Poems n Stories

The wind forgets the leaf it carried,   but the leaf was never lost.   It danced for a moment,   then melted into the hush of soil.   The tide swallows the footprint whole,   yet the sand remembers the touch.   A presence, erased and eternal,   the rhythm never truly gone.   The flame flickers, then fades to dark,   but warmth lingers in the air.   What vanishes does not vanish—   it merely moves beyond sight. I came, I wandering, I living, I am acting little bit but will fade one day. But then. I might exist despite my exit —    a silence turned inwards,    a breath returning to the wind.

We come to life, so pure, so bright, Like open skies in morning light. No chains to hold, no path to trace, Just breath, just being, boundless space. Yet the world began to weave, With a web of thought we start to believe. With names and roles, with dreams so high, We paint the clouds across the sky. We chase, we cling, we build, we fall, Yet something deeper calls through all. A whisper soft, a silent glow, A truth that we knew long ago. So then we walk the path once more,   To clear the sky, to find the shore. Through Karma's hands, we serve and give, Through Bhakti’s love, we learn to live. Through Jnana’s light, the veil is torn, Through Raja’s stillness, truth is born. And when the clouds dissolve away, No chains remain, no need to stay. The sky was clear, it always shone— The path we walked just led us home.

  Preamble: In the midst of our busy lives, it's easy to get lost in our thoughts and ambitions. But sometimes, the most meaningful act is simply to pause, notice, and be present with the world around us. Lately, I’ve been sensing the subtle difference between doing and being, between grasping for meaning and simply meeting what is.  A poem emerged from that space—a reminder to return, again and again, to presence.👇 Sacred Attention The tree stands, without effort or ambition— yet it reaches the sky. The wind moves, without thought or agenda— yet it carries the whole world. And here I am, a flicker of thought, a doer of deeds, often tangled in stories I’ve made. But what is more real? The hush of the mountains? The rhythm of breath I didn’t create? Perhaps my task is not to make meaning, but to meet it— in the curve of a leaf, in the silence between two thoughts. Yet, even this small self— if it can laugh without pride, act without claim, think without clinging— can become a ...

One day the "I" will die — better it die today. First from the mind, like mist in the sun. Then from the act, like shadow undone. Gone is the self, yet life flows on.

A breath—then gone.   Not stolen, not lost,   just given back   to the hush between stars.   A ripple—then stillness.   Not erased, not forgotten,   just carried forward   by unseen hands of tide.   A shadow—then light.   Not absent, not broken,   just merging   with the vastness it once feared. 

A droplet in the ocean, I rise and fall, Dancing to rhythms I cannot name at all. In the ebb and flow, I claim my way, Yet in each breath, I forget and stay. The "I" that once stood firm and bright, Now a whisper in the quiet night. Insignificant in the grand expanse, But part of a timeless, endless dance. I reach for meaning, and it slips away, Fleeting as the dawn, fading with the day. Yet in this passing, I am not lost— The waves, the sky, they carry me, tossed. "Is this me?" I ask, but the answer’s clear, A wave, a whisper, a thought to hear. Not to own, not to claim, not to bind, But to be, to flow, to unbind the mind. No longer bound by name or claim, A flicker of light without a flame. I rise, I fall, I cease to be— Yet in it all, I’m endlessly free.. PS: “Penned this while reflecting on how small we are, yet still part of something vast. Just sharing in case it resonates with you too.”