pushpatuladhar, 13 november 2020
The Poetry that I never created,
But the seconds of my day
That I adored so much.
Couldn’t grip the moments
Of my day in my fists
As the iceberg of the day
Set into water and spilled over
From the seams of my fists.
After my morning routine,
I’d befall at
The dining table of my kitchen
For my everyday breakfast
With a Mug of Coffee
Or a Cup of Tea
Arising the whole fullness in
The emptiness within me.
The morn spun another page
Of my erstwhile diary
With the deeds of that very day,
Too much absorbed I’d be in
Savoring the flavor in me
So that my time spilled out
Of my clenched fists
Might never be in futile.
*
pushpatuladhar, 13 november 2020
Soi Pyei Thasin, the well-known Burmese
Cine artist, Singer and Model
after having ordained as the Buddhist monk.
Sowing my own beauty
Thriving the fruits of wealth
Out of my acting, singing,
dancing and modeling
As my keen performance
Consented the limitless joy
She attained herself accomplished
And blossomed altogether
On edge of the eyes of all her enthusiast.
When my cakkhu-vinnana
Suffer itself the amorous living as it’s -
The wrinkled complexion
Of my immeasurable beauty
The perishable nature
Of my earnest wealth
My pondering muses,
My hoping dances,
My daily kamma and its vipak
anicca, dukkha and anatta
Would I bloom totally for ever
as it is now
In the craving eyes of all her enthusiast?
Anicca is
My arduous beauty,
My deserved wealth
And my every lively affair
Dukkha is my sufferings
What’s meaning of
Me and myself
No. All’s anatta
Thrusting aside as a whole of
My beauty
My wealth
Apart from me, myself and my body
My virgin black hairs
Shaved out of my head
With the sharp razors
Implemented the Paramattha satya.
Clothed in the robes from the sangha
Grasped the bowl for viksha
Only for my matanna aahar or yagu
With the Bramhavihar
At last my dwellings in vihar.
Rinsed out all the dirt and filth
Of greed, hatred and delusion
Grasping the four noble truths
Devoted in morality or shil
Confer in concentration or Samadhi
Soaked in Panna
Cast away the ashrava
Hindering the door of rebirth
With my objective to arahat or nibbana
My adolescent steps
Pursues steadily in order
To the Visuddhamagga
Devoted to ti-sarana
Consecrated to ti-sarana
Surrendered to ti-sarana
*
cakkhu-vinnana - Eyes-consciousness
kamma – Karma or deed (action)
vipak - Results of deed or action
anicca - Impermanence
dukkha – Suffering (Four noble truth)
anatta – not self or without a self
paramattha satya - Ultimate truth
sangha - assembly (Community of Buddhists monks)
viksha – alms
aahar - modest nutriment or
yagu – the liquid rice meal
bramhavihar – immeasurables
(loving kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy, equanimity)
shil – Morality
samadhi – Concentration
panna – Wisdom
ashrava - Greed, hatred and delusion
arahat or nibbana
visuddhamagga - Path of purification or
ti-sarana - Triple gems (Buddha, Dharma and Sangha)
pushpatuladhar, 13 november 2020
Landslide came into my life without notice,
I myself am lost, not in moor,
not in cloudland, not in fog, not in haze,
not in markets, but within my
own polluted sketches.
- Excerpts from my poet friend, Nabin Chitrakar’s poetry “Formless Canvas”
In the circle of time
changing continuously in every seconds
is the poetry –
The poet’s no conscious of
When? How? Where?
crop up as if shaken
all at once by the earthquake
the mind stroke to his poetry in a second.
The spirit of the poetry encountered
the blood corpuscle of half of his body
ceased to streaming, bending into fragility.
The remaining other half
gushed in its veins naturally.
Then the posture of his body
half immovable and
other half movable
being altered instantly in its body
confronted the torture of no limit.
Neither my mind sensed
Nor your mind aware of it.
But it looked baffled
in the tears of
illimitable and immeasurable
hazy in its eyes.
In the mind of the poetry,
the inert part of its body
obstructed the motion,
the sensed part of it
forced to resume its motion,
the result of which yielded
the awful agony and anguish
that savoured syrupy in its tongue
chewed up the immovable
to restore its ability of moving again
in very efforts of the poet.
I’m too confident
Like you do.
The poet will indeed hurl
the sense of immovability
caught in his living.
*
pushpatuladhar, 13 november 2020
The melodic whispers
of the chilly breeze
rupture the seed soiled
to sprout to bloom
totally and clearly.
Squeezing the morning
drip the natural dewdrops
from the roof of my home
rinse your supple body
cleansing all the dirt and filth
blushed steadily
as the gold glittered.
Just linger for a moment
near the meadow of my mind
the frosty and icy sweats
distilled through my arduous fervor
let you feel this much serene
that craft a poetry of its nature
in my mindful mind.
Burning lava erupted
out of the crater of my mind
freezes itself into granite
carving skillfully
my living in its spirit.
*
pushpatuladhar, 13 november 2020
Can the emptiness
eavesdrops to its own words
by its ears lucidly –
in the darkness wrapping its room,
in the sound of beating its ear,
in the breathing in and out,
in the sight shimmering its eye,
in the taste arousing its tongue,
in the wrinkling its body by the winds ,
in the kissing bloom by the breeze and
in the leaf falling out of the tree?
Rhyming a moment the song of the morn
set just the morning sluggishly
in the greenery of the clear and clean forests
revealed the soaring pitch concealed in it.
May divulged it either
in the heat of thundering clouds or
in the frost of the freezing storms?
In the disease of alarming itself
by the severe wounds
bemused account at the spot
for a pretty long period
broadening and spanning
that never bringing to light in the eyes
may be already stolen by someone,
Yes ! It’s because the emptiness there.
*
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