Beloveds and Strangers

If we share the same color

in this worldly rainbow

swirling about in our

little fishbowl

precisely like those

two lost souls,

we will meet

as it's meant to be.

When we do,

certainly, we would

spend many an hour,

just talking;

midnights with owls

and mornings with souls,

we'll share

our stories of old!

But if our colors don't cross; different hues, different waves, 

Wouldn't we still sit together, on a park bench or ground,

and savor those nodes of silence?

-Uththara-

Artwork: https://sophiaspockets.com/2013/10/04/mosaic/

A Train Ride of The Mind

The day I found the perfect potion
for the favorite part of my mind to open,
I was lying down on a hardwood floor
with the music of the purest form;

That yellow warmth of the candle-flame
shedding the light to form the shade,
a scented breeze with the hint of sage,
citrus, lavender, an emerald haze.

The beating heart set the brewing pace,
a reminder of time, in a timeless space,
guiding the mind to leave the maze,
to move in one with the cosmic dance.

My mind, comfortably numb to the lull
unlocked those gates, once guarded well,
to a stunning, staggering world in a skull
or truly, to 'the universe in a nutshell.'

Still on the floor, with a smile on my face
I caught the best seat on the thinking-train
There was company on this pristine terrain
to chat along the way to sanity and the sane.
Left at the station of my hardwood floor
I was still tapped into the cosmic flow
as the strangest power gushing in my bones
penned in precision my secret code.

-Uththara-

Artwork: https://delacanvas.com/products/copy-of-we-are

Iftah Ya Simsim! (Open Sesame!)

A shrine made with things I gathered:
stones, bones, shells, and feathers.

Boughs, leaves, and petals withered

and the painted face of the sacred mother,

Scented candles that burn on bright

Tapestry of Van Gogh's Starry Night

A forest sky lit up with fairy lights

guided me to have my first ever sight

"Scattered are the healers, known-unknown

yet linked by a frequency, a wave of thought.

Their duties divided into dusk and dawn,"

whispered my mind with a wisdom of its own.

I wait, like Nandi, waiting for Shiva, his master,

the protector of the Word and the cosmic dancer,

gazing at the flow now slower, now faster

amazed at life and grateful for my master.

- Uththara-

Artwork: https://www.surrealismart.net/product/the-last-island-oil-painting

A Nameless Pain

The accusing grip of his words

wrings every neuron, every chord

in my brain so tight, it's a wreck.

The pain moves through my neck,

to my shoulders, pours over my spine

knocks the burning lamp in the shrine

to drip down like boiling thick black oil;

it's funny how it fills eternal voids.

Some even divert to my forehead,

making it even harder to forget;

welling my eyes and pouring down

like a melted golden crown

in borrowed robes of tears

cold, soft but fierce 

burning my eyes to a bloody-red

blotting all my tomorrows ahead.

The words are already carved so deep

in the skin of mind, it moans, it weeps

the oozing oil is a drying-up creek

the voice in my head is about to sleep

I sit down by the keys on a board

to hum the lullaby word by word.

-Uththara-

After the Leap of Faith

The leap was taken a lifetime back

been falling since

Leap of Faith

floating first, then almost flying

to the edge of time

to hit the ground.

The higher the climb,

the better the view

one milestone to another,

the best of a hike, to reach the zenith,

the steepest, tallest cliff

to lay eyes on close

to that vast magical view

 of the valley of life and take that leap

of faith, freedom, or fright

for love, life, and light.

The higher the climb,

the steeper the fall

as the earth rushes faster

towards me each second

I enjoy the view of the vast valley of life

doesn't matter if I die

crash my head, my heart

on those beds of fossilized rocks

doesn't matter, not anymore;

this view is worth it all.

-Uththara-

A Part of Everything

Everything around me moves

and I am absolutely still

I understand profoundly

how painful it is to move

the pointlessness 

of the whole action,

the utter waste

of physical, mental energy.

I lay so utterly wholely still

watching them all move.

Watching! I am not still,

not absolutely;

I watch, I think, I put'em on paper.

Everything moves

but my egoistic ego,

that doesn't want to believe,

that I am

absolutely,

infinitely,

a part of

everything.

-Uththara-

Artwork: https://www.artmajeur.com/en/zakariamejnioui/artworks/11617349/abstract-movement

Late-Night Reading

I turn the page
reading about a lucid dream.
Longing for the same,
I inhale a puff of smoke,
breath in through my teeth,
let the smoke swoosh through my throat,
and swirl in my lungs
to swoosh back and splash
in to the outward space.
My eyes follow along,
up, up, and away.
The smoke swirls and swings
to the neat beat of the energies
in the room.

A monologue begins:
You were in me
and now you are out there
for me to see;
some part of me
is in you now
and some part of you
is now in me;
we are one
the smoke and I,
I float with you
in the out open sky
as much as you lay solid
and heavy on this ground.

-Uththara-