Sprouts of Creation: Abandoned

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Abandoned

The dark clouds of indignity hover my sunlit sky

And the crows of stubbornness which caw as they fly

The weight of my love, pulls me back deep into the earth

the Gods of hallucination up there look at me with a sly.

Who has ever achieved bliss in this mortal world?

It is imperfect, patriarch and it's morals insufficient and twirled

Sheer pain is it's ability to recognize a live form

Fervent solitude it's way to keep people from being torn

And what I have I achieved? Except for flowing in it's dirty stream

Walking on lives thereof, earning for my being, a cosmetic gleam

And that purity, that hope, that I had earned through laborious grind

Is not enough today, for me and my love to bind.

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Agni-varsha

Agni-varsha; the rain of fire, one often forgets that fire purifies as it consumes, and the rain nourishes as it wets your body, your being; whilst ashes was the story of a consumption, Agni-varsha is the story of purification. It's the story a man and a woman who remained apart, who never came together because they were above separation, but they were still not apart; their souls were related, there was a strong connection; stronger than the mightiest steel, for it did not have a form, it wasn't made of matter, it was made of purity, of energy that governs this cosmos, of the energy of fire and that of the rains. Energy that links us all, the energy that nourishes our soul; only the intensity was other-worldly, only the power to conjoin cosmic in its origin.

Sprouts of creation is my obligation to fire. To its very nature to connect. For even if it apparently separates, it dissolves in itself the different forms to amalgamate, it helps fusion, it produces a new form, a stronger and a pure form, a form that is divine in its true sense.