The Clash of Mythologies - Part 2

Gods are on their Mt. Olympus, all is right with the earth,

At times they mingle with the mortals, and to heroes give birth.

A gulf divided Gods and men, that Prometheus tried to surmount,

Driven by passion, he tried defying fate, was on a torment at last count.

 

When Gods don't have all the answers, and Oracle of limited use,

You start asking your own self, what's all this for, what's the ruse?

Miles away, seated near the master, Nachiketa asks similarly Yama,

What's the secret of immortality, we are born again, how come?  

 

God is but one immortal, there's Atman in each of us,

The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm, the Brahman we are thus.

The gods permeate our body, are our breath, our speech and sight,

You can keep saying no to questions, till you get the answer right.

 

Gods may be indifferent and external, or they merge with us as one,

As long as we keep asking questions, we'll arrive at conclusions some.

Chicken or Egg?

It's not who you are underneath, but what you do, that defines you,

A painful reminder intentions are sterile, until you act and make them true. 

You may wish 'Sarve Bhvanti Sukhinah', believe yourself to be noble and good, 

All that will not exonerate you, if your actions didn't the test of time stood.

 

Don't judge a person, but his actions, is a dictum I hold dear,

If he repents and mends his actions, he can become better is clear. 

So if I want a couch potato to be healthy, should I ask him to daily walk,

Or revel in his new identity of a walker, and on his earlier identity baulk.  

 

If I ask someone to vote, they may vote to a small degree,

But if I ask them to be a voter, they'll internalize that decree,

And vote in large numbers, cause actions follow the self-concept,

If I want to change my actions, working on my 'self' works the best.  

 

You may re-conceptualize yourself all you want, at the end it'll still be true,

It's not who you are underneath, but what you do, that defines you.

The Clash of Mythologies

Fall from grace, then return to paradise, 

On the day of Judgement, from the grave rise.

Enjoy eternal heaven, or be condemned to hell,

Depends whether you sinned, or acted pious and well.

 

Only a single God exists, one life to live and pray,

He created angels and devil, like night and day.

There is another possibility, that there are more than a few gods,

You fall in one life and atone in next, the goddess gently nods.  

 

Nothing by itself is right or wrong, dharma depends on context and role,

The law of Karma keeps you in check, with the threat you may be reborn a mole.

All around you are brimming with consciousness, each soul potentially divine,

Infinite lives to master the cosmic play, and become godly and sublime.

 

Time here is cyclic, this world but one of many,

God is all around you, not patented by any.

This or That?

Isolation is terrifying, no one gets you,

No bridge to the other, except in moments that are few.

Isolation is exhilarating, you can't the other control,

No matter how close you get, it doesn't take a toll.

 

Meaninglessness is disorienting, you have nothing to lean on,

When nothing's sacred upfront, grounding frameworks are all but gone.

Meaninglessness is empowering, on each act you can put your stamp,

You can find meaning in your suffering, as to why you are in a concentration camp.

 

Freedom is a lifelong sentence, you are condemned to choose,

No one to pass the blame on, when in life's game you lose.

Freedom is a privilege, you can be an author of your life,

Continue smiling, even when the joker wields a knife. 

 

Death is an abomination, makes you tremble and wither in pain,

Death is the ultimate liberator, makes you choose life over and over again.

What To Do (In The Therapy Room)?

Interpret dreams, let them free-associate, look for that occasional Freudian slip,

Like an Indiana Jones excavate buried tombs, and let their ghosts be exorcised in a blip.

They may latch onto you, like they did to their parents, arousing feelings and passions in you,

They may be heavily guarding, what even they don't know, your mission to resistance breakthrough.

 

Monitor each phrase, keep asking what does it mean, till you arrive at their core belief,   

Let them challenge their thoughts, and when it changes how they feel, heave a sigh of relief.

Like Socrates ask many questions, paraphrase, listen deeply but sans judgement,

In the beginning your task to make connection, towards end letting go without sentiment. 

 

Look for stunted growth, accepting them for who they are, a potential waiting to be realized,

As per original plan, they were meant to flourish, it's not their fault if God downsized.

Just walk in their shoes, for a mile or a while, ease their pain without hurting your sole,

Jump into the encounter, without ifs and buts, bringing your body, mind and soul.

 

You've lost your way in the labyrinth, enough of techniques and doing,

Your presence is more than enough, all your life haven't you worked on just being?

My Walden

Meditate in awe of the forest, build a cabin by the pond,

When you center yourself daily, you won't react, but respond.

The illusion of busyness stripped away, fill it with food that you can grow,

Read obscure tomes to your heart's content, and wonder how little you know.

 

Nature acts as the faithful clock, you are a master of your time,  

Your actions answer to your own needs, nine times out of nine.

Needs reduced to a bare minimum, a bed, a desk, three chairs,

Cut-off from the world you muse, if there's someone who cares?

 

You have pruned but all connections, are in touch with just a few ,

Now free and unencumbered, does that decision you secretly rue?

The point of the experiment was paring, to get rid of all the stuff, 

Couple of years of living alone, and you're ready to leave in a huff? 

 

 The thought experiment is quite revealing, as all the masks I peel,

 Of programming, psychology, philosophy, only poetry remains, I feel.

Ready to Pay?

Buying Whey is not enough, if good health is what you care,

Pay daily with your morning walks, and do push ups, to be fair.

Steal time from work and meetings, there's a tradeoff to be made,

Invest instead in leisure and love- that's a price worth to be paid.  

 

You may have all the time in the world, leisure won't come for free, 

First pay the price by plunging deep, discover who you're meant to be.

When you start attuning to yourself, hobbies will like music heal,

But before you can rest and rejuvenate, 'Who Am I?' you need to deal.

 

Love won't arrive on cupid's arrows, you have to become a soul mate,

Lay bare your soul and innards, can't leave tenderness to fate.

Let the price of vulnerability sting, there will be rejections galore,

You have to still be ready to undress, not afraid of the wound in store.

 

Writing daily is not enough, if a poet you want to be,

Be ready to pay the price, that not many your poems will see. 

Liberation, anyone?

I hunt in a pack, track my prey, wolf is my totem god,

In the name of the wolf, I kill the elk, and even gods applaud.

I kill them with their permission, it's all for the greater good,

Their sacrifice enables I survive, not perish in this wood.

 

I farm near rivers, pray for rain, earth is my mother goddess,

I kill the plants, plant the seeds, regeneration is earth's prowess.

From the seeds springs new life, even cut-n-dried trunks regenerate,

I let the husk turn to compost, don't leave the rebirth to fate.  

 

I herd and roam, search new lands, Krishna is my patron god,

My flock may graze, till it kills the land, but Gopala frets not. 

I move ahead, the land lies fallow, it sure as sun will flower again, 

That I invade and plunder is a minor trouble, for the mountains and the plain.

 

All life is but violence, you need to sacrifice an animal or a tree,

For tree, the trunk or seed begets new life, for the animal, he is set free.

The Call

The forest is clenching closer, night looms ahead,

If I venture forth in darkness, I'll most likely be dead.

I've waited forever at the entrance, of the dangerous den,

The chant is becoming louder, if not now, then when?

 

Woods mock the faint of heart, the payoff is not clear,

If I listen to my brain, in this adventure I won't veer.

Many get inspired, few take a stance, it's a jungle, not a zoo,

A silent voice keeps whispering, If not me, then who?

 

The game teases and tantalizes, you're hungry, need to be fed,

For you I'll slay dragons, and with witches readily bed.

Treasures or ballads don't move me, but for love there is always room,

Your eyes gently tug at my heartstrings; if not for you, then for whom?

 

I might not be a hero, the quest not mine, but you're worth fighting for,

Now that you need, and have given the call, I won't dither any more.

Eat, Move, Sleep

Eat lots of fruits and veggies, avoid pizza like the plague,

That's a clear manual for healthy life, nothing's hazy or vague.

Consume what nourishes you, stop doom-scrolling clickbait,

You are what you read and absorb, don't leave it to fate.

 

Move a leg daily, go on a walk, do exercise,

You need to stretch and workout, to be the right size.

Let thoughts and ideas churn, don't ruminate or get stuck,

Argue daily with yourself, and you'll think clearly, by any luck.

 

Sleep like a log, for 8-10 hrs, don't in the evening take caffeine,  

For a fruitful day the night should stand, for deep sleep and lucid dream.

Get detached from your isms and ideologies, now and then take a break,

If you are ready to revise and let go, a beautiful philosophy you'll make. 

 

Eat, move, sleep daily. don't forget with others to laugh, 

Navel-gazing will only take you so far, letting your guard is the other half. 

The Two Birds

Usually in sync, two birds live in my soul,

One watches without passion, the other identifies with role. 

The one observing knows, but doesn't feel in its bones,

When things get overwhelming, I get split in zones. 

 

I remember the events, but they lack any feel,

They didn't really happen, is how I rationalize and deal.

But the experience is embedded, the body keeps the score,

Any small trigger cascades, the dynamite in store.

 

Some say I've repressed, and that gives the memories charge,  

When you keep under pressure, the lava will eventually barge.

Others say I've dissociated, my parts stranger to me,

To integrate requires blessings, of powers to be.

 

Analyze me all you want, neither of the birds is going to die,

I know I'll fly again, by and by.

A Tech Saga (Circa 2026)

I'm on a treadmill, feeling all burnt out,

The future looks grim, I'm headed for a rout.

I won't recommend, that you follow in my step,

It's chaos all around, I'm out of my depth.

 

I'm on a joyride, moving faster and better,

Have sprouted new wings, and broken the fetter.

I enjoy my work, I now have a Personal Assistant, 

The PA will replace me, is a possibility distant.  

 

I'm on a see-saw, barely pulling through,

Can't make out what's hype, and what's really true. 

I churn more stuff, and the quality goes down, 

Excited and uneasy, I both smile and frown. 

 

That AI will come for my job, is not my strongest worry,

It's I'll be asked to do more, and with ever more hurry.

'Icarus'

Image generated by author using Gemini

 

Waiting for my time, under the sun,
As wax starts to melt, it’s ‘Icarus Begun’.
The Nemesis is within, my ambition, my thrill,
The shadow doesn’t disappear, goes for the kill.

Waiting to escape, from the Ivory Towers,
‘The Furry Knight Rises’, defying earthly powers.
Years of oblivion, no one has risen from The Pit,
Sculpted by darkness, I lose myself a large bit.

Waiting with trepidation, as the sea looms near,
‘Icarus Returns’, faces his darkest fear.
I may drown soon, the wings are getting wet,
No glory for me, I haven’t even myself met.

Waiting for the mask, to slip and reveal,
‘Icarus Forever’, I’ll fly again and heal.

PS: This was first published on medium here. 

A Poet's Legacy

A poet of verse, or a poet of life, 

To be lyrical always, would be oh so nice.

A life full of rhythm, with reason and rhyme,

To dance in sync with others, is a feeling sublime. 

 

To feel and be felt, is no small art,

To make room in heart, requires special craft.

Words on paper, can inspire for years,

A life lived well, can pierce deep my dears.

 

Money could be earned, by writing prose,

By selling bulky books- which you read till you doze.

Life itself, can become boring and long,

The prosaic bits, eclipsing the poetical song.

 

If the world must remember, let it be my poetical style,

Not my collection of sonnets, but my life without guile.