For your holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama, my
Guru
As I build
on,
As I get
more equipped,
The will
quails,
The spark
dies—
The
necropolis of words,
Unapplied
and lacquered,
Remains staring back at me.
As I see
more and take in more,
It looms
like a smirking aura.
Could it be
of the time, now—
Not so much
about the essence
As it is for
the minutely glossed over images?
Or have I
gone deaf and blind,
The play of
fuss for image, identity and solipsism?
She says,
“Just begin it.”
He says,
“Just leave the trash.”
But, while
chuckling, I wonder what they think of me,
This just
cranky muser, the best word.
The serious
one comes around and whispers,
“As media
even online is erratic.”
Then what
happened to one great pillar of the Enlightenment?
Yes,
stampede of footsteps,
As I
couldn’t look and size up and accost at—
The gall or
gallantry only at the command of self-interest—,
Could be
noted;
It reminds
me where I stand—
Like an odd
plastic scrap amid glossy sugar maple leaves
I have set
myself adrift.
Then the
time for small recognition,
(The
suffrage in five years,
Said as the
needy chaos,
To fish out
our head and voices),
Sadly
reminds me I have a makeshift home there,
The abode of
the halo-bearer, my source of refuge.
It’s thou,
your holiness, the Dalai Lama!
I am
momentarily brand new one,
Reinvigorated
with a vision,
Not just
shallow ideals of modernity and secularism—
The
forerunners' aphorisms have long tarnished.
It is just
as simple as letting go of,
To break
free from the rooster coop of individualism-madness.
Yes, it is simply
about being like a beggar, a sniffer.
A spark
glistens,
A will
nudges,
I have to
wake up myself not to be that intransigent.
It is as
much about letting go of…
As it is
about learning to give ears to,
Not only to
the awaited clink.
The mental
image of your broad smile gives birth to them here,
Where only azure
void and solid ground can be counted on.
