No End in Sight

I have built my death bed; It is through years of effort. It is nothing simple to say the least; or profound. It simply is a matter of illusion in this illusory state like everything else.

I spent years in trying to have a deeper connection with this existence. Building naivity and connections to the self, without breaking off from the other. But all this yielded less than any use. The lesson became more pronounced, the more I tried to break away from it. Now on my death bed; I see everything which came a full circle. All knowledge and wisdom of little or no use, the love which was built upon with the beloved, destroyed - burnt down to ashes. No one remembered the good that had been bestowed by this mortal fraility like any other else. There is no immortality or grand redemption, not even the children's story/fables which pronounce the meek inheriting the heart and earth and fitting into heaven.

The age has become extremely critical, for it had been already predicted - that the time when it comes will make man surge away from inner divinity, it will break the firmest of man's resolutions to find inner solace. Inner peace, instead a void and meloncholy will arise - which will have no base and never an end. This will be replaced by the inherent greed and tecchnological play things - like all of us in and of this day and age indulge in. We are here because we have no clue where else to be, we are here to waste time and think that it is worth our while and others. But for what base or profound reason.

Such questions have prodded me since time immemorial, and the more I searched - (no, I did not get more questions); rather the lack of questions or answers. There was no response from the universe; and where there was - was some sort of sad satirical silly joke in life. Which was supposed to befit the question for the self; in disguise.

I have worked and walked, traveled and talked. Sat and peaced; now there is simply nothing else to be. I wished for anhilation and that too I know is of no consequence. This inner search would be over, the sooner it is; another will take over.

There seems to be no end of beginning in sight, probably what god of this day and age wants us to see in plain sight. Hence he/she/it runs away from us, No there seems to be no recourse than sit and wait for the self to purge.

I have lost meloncholy and hope; replaced with the irrefutable void. Washing me over again and again. No end in sight is the best I can say.

Peace

**Aloof Time**

The Plot thickens to ripen in time

Leaving no scars of this last crimson sunlight

Sheepishly he walk into the middle of the road

To get hit by a fast moving anonymous truck

To be a part of the part which is true nature

There are lights like the butt of the cigarette

These colors form the part of the staircase, reaching somewhere closer to heaven not in my mind . In your mind

There is wanted error in the system

And all which Is left is the end of the world

Swallow all up In one go. Towards infinity rising slowly

And rising still…

There is this way which things will go, before they start afresh

And all of us are closer to the things which we stand united for

To create something new , something which makes us masters of ourselves.

There is a smaller legend associated with the death of god

It seems that we stopped the embrace to ourselves

And stop singing those little pauses which happen to us all the time

The greatest of the prophets walks still now.

Till now he is the lord of the matted hair

Not removed his anger and the dance of delusion

Of which we all sit in amazement and watch

Before all of us becomes all of none.

That which I speak can never be closer to what I never felt

There is this which flows through me, there is this itch which has never left me.

And which has all of “I” has become of I.

Leave it in peace, there is no love here.

Only the power of I filling it up

There is this pass which must be cleared

There is this love of the self which must be removed

The Buddha walks alone in the garden

Listening to his murderers speak in truth

There is no love for the Buddha , there is only knowledge of him

There is no Buddha, Kill Buddha. Kill Him now

Some speak of Sabbath as a bad element to society

Of the laziness and drone it fills us with

And with that awful sense of murder which comes is not because of the music,

And some times the word spoken is not an echo but a peeling of the soul. This is the most destructive power.

Inside or outside, You and I are burning up into this lie. Into this word.

Time to rest. Time to ripen the wine.

Time to spend in aloofness of this crime.

(A long time back write. somehow it seems to befit the crime just this moment)