythmic response to each wind
shows super-sensitivity with which it gets attuned,
while i'm so insensitive and rigid
like a sensory disorder renders someone ill-fortuned;

Its graceful dance in air extols the glory of excellence
fine maneuvering corresponds with the wind's blow,
my dance, unlike its, is the result of silly reasons
depends on the others, the situations or the seasons,
that's why they're so less occasional and superficial
far from being ecstatic, they're not even natural;

Its immaculate colour and redolent fragrance
depict the height of divine expressions
like razzmatazz, of God's itself, is at its perfection
while my originality is a long lost entity
buried under the conditionalities,
my 'self' is no longer visible there
in the dirt of social, religious and educational falsities;

This flower stands for simplistic purity
while I represent a bitter conflict
between artificiality and originality,
how can I flower under such torment tension
enervated spirit's not likely to blossom.

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