The Dedication is to the Graciousness of the Almighty Creator who blessed us with so many blesses like the Eternal Maternity and the Souls sharing and caring for the salvation of all the beings

Ma (my mother) was severely injured on 19.03.2009, Thursday  (12:30-1:30 pm), with something blunt, on her face (as the spots can be located even after 10 days of her miraculous recovery from that fatal injury).  Though I was told that it happened  ‘through faltering while shopping’ at Kallyanpur Natun bazar, Dhaka (she lived in a rented home at the second floor of House no.-74/1/B, Block – D, Road – 6, Kallyanpur Natun Bazar). At that time none of the family members were present at home as all of them, including me, were at their respective work-places. Around 1:30 I heard the bad news and telephoned the home-worker who told me that it happened within the home (at around 2:30 when I reached home, I found the 15′-15′ front room mostly covered with  a thick layer of blood and it was difficult even for me to recognize her on that moment, she was that much defaced). Consequentially, becoming weaker, she left us on 11.07.2011. Just days prior to that day, Ethica (my younger brother’s baby girl) left us, on 30.06.2011, suffering with meningitis.  Let this note be recorded for present and future purposes of anything related to the facts described above.

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Christmas Stars                         Jog-Karta           Oum-1 by Shv.


For other parts, you are cordially invited to visit http://shuvogronthona.blog.com AND For Bangla (Bengali) Parts, you are cordially invited to visit http://www.somewhereinblog.net/blog/ShuvoGrontho2008     or you may send email requesting Bangla (Bengali) Parts.

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Book Cover of ShuvoGrontho Book-set - February, 2008   

Book Cover of bilingual (Bangla-English) ShuvoGrontho Book-set - February, 2008

Book Cover of ShuvoGrontho Book-set – February, 2008

Prelude of the presenter and copyright owner  of the Book-set  printed and published in February, 2008, the Book Covers of which is displayed above
He came and gave some of the art-works for preserving and serving to the extent possible. He spoke, as simple like anyone, about some of the inclinations about those art-labours, and about the dedication line. Close to those inclinations the preparations were done to serve them in a frame before you. And the way all these grew, you knew too, as that’s nothing new to be known by few.

May this bilingual presentation bridge the positive souls and minds, of different landscapes of the very same earth, that find anywhere in the life-flow the promises and ties to grow and let others grow.

The Parabola and The Mundane Songs were inclined to be spread through the book like parts of the main canvas. and The Monadics, Uni-Meditation, to be in booklet form. He revived some of the Drvidian drawings of collective-meditation or Mandala-chitra (contained in Uni-Meditation) and requested all to search for the others, samples of that collection were also inclined to be presented in booklets. There are episodes or parts in Bangla which were kept as it were for the sake of serving and preserving the art-works in their original form. All the art works of this Art-collection have been served in the original communicative languages of their formation and none of them are translated or transformed from themselves or from any other art-works so far it is known to the original Art-labourer/writer and to the presenter of this collection. So, to taste all the art-works of this book, the readers have to possess adequate fluency in both Bangla and English or may require to take assistance of authentic literary-translators, until the writer himself has translated them. Concerning aesthetic value of these art-labours, we like to quote from one of the statements of the Art-labourer/writer of this book– “Art-works are but the spectrum of the reality of the distinguish time-space-force playing through the prism of the Art-labourer/writer. So Art-labourer/writer deserves very minimum of the appreciations or criticisms for the art-work, though the labour and/or care for the art-labour or creativity is not beyond appreciations or criticisms. In fact it’s merely a way of sharing, like that of a farmer sharing his/her labour of producing grains for others as well.” All the literary and other types of art-labours came from one person whose intended name-sign letters are printed as Shv. He thinks that names are but merely the way of indication of a being, so he preferred the art-labours to be known in that way. His fingerprints are printed in the book for the sake of preventing the art-labours from any type of illegal or misrepresented claim or use. Purchasing this collection, you gain only the right to collect and taste the art-labours as they are. This gives you no right of reproduction of any kind other than for academic and humanitarian purposes. Persons interested for any other types of use or reproduction are requested to strictly comply with the Copyrights Laws and are advised to contact with the copyright-holder at the specified contact.

In relation to the lots of spelling and grammatical errors, more specifically in The Parabolas, we apologize and assure you that very soon there will be a comparatively error-free version for your collection. And here we like to recall the theorems “In this world full of errors nothing but the Creator alone is above the limitations of errors” and that, “NIHIL SIMUL INVENTUM EST ET PERFECTUM”.

Anyway, this collection is presented for the consideration, of the minds who remind and keep in mind, that the alternative to reading and writing is to read and write. O yes, one more personal message for all concerned – probably one international law requiring any film or document or drawing. concerning the persons or beliefs of reverence to any community, to be approved by the proper authority of that community, would suffice to close the door of hell that is causing many losses through conflicts arising out of religious or other types of beliefs.

The contents of this blog was printed in February, 2008 and has been placed online since then. Those earlier versions can be found at http://shuvogrontho.informe.com

As to any sort of interest including those of re-publication or for the purpose of collecting the Bangla parts or for collecting the drawings on joint-meditation, you are cordially requested to please contact at -

01199182983@sms.citycell.com – Short messages/e-mails up to 40 characters only.

E-contacts-
Moiinak@asiamail.com

sainteagle@hotmail.com
myworldhome@hotmail.com
myworldhome@voila.fr


THE BOOK STARTS WITH

THIS VERSE FROM THE HOLY Al-Qur’an

“Say: Allah is the One and Only everywhere;
Allah, the Eternal, the Absolute; ………”
Al-Qur’an, 112.001-2 [Al-Ikhlas (Sincerity)]

Parabola- 1.
The sun sets to set away – it’s the way days give way to the nights, it’s the way always all through the ways that the darks mingle up with the lights. The lonely kite on its end-day flight is searching for – a search for something to grip either-or. See the trees, see the clouds, sees the sky and sees the boy without toy and whose eyes rise like ever high. Sees the boy, and he sees the trees and the clouds, the flights of the kites and the sky that takes so high to wash off the pains of gains of a lonely sigh of the fatherless child growing up with his mother’s care, though he himself is not much shared by others, but by his mother, he learns to share. Running here and there the child went not wild though he went to wilds that harness the harshness of life into a light so soft and mild. From the wild, the tiny child learns too how to wash off the mundane pains and the lonely sighs. The tiny child’s mind and eyes browse through the colours of life and through the skies, the trees and clouds and the colours of the sun do the things that otherwise would have been never done. The trees and clouds, sun-rays and the skies tell him an endless tale of life free from the undue mundane lies. The green leaves, hasty clouds and the playing sunrays all over the sky, binds up the tiny mind and mother-earth with the unseen forever-tie. The tiny mind gets the best ways to find the life as life in a time and space that seems to him not so kind. The sun sets away far a way to bear in mind – the tiny boy and the praising calmness of his sight that the sun leaves behind.
The mundane charm of the warmth of a calm working Mom at the end of the day when the sunrays begin to blur, comes to her the time to pray for some from an endless sum of the eternal some. Mom, O! Mom, tired of works, but ever so calm, Mom, O! Mom, singing to her kids the holy verses and some of the psalms. Mom! a Mom, likened by the kids like the moonlit nights and the stars that blur off with the firsts of daylights. Mom, the Mom, the heavenly grace that the kids brought with them from the heaven, the grace without which the life could not be thought. Mom, a Mom, who sums up some and many of the some of life-sums. Mom, the Mom, tired of works but even then too calm. Mom, the Mom, who breeds the creed, feeds and leads them to the holy some. Mom, the Mom, breeds the kids – so need to feed them up – so works so long. Mom, the Mom, lead the creeds, seed them up, to sing the life’s lovely song. Mom, the Mom, the working Mom, the warmth of love and the kids’ innocence-charms at the end of the day give her the power to forgive and to give the best mundane things to pray to have in the life all the ways. Mom, the Mom, the working Mom, tired but calm at the end of a workful day, does not sway anyway to lead her kids in the moves through the life’s days of the busy ways.

Mom, the Mom, now old and aged and caged in two tiny rooms, waits for the breeze to bridge the memories’ chime that faded with time. Faded ? Or graded with the waves that pave the phases of faces in mundane graces ? The Mom’s stone-faced face graces the traces of mundane graces. “Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The eternal face, Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The Creator’s best mundane grace. Mom, O! Mom, O! the Mom! Closing the eyes, the face I can see. Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! Creator’s best gift only for me.” The children-rhyme with the best chime of time that belongs to none but all who can feel and still can hear the childhood call. The children’s rhymes with sublime-chimes’ wave through times -“Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The eternal face, Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The Creator’s best mundane grace. Mom, O! Mom, O! the Mom! Closing the eyes, the face can see all. Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! Creator’s best gift for us all.”

The sun sets to set away – it’s the way days give way to the nights, it’s the way always all through the ways that the darks mingle up with the lights. The lonely kite on its end-day flight is searching for – a search for something to grip either-or. See the trees, see the clouds, sees the sky and sees the boy whose eyes rise and live ever high. Rise the eyes through the skies to see beyond and within – the shall, will, are, is, am and been.

“……..Fear Allah, and hearken not to the unbelievers and the hypocrites; verily Allah is full of knowledge and wisdom. But follow that which comes to you by inspiration from your Creator: because Allah is well-acquainted with all that you do…..” Sura Al Ahzab or The Confedarates , The Holy Al-Qur’an

Parabola -1a

Sky, O Sky , O holy Sky , tell to all the root-cause of all the pains and sighs that comes but was not seen by the eyes of the child who was mild with the love of the mother-soul of the eternal goal to breed the seed of the creed to a holy goal of sharing and caring for all as a whole, in spite of the brutal facts and acts she had to face through out the life and the toll she had to pay in many ways of the nights and days of the darks that spark to jerk and shake not to remake but to break the real-form and to deform the real values and norms of the creed to proceed to the positive goal which confirms that the creed as a whole is but one to breed the seeds bound by the needs crust that must be broken for the seed to be free and to become the tree of blooming-spree to grow and flow the flowers of growers who are the pure souls of the best of the mundane-goals that don’t want to fight but work for light of the souls to work through the creative goals and to partake in the life that the Holy Soul wanted to make where nobody take more than that they may make out of work which don’t spark or jerk the pure souls neither shake to deform the pure souls’ real form to turn into an evil or a sear soul deviated from the goal that was implanted by the Holy Soul within the pure souls to reach the goals of the fusion of the creation that never ends but may bend to mend the wounds of the rounds of bounds of the negative force that try to endorse the evil trends by the bends of the sparks and jerks to shake not to remake but to break the real-form and to deform the real values and norms of the creed to proceed to the positive goal that was implanted within the pure souls.

Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell to all the root-cause of all the pains and sighs that comes out of the causes that see not the eyes of the child who was mild with the love of the mother-soul of the eternal goal to breed the seed of the creed to a holy goal of sharing and caring for all as a whole. Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell the pure souls of goals not to sigh or cry but to unite through out the sites of seen and unseen lights and to try to locate and placate the broken souls to not allow any more sear-souls to derail from the real humane-mundane-goals. Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell the pure souls of goals not to sigh or cry but to unite through out the sights and sites and to try to ignite the holy lights of the holy days and nights within the evil souls derailed from the real mundane- humane-goals.

“I hear this morning making a call -
We salute the dignified way to be united to rise,
to preserve and to be just like the truth that never fall.
Like ever, the nation is one and together, WE ALL.”
- Princess Justicia and her countrymen.

The calmness of the palms of the Mother who  sought them  into being and brought them up in the rings of things and beings to grow and let others grow as human beings working to trace the grace for the race of the races and thereby to  place the lights of the sights that were endowed by the One who has ordained to bow before none but only before that One who has created and seated the things into being and had formed the rings of the things and beings that together forms the universe being and becoming through and by the things and beings waiting for the finest of the parabola rings that might free the things and beings from the pains of the chains that give not the gains to the forms nor develop the norms of the forms to a higher phase of the cosmic nights and days mingled with the rays of the darks and lights that may or may not be seen by all the sights of the lights and darks to receive and perceive the lights and darks that spark through and to the darkest sparks of the darks when they can not be regained to do the due that they were ordained to be done by the holiest One who is the none someone and the One who is many in One who created everyone and every one of the things forming the rings of the things and beings being and becoming now and then every when since the eve of the time when was formed the first of the chimes of the sublimes of the existence and non-existence that were destined for the earliest forms of the norms that could make the storms of the things and beings form the non-being to the rings of the things and beings and then may turn again to the chain of norms that deform the forms to reform or not to form in those forms following the same norms that were normed within the earliest norm of the forms to reform or to deform those unable to reform them out of the darkest sparks they are carrying in and thereby carrying in the sparks into the rings of the beings and things.

Mother who shared and taught to share with all of the races of the holy creeds of the holy seed every bit of the graces for the races to preserve the seeds of the creeds passing through the chains of the needs that are but part of  the norms of the forms being and becoming to and from the forms and norms that they are made of or for the norms and forms of the storms of the cosmic flow  that grows and flows through and to the high and lows of the sky where nothing is high or low and neither slow but to shape their being into becoming to bring in the ever most perfect ring of the timely chime of sblime that they use to sing since the eve of the time they were into the world of the things and beings and which were ordained and were coded for the doors of the source-codes of the holiest codes to form the best of the norms to form and to reform the forms and norms whenever they may have been deformed by the darkests of the sparks that bites and hurts the other forms or norms due to their inborn defect of the norms to form themselves for reaching the goals by playing the roles that they were ordained to play since the first ray before the rounds of sounds could be found in the womb of time that made the first of its chimes to load the source-codes that are ordained by the One who is for all again for none who deforms the norms of the forms or norms that were formed and were set as the source-code of the core of mores and force before the first storm of the beings to form the rings of things and beings to bring in the seeds to breed the creed of the being with the most proper pace to grow and let others grow and flow through the stream of the things and beings that are becoming for the coming times to pass through and to reach up to the goals they are destined as forms or to be deformed by the forces of the deformed norms who force other to be deformed and to spark out their inborne forces through the courses of mal-forces that were not designed in the discourses of the source-codes of the norms to form and to reform the things and beings to develop themselves and all to a newer phase to face the newer plane of becoming to be a part of the coming time to remain together even in that plane and to proceed more to a newer time and to ensure the eternal knot of the dots and thoughts and spots of time that to be passed by them and to reach the newer plane of the sublime passing through the blooming time that is also being and becoming now and then to and from many when of the time raining the gains to get rid of the undue chains and pains that deforms the norms and forms of all the forms or norms existing in the world of the beings or non-beings that are also part of the rings of things and beings that came into being since the eve of the time and are developing to and from the newer phases of the pace of the race of the creeds to preserve to grow and flow the seeds and to breed the seeds of creeds to trace and face the needs to grow and flow through the courses of the time and to carry the source-codes’ chimes to the newer phase of sublime and forms that bring out and preserve the forms and norms to grow and flow and to follow the destined chain of the source-codes to bring in the best of the things and beings out of their forms and to preserve and bear in the norms that were ordained for their creed to breed and seed the creed and, to the newer phase, to sow and grow and flow and to contain the seeds to a newer plane of sublime and thereby to maintain the chain of being and becoming of the things to ensure that the best of the things are preserved and grown up to the next cosmic-plane to ensure the creative chain of the things of being and becoming as per the earliest of the ordained source-codes and to maintain pace as per the newer cosmic-planes to sustain and contain the gains through the pains and chains as may be found in the nature of the Mother mundane.

“Naibā stree Nā pumaneshnā choibaŷong nopunshākh

Jod Jochchhorirmadolte tēn tēn sā rakhsnyatē.” – Shetashwatar Upanishad, 5/10

[And this spirit of life is of neither sex, nor is either or other sex,

Due to the works, having distinguished figures, gains the gains and pains therewith.]

Parabola- 2.

The Conch-shell rang the bell to tell the tale of millions years of tales that tell about gains of love and pains of fears. The Conch-shell spheres the spirals in and out but not to bend the spiral that rounds in many but to be one at the end. Conch-shell ! Tell the tales of the brightest way to the slightest ray to carry in the rays that rise the way that for ever been in the waves and the dots that the sights seldom slight out through the flights of lights. Conch-shell ! Tell the tale of millions mundane-years after years of love, gains and pains bound by the ropes of hopes, and torn by the fierce spears of fears and tears. Conch-shell ! spiral in and out but never bend but mend the millions rounds of bounds to be one at the end.

Conch-shell, tell the tale of the bluest sky – the sea of lights flying high, the light-sea that the eyes never see though they too fly in that sky which is azurite in spite of its own belonging-less-ness. The sky that reminds the “I” about the ways the things came into beings out of nothingness. The sky that plays the rays to play the plays of the conch-shell’s many-one ring that says the ways how the first-most things came into being. Conch-shell, tell the tales of seas, rivers and streams that stream in and out of all in their mundane streams of dreams that dream to be in the dreams of the sublime light’s streams to bright up the flights of the highest sights.

Conch-shell – the tale that’s forever to tell. Not so bright and not so dim. Nor like stream or a dream. Not so loud nor so low, but enough to flow for ever to grow on the window-panes or in the dens with the senses of the thinnest lenses of hence and thence. Not so low nor so high, but enough to fly in an endless sky of beings to bring in the rings that spiral in and out but never bend to mend many ways’ round that to be found as one at the end. Conch-shell, tell the tale that’s yet to tell – the tale that’s too old again so new, the tale that tells of the things that all do to tell the tales that are in them, us and you.

Conch-shell, tell the tale of the greenest leaves that live through the ages of beliefs that relieve none yet do live and believe in the beliefs that leave none and relieve all to relive. Tell the tales that forever tell the sweetest chimes of the times that make the times’ timeless rhymes in sublimes. Tell the tale that never fell in any mundane facts or dreams, but flows in all like a water-fall, river or stream. Tell the tale that tells the tales of the tales that wave low and high like the sea or the sky, or, like the sky or the sea pave the waves and dots of the brightest spots of the sky’s flights all through the sea that very few may see. Conch-shell, tell the tale that tells the tales of the ways we may and should do the things that are yet to do, tale that tells the tale of being and becoming of them, us and you. Tell the tales to bring the things to the beings’ rings that spiral within and without in and out but never bend or mend the many-way-round that’s to be found to be but one at an endless end to which all tends to bend.

Conch-shell, tell the tale that never fell, tell them the Conch-shell-tale that’s for all for ever to tell.

Óbwn ‡e‡ib †eivwb m¤§š—xÕa Kz`vPbs,

A‡e‡ib P m¤§wš— Gm a‡¤§v mbš—‡bv|Ó – a¤§c`, hgKeM©-5

[kΓZvi Øviv kΓZv KL‡bv cÖkwgZ nq bv, kΓnxYZvi Øviv kΓZv cÖkwgZ nq| RM‡Z BnvB mbvZb ag© ev g~jbxwZ|]

Parabola-2a.

See the ice-sea, dark in the midst of snowstorms full of mist loud crowd of large ice-islands stretching their chilling hands in the forms of storms of drowsy mist sweeping north-south-west and east. The way they sway and the way they grow and flow so slow are but the ways yet to know. Know the self but through the One, who is none but many in one. Bygone ways and bygone flows in the highs and lows of the glows that come out of shiny leaves and flow on through the knots of those who believe that they live to relieve, leave and relive.

See the twilight of starlights – the flights they had through endless sites that the mundane sights seldom see, sites where you find nothing though that cannot be. See the starlights being born in and around that ‘nothingness’ with in and out with the ins and outs. See the time to take birth and to walk about the paces of spaces that had never been but to take birth from the time within. See the races of paces that made spaces. See spaces that pace the race and see the faces of time through the phases of times. Read the rhymes of times of an endless chime where times grows out of the time that had never been, to contain in, without time from within the time flows in the time that grows without the space-race of the pace in or out.

See the time breeze that bridges spaces so far from where they’d be or where they are. See time-waves in the timeless sea that paves the chimes of times for us, them, you and me. See the stars taking birth in their mother times’ wombs, and see the non-space from where the space blooms. See the time’s chimes that forever sing in and about the spaces’ parabola ring. See the time-doors that pass through the mores of the Four of force. See the time-light that shine bright to help us see it through the races and paces of places that you seldom see. See the time-waves in a timeless sea paving the time for us, them, you, s/he and me.

“Do not do that unto others that you expect not from others to be done to you.” – Old Testament.

Parabola- 4.

The granite sky has showered for long, and yet to shower for some more hours. The wind streams in the room through windows. On the other side of the window, the gainful paddy swaying with its grains and winds. Abreast into the waters that came down from the northern hills, the mountain – ‘where lives the god of rain’, the paddy gainful of its grains dance in the rains. The greens of shades on the blades of the bunch full of grains gaining again the grains of rains. The charming smile of the green that had, have and shall have been in the waves of time, playing with the rains painless chimes through on the waves to let wind pave its ways coming from far a way far away from the river-mouth and further south where no bounds of land can be found and the sea hues the views of blues around. Here are the winds, here they are, far from the sea of the blues’ hues near and far, here they are, playing with the tenderness of the green, here they are, where they had-have and shall have been.

The time open itself up and closes in the winds, rains and greens. The time pace the space with the phase of grace that place the race without trace. The time closes out, the time opens up again in, as it had, have and shall have been in the flows within out and in and mingles with the wind, rain and green. The wind flows out, the wind comes in and mingles with the time-rain and green. The rain rains out and rains in the graceful scenes that the time contained in the mind growing out of the minds that grows within, the green flows out and in the greens blowing in the green winds in the minds’ mindful scenes. The time opens up and the time closes in mingling the jingles of rains grains, winds and green of the life growing in and out without and within the minds, winds, times, chimes, rains, grains and greens.

No friends, no family, no foes or kin – with him, to share these gains of the rains and grains – gains that came with a mundane rain. The windows blow in the smell of the rain that seldom tell its own gainful mundane tale. He watches the course of a mundane discourse. He goes through the doors without force through the doors of force and the doors of mores of doors to make the blows with winds and glows with the greens that chimes with times to pay time in the rhymes that he gains through the rains and grains far a way far away from the chains and pains. He watches the course of a mundane discourse. He faces the grace without trace and binds the minds with the kinds that he finds. The life too binds out and in from within the minds, winds, times, chimes, rains, grains, and green. The life is in and out without within, as all had, have and shall have been in the minds, winds, times, chimes, rains, grains, and green.


Virtus, repulsae nescia sordidae # Intaminatis fulget honoribus.

Nec sumit, ant point secures # Arbitrio popularis aurae. ”

Horace, od., iii, 2, 17

[Virtue, repudiating all base repulse, shines in taintless honours, nor takes nor leaves dignities at the mere will of the vulgar.]

Parabola- 5.

Sounds of bounds ground around him for the theme for the rounds to be found abound for the crowneds that surround the sounds in the bounds of grounds but never round the sounds that come around to be found to be good and of height albeit sometimes without chimes and may seem to be crude but not shrewd in the theme that may deem all to share and flair in the darks the sparks of lights not to fights but to enbright the lights of sights to bring the rights of mights of the lights found not by sights but insights and by the lights that gourd the rites of the rights that do not fight but enlight all the lights altogether for all to gather in this mundane-home, as not to Rome but to home all the roads roam around for the bounds that the leaves of beliefs leave for us – we the mass that seldom pass through the doors of mores that the forces course on us and tell to pass the tails of the tales that none do know but ever grow for the mass not to pass through the doors of mores and to reach the cores of the doors of mores deciding passes through impasses by those who seldom passes the test of mores of the doors that they impose and show no respects for the suspects to self-prove or to improve the move of bounds that round beyond doubt from without without sights of rights but with those of rites that fail to bright up the light of mights of rights that care for either or that care for and do share the flairs that flair in the sparks out of darks of sights not to fight but to invite the lights of sights to bring in and sing the mights of rights of the sights and rights not bound in sites but insights and through the sights guarding the rites of the rights that do not fight but flight all the lights altogether for all to gather in this mundane-home, and not to roam around Rome but to and from the home found around for the rounds.

Grounds of sounds found the rounds where to grow and so to sow the row to care and/or share for the flairs to spark the darks of sparks of the lights that do not fight but do bright the rights of lights to bring the rights of rites of the sights bound in insights but not in sites and by the sights that guard the rites of the rights that do not fight but invite all the lights for all to gather altogether in the mundane-home, as, not to Rome but to home all the roads roam around for the bounds.

Non est, ut putas, virtus…..

Timere vitam; sed malis ingentibus

Obstare, nec se vertere, ac recto doure.” Seneca, Phoen., i, 190

[…….. it is no virtue to fear to live; virtue consists in withstanding great evils, and not in retiring and shrinking from them.]

Parabola- 6.

Share and care for the flairs that dark the sparks of lights not to fight but to invite the kites of lights to bring and sing the rights of mights to the sights not found in lights but in insights and in the sights that guard the rites of rights not to fight but to bright all the lights altogether for all to gather in this mundane-home, and not to roam around Rome but to and from the home found abound for the rounds.

Care to share for the flairs that spark the darks of lights not to fight but to ignite the lights of sights to ring the lights of rights of the sights not bound in sights but in insights and in the sites that guard the rites of rights that do not fight but to bright all the lights altogether for all to gather in this mundane-home, and not to roam around Rome but to and from the home found around for the grounds of rounds.

Share to care for the flairs that jerk the sparks of lights not to fight but to invite the sights of lights to bring the mights of rights of the sights not bound in lights but in insights and in the sights that gourd the rites of rights that do not fight but do bright all the lights altogether for all to gather in this mundane-home, not to roam around Rome but to and from the home found around of the rounds of grounds.

Share to care for the darks that sparks in/from the lights not to fight but to invite the sights of rights to bring the sights of mights of the lights not bound in sites but in insights and in the sights that guard the rites of rights that seldom fight but to bright all the lights altogether for all to gather in their mundane-home, but not to roam around Rome but to and from the home found around for the rounds of sounds.

Share and care for the sparks that dark in/from the lights not to fight but to invite the knights of lights to bring the lights of sights of the rights not bound in lights but insights and in the sites that guard the rites of rights that rarely fight but to bright all the lights altogether for all to gather in the mundane-home, though not to roam around Rome but to and from the home found around the rounds.

Rounds of sounds found the grounds where to sow and to grow and flow the rows to care and share to flair the darks to sparks of lights not to fight but to alight the lights of sights to end the fights for rights of the sights not bound in sites or rites but by insights and in the sights that guard the rights of rites not to fight but to delight all the lights together for all to gather altogether in this mundane-home, as, not to Rome but to home all the roads roam around for the grounds.

Quum veritatem, qua liberator, inquirat : Credaturei expedire, quod fallitur.” Saint Augustine, City of God, iv. 31

[Seeing that he enquires into the truth so that he may be made free, it is thought fit he would be deceieved.]

Parabola- 7.

Then they came without step-sounds, they came through the rounds of bounds, they came through the boundless grounds breaking all through the bounds of rounds. They came without any step-sounds, they came the way they always did – the way that is never reached by the rewards of greed or bid – the way that shines above all the ways like always, the way that is never reached by mass-compliance, fashion or craze. They came through the steppe’s sounds where grounds end but at sky-rounds. They rounded with them millions grounds that the mundane-rounds rarely found. They came without any bounds of sounds, they came the way they always did – the way that reigns and rains above all the ways as always. They brought with them the best of the seeds yet to breed. They came along a long long way through the way that no one leads, they came through a long journey where none eats or drinks but feeds – the way that gains about many a ways like always without bids. They came without any foot-prints, nor may anyone find their step-sounds, but through the steppe’s sounds they came to bring in the boundless grounds.

They came through the days and they came through the mundane-nights – bringing with them the rays and darks mingled with the shades of lights to bright up for the sights’ lights that bright up the brightest flights of the rights to light up the sites when darkness darkens sights. They came through the lights and shades of the brightest mundane lights and darks’ shades, they came with the rightful mights to lighten up the sights of all that is made. They came to lighten up without any jerks or sparks. They came to the rightmost places in the rightmost times. They rang no bell but sang the life’s sweetest chimes. They came without any step-sounds though they came through the steppe grounds. They came through the steppes’ sounds and bound the bounds of the groundless rounds. They came the way they will, do and did – the way that is never reached by the rewards of bids or greed’s grids, the way that like ever breed the best of the seeds of the creeds. They seed along a long long way that they ground in the boundless grounds of the soundless rounds that found in themselves roundless bounds.

They came through the lights and shades of the brightest mundane darks and lights, they came with the rightful mights to lighten up all that is made, they came to lighten up without any jerks or sparks. They came through the steppe grounds without any step-sounds. They came to the rightmost places in the rightmost times. They rang no bell but sang the tale of the life’s sweetest chimes. And in the times they sang at times to the times the best mundane hymns through the door of “the Four” of the force and through the force of the mores. In the crowd but not aloud, washing off the pains of chains, they reigned the rains of the gains that is for every now and then.

“When they came, in what name, to play their parts in the eternal game, in which spots ?” question lots. They may say or may not say, who are they, where, when or for what not they are they. I too do not say, but, by the way, the ways I see thy came. All the way I dissent anyway to frame them by giving name. But all way long all along I see them in the rightmost places in the rightmost times – they ring no bell but sing the tale of the life’s sweetest chimes. All way long and for far long along I see them singing amongst the endless mundane songs –

“So long you care for others too,

What you do are not wrongs.”

Quod beatum aeternumque sit, id nec habere negotii quidquam, nec exhibere,alteri ……” Cicero, De Nat., Deor, i.17

[What is blessed and eternal, has neither any business itself nor gives any to other.]

Parabola- 8.

Tiny cloud is not proud of the gains that it rains through the ways but never sways to bade the rays that never fade to its shades of the grades of the blades of lights in the nights of mights without sights of the knights who bright the lights of the sights that bring in the singing birds and “the Third” of the four to open the doors on the shores of the sea of sights of rights to bring in flights of the singing lights to fly high in the sky where glow the lights in their flows and the flights mingle in the song they sing for the days yet to come sometimes in gruesome times without chimes of sublimes and that’s why try to fly high in the sky to grow in and out within and without the pledges of ages to row, flow and grow through the flows that flow through the shapes of grapes of minds in the kinds of their own that are grown by the toils out of soils of the finest grains of the brains that neither pain nor enchain the flowers and growers to bring in the songs to sing to ring in the flow to grow that which grows and grows to flow the flows that never low in the sights for sites or mights without rights but bring in the singing lights that never fight but for saving eternal rights growing forever and ever through the flowing lights of sublime sense of immense time-paradigms of the timely chimes of the time that shrouds the crowds of the proudest prouds and knows that the tiny cloud is never proud of the rains that it gains or of the gains that it rains, though it may shine in the shades of “the Nine of the shrine” to know the ways as some may say this-that way to sway the ways to grow in the growing flows for bringing in the singing lights singing in and around the shrine of “the Nine of the shrine” –

What is mine, in this shrine ?

Where we believe to live !

Believe ! We live to leave and relieve to relive.

The man in the wilderness asked of me

“How many strawberries grow in the sea ?”

I answered him as I thought it good,

“As many red herrings grow in the wood !”

English Nursery Rhymes of Bignold.

Parabola – 9.

Tiny cloud is not proud for raining rains, nor is it in itself split out of chains of pains that give no gains or the shiny days, always and all the ways tiny cloud moves on and on through the nights and the days – not nights nor days known to us and to you, not the nights or the days of mundane-due, nor days or nights of orchid-dew, but the nights and the days of tags and flags of endless time that seem to everlast gently waving on the time-ship’s mast – days of sights through nights of days in the ways the clouds may find cloudly days and nights of some other kinds of shades of some other lights that brighten up the ways even of the tiny cloud on the mundane flight – lights of sea that we may not see and the lights of green of places over which s/he had been, sea of lights yet to see in the seas seen/unseen by the mundane sights and the sparkling lights of sparking darks that are on and on on the flights through the cosmic night – carrying in all the lights of the way, tiny cloud softly makes the ways through endless sights and lights.

Tiny cloud is not proud for chaining pains, nor is it in itself split out to gain the rains or to rain in gains of rains that rain down the gains of grains and wash off the pains of rains to bring down to earth the mundane ways of softening up mundane nights and days, through its ways tiny cloud flights the lights on ways and reads the much s/he may read the news and views of muses as may be found on ground in morning-evening dues listed on the news of orchid dews and through the cues it makes its flights through nights, yet not proud, tiny cloud passes through stars with the shiny verse of a tiny song, that s/he brings but never sings out to make others sing, the song of the never-proud tiny cloud with the chime of verse of timeless timely songs –

So long you care for others too, what you do, are not wrongs.

Liquidas, purique simillimus amni ……..”

[Liquid and like a crystal stream ….] - Horace, Epist., ii. 2.120

Parabola – 10.

Tiny cloud is not proud of the way on the way but never sways, basing on what others may or may not say through the way, though listens to all but to share as they may say to care in their ways, and all the ways tiny cloud passes through the crowd of clouds – some of them singing soft, some talking/smiling mild, some wild and loud – tiny cloud passes through crowds of clouds and through the doors of times it carries in its own mundane chimes and verses of times through the clouds and stars tiny cloud makes its way but never sways on the way though makes its flights of heights to sing in and bring the lights that shine bright to alight the mundane sights through sightless nights of mites of sites and sites of mites and to highlight the mights of rights to see and to let others see the wrongs and rights of the darks and of the lights.

Tiny cloud, the shiny cloud is humble, meek and thin enough to grow from within – from with in or out ? none may say without doubt about the tiny cloud’s what-when-where about – in or out, tiny cloud cares not about that sort of cohort things but brings in the songs to sing in or out without or about the tiny clouds and their chime-glows through time-flows to grow and flow to bring in and sing the songs of gains raining rain of the rains of gains washing off the pains of chains and chains of pains – the songs of rains – the jingles to mingle the clouds seeing, listening, whispering, talking or singing mild, soft, loud or wild – altogether to gather all together and to say –“Small or tall, let us all, be not proud and listen to the Tiny Cloud for the song that s/he brings and sings within. Small and tall, let us all, be not proud and sing with the Tiny Cloud bringing in the tiny shiny song-

“So long you care for others too, what you do may not go wrong.

So long you are sure of others caring for all and you too, don’t think ’em wrong.”

Perfecto non deum, quem non possunt, sed semet ipsos pro illo cogitantes. Non illum, sed seipos, non illi, sed sibi comparant.”

Saint Augustine, City of God, xii. 15

[Certainly they do not imagine God, whom they can not imagine; but they imagine themselves in his stead : they do not compare him, but themselves, not to him, but to themselves.]

Parabola- 11.

Talks that shock and the talks that rock, talks that chalk and talks that block the talks that talk of talks to shock and rock that which do not preach or teach but chalk and block the talks for the lights of enlightening sights of rightful mights that ever bright to end the blights that slight and blight the growths of the rightmost sights and oaths of lights that never fight but for the rightful rights of the lights and sights that see through the nights of the mundane sights and sow in to grow in and to flow in the ins and outs of the outmost out to flower out the flowers and growers of the eternal lights of sights’ rights and mights through the sites that ignite the sparks of thoughts to the lots of spots that are trying to grow in the flow of lights that grow the flow through the highs and lows of the glows in the mundane skies that fly so high not to sigh or shy to face the race of races for graces to believe in to leave traces of the times and places that embrace out and in that had been and will ever be in the sea of lights that you seldom see in the spree to flower the flows that never slow to sway on its way to the eternal light that forever bright to give to the mundane flights the mights they may need to feed and lead a way free of greed – the lights, bytes and sights, rights, mights and sites and even some bites of bights.

Talks that shock and chalk the rocks that block the talks for thought-rays that never sway on their ways to bring in the days of the singing lights that fight the sparks of darks by engaging the gazing skylarks who spark the days to come in through the mundane songs they use to sing through the rings of times of the sublime chimes that bring in the singing rhymes and hymns that may for ever be in the waves that pave the flights of the sea of lights that we seldom see in the spree of the growers to grow the things that bring the things to grow and flow the growers and flowers of humane-lights that never fight but for the utmost lights of the rightmost sights of the rights and flow in and out without doubt the glows that flow and grow through the rows to row the seeds to sow in the flows of flowers and growers of chimes of times that never end neither bend down before the matters’ forces that enforce the courses that matters to matters that scatter through the earth the paths to the shiny lawns of the mundane dawns of the bygone dragons that drag on triogon, quadragon, pentagon, hexagon, octagon, decagon, centigon and so on to the shapes of the grapes of thoughts that grow in lots of spots and blot in the lot of lots of the spots thriving to grow out the flow of the flowers of growers of the things that bring the times to sing the timely chimes of sublime songs that forever shine –

What’s not mine, in this shrine

Where we believe to live !

Believe ! We live to relieve and leave to relive.

Et plaga coeli non solum ad robur corporum, sed etiam animorium facit …….” Vegetius, i. 2

[The climate of efficacy, not only to the strength of bodies but to that of souls also……]

Parabola- 12.

Cloaks of clocks who never lock the talks to light the sights to see though the sea of clocks of cloaks that flock the rocks to chalk to shock or block the talk of the time through the chimes of the paradigms that ever grew in the old and new by a few who never knew their dues to be done to the dews of a winter dawn though they too grew to go through the lawns and lanes of the dawns that are yet to be drawn on times’ pages of ages that cage the sages and guess the guilt through their built-in gates of mind-sets that were built though by the rightful sights but by the needs that bleed the creed throughout ages by crazes that sledge the thoughts of the lots of the spots where millions flowers grow to the flow of the flowers of growers of the light to lead the seed and breed the humane-light through the mundane nights of the greed’s and grids of needs that beget the biggest human needs to a scale that often fail to tell the ever-agreed needs to seed and breed the creed that’s not haunted by the greed though goes by the flocks of clocks that brings the rings of lights that sing up the flights of the rightmost sights of the time out of the paradigm of greed and needs that are so far seeded and needed indeed to breed through the seeds of the creed of the lights of sights of wrongs and rights to light the mundane nights that darken over nights the sights of wrongs and rights to highlight the high lights not through fights but through enlightening the lights of sights that flow to grow the growers of the flowers of the flows of people to grow in and out without doubt to be condemned in the further times that give the timely chimes of times through the hymns and rhymes from time to times without clocks not to lock, shock, block or rock but to the talks for flocks of folks altogether to gather all together to gather.

Run the clocks and the flocks of the cloaks as run the time-space in its race to trace itself in the shelf of paces’ sea-hills on the heel of the tiny wheels of the times of the sweetest chimes that come out of times’ paradigms of time-spaces in the races for the graces of the phase of the base of time that’s grown in sublime chimes of times time to time through the clocks and the cloaks of the flocks that never block the shocks to rocks but chalk the talks to block the rocks that shock the clocks of the flocks of the time to pave the waves of behaves on behalves of those who don’t halve to be ‘have’-s though there are millions who do not have any of the halves of the hubs even on behalf of their halves though they behave too having all the goods to breed the seeds of the creed, and indeed the halves in the hubs too need to breed the seeds of the excel-grids for the times of needs that run the clocks, flocks, cloaks and the strokes of the spokes of spaces that forever race in its paces of races’ races that trace and place the races in its rightmost places for the brightest graces of the best times and spaces of the endless paradigms of space-times.

Qualis ubi alterno procurrens gugite Pontus. # Nunc ruit ad terras, scopulosque superjacit undam # Spumeus, extremamque sinu perfundit arenum: # Nunc rapidus retro, atque aestu revolute resorbens # Saxa, fugit, littusque vado labente relinquit.”

Ænid, xi. 624

[As when the sea, rolling with alternate tides, now rushes on the land and foaming throws over the rocks its waves, and with its skirts overflow the extremity of the strand: now with rapid motion, and sucking in the stones, rolled back with the tide in its retreat, and with the ebbing current leaves the shore.]

Parabola- 13.

The forms of norms that perform through the forms of preformed storms with the norms of forms that inform you whereabouts about the shouts that you fear to hear far or near the storms of the forms of norms that shut the huts and the doors of newer mores not for all but for only few of the new doors to cores to enforce the forms of norms that had ever been to form in the norms of forms without bounds of grounds that round the rounds of grounds of norms of forms where form the norms that apt to form up to forms of norms of the time-races’ paces for spaces to perform the preformed storms of the forms and norms out of the things that seldom bring the rings of the rounds that are found in the bounds of the grounds that seed the creed to breed out newer times out of times without forms to perform the norms of forms that form in the paradigms of space-times.

The pre-forms of norms of forms that forms out of norms to form the norms performed through the chimes of times that bring in lights of sights of the rightmost knights of lights with the rightful mights of rights and never fight on life-way but never sway to reach, preach, teach, or, if needed, even to breach the goals of the roles of the rolls of souls that care and share the lights of sights that mark the darks that spark the chimes for the times and sublimes that sing to bring in the rings of wings to fly so high in the sky that always have the lights of nights that are there everywhere in life-sea that one may see within the pace of time-spaces that face the phases and leave the leaves of traces of paces of the race for the phases of races of the faces for graces that trace more or less the rightmost places and phases of faces and the races of the races for the traces of graces that more or less place the race in its proper place of the phase and time for the proper chime of time to get through the doors of mores of the fours of the force endorsing the doors for the mores of the doors’ source of shores’ shores offshore and to bring in the songs to sing with more of the timely chimes of sublimes in its height, albeit the timely chimes are but the rhymes of sublime-hymns that bring in the rings of the cheerful times to sing in the singing rings of the rhyme-less times of the hymns of sublimes –

“So long you are cared for by others too,

and they and you know too

why-what-when-where-how to do,

Letting to go through the doors of time is no sin, it’s no crime.”

Tantus et purturbatae mentis, et sedibus suis pulsae furor, ut sic dii placentur, quemadmodum ne hominess quidem sae viunt”

St. Augustine, City of God, vi., 10

[So great is the fury and madness of troubled minds when once displaced from the seat of reason: as if the gods should be appeased with what even men are not so mad as to approve.]

Parabola- 14.

Pens that rain the gains in spite of the pains that drain the brains of soil that toil for the coils of life in spite of the pains that foil the toil that they carry with them beneath the frames of the names that never game but is gamed by the flames of blame-games that take place to redress the pains of enchained faces of places but never trace the paces to readdress the phases of races’ races that cage the faces loved by times to end the sins and crimes with no doubt through the paradigms of timely chimes in and out of forms or norms of the storms that grow in the thin and flow to grow in the glows of the flows of time with the sublime-lights of the rightmost mights that seldom fight but in the nights of sparks of darks all along in the silent zone of the grown that are yet to grow in the flow of growers of flowers of the flows that never slow the paces in the race of races for graces that comes from within to bring in the songs yet to sing in the rains of the gains that never pain or enchain the brains to move the pens but to remove the pains of chains and chains of pains to bring the rings of the rains of gains through the mundane gains of timely rains.

Non equidem hoc studio, bullatis ut mihi nugis, pagina turges cat …….secreti loquimur :” Persius, Sat., Vol.-XIX

[I study not to make my pages swell with empty trifles; you and I are talking in private!]

Parabola-15.

This is the ground that I found to sow the seeds of the creed that breeds in and out far about the doors of mores yet to grow, so, it’s the ground I never bound to be solely mine. If you found on your round the same ground, surely that’s too fine. It’s my mores of doors to let you come through one of the doors of some given mores of words’ sum, it’s the lump sum of some things of same thing that I bring to you on my way in my ways. Have you got the dots of thoughts in your ways on your way ? The ways you got, the ways I brought and the ways they are, are never the same, may be near or far away from being same to them and yet too far from where they are, as the mar march in them, you, me and the paces of time-spaces that we leave and live. So, leave the leaves of beliefs that don’t relieve and relive to relieve and let others live. The way I try to live to relieve minds from chains of the brute-most kinds are the doors of mores to go through the timely chimes of minds of them, mine and that of yours. The mores we leave, the mores we live to bring the mores yet to come, the doors we leave behind doors of mores not to find, the mind that they try to bind by pains of chains and chains of pains, the gains the mind gains by freeing out of pains and by pulling off the chains of unjust mores’ scare-crows, the seeds it breeds for the creeds, the trees it grows, the paces it places in races of the time ever to flow – are but for all, and also for you and mine. You too knew the very same game ! surely that’s too fine, as then you too are amongst the few of those who may read – so read again and again without pain this chain-seed that breeds in it its own creed to seed back and forth the Fourth of mores of doors of the Four of force.

Quid juvat hoc, templis nostros inducere mores ?

O curvae in terris animae, et coelestium inanes! ” Persius, ii., 61,62

[Into our temples to what end introduce our own corrupt manners ?

O souls bending to the earth, devoid of all heavenly sentiments !]

Parabola-15a.

The doors you go through to grow the mores you know to flow on your way to the Four of rows and force, and of those who bow in rows, all grow the much as they may in their way through the ways to the force of the Four, as to be force of cores as before, through the doors of mores that we all go to go to the goals are but the mores of the Four of doors of mores of force and force of mores to grow and let all grow. So grow to grow in and out of the why-what-when-where about without and within the thin of the finest seeds of the creeds that forever breed the seeds of the force of doors of the Four or more of the mores of doors that we all have to pass through. As all did, do and shall, so do also we, they and you too.

And feel the ground that we found to be of its kind to find our ties, it’s the way that never sways any other way on its way towards the life that seldom dies. Feel the mind that we find to be the same though far we are in time-space-frame and in pace of forms and norms and names’ games, but the mind is the same as we found it to be the ground to breed seeds of creeds of the best of creeds as we found all way round through the bounds of boundless bounds of same grounds on which the rounds of course endorse the doors, force and mores to reach all to preach their, your and mine and to recourse the courses of discourses to course our minds to shores of cores of the source. Feel into the depth of mind, O! holy mind, yes ! it’s soul – amongst the sole goals of all the goals is the soul. In time-frame, the body, mind, norms and forms are the grounds of force and the doors that all have to grow and let others grow to flow and to pass through. As all did, do and shall, so do also we, they and you too.

Sic volvenda aetas commutat tempora rerrum; # Quod fuit in pretio, fit nullo denique honore; # Porro aliud succedit , et e contemptibus exit, # Inque dies magis appetitur, floretque repartum # Laudibus, et miro est mortales inter honore.” Lucretius, v, 1275

[For thus revolving time changes the seasons of things; that which was once in estimation becomes of no reputation at all, while another thing succeeds and bursts forth from contempt, is daily more sought, and when found, flourishes among mankind with praise and wonderful honour.]

Parabola-17.

Love not me, love not me, O ! my love, love not me, nor my name. Love not me, love not me, love not the shadows of the flame. But do love, O ! my love, you have to love the sharpest flames of life-game that, you know, forever flow through all of us. O ! my love, you have to love the chorus in the core of us that we contain in the chorus chime of time’s best rhymes that for ever been. Love not me, not my name, do not love the outer crusts, but do love the thrusts to love that ever last. Love not me, not my name, nor the fame gained by the way, but love the lovely love for works that never sway. ‘What others may think or say’ care a bit for that anyway, but do care and care to share the much you can on your way. Love not me, nor the songs that grate the great wrongs to the bound, but love the times that shower the brighter chimes not yet found. Love not me, not my self, nor my mind, but do love as you have to, love my kind – the humankind. Love to love, O ! my love, love to love the love to share and dare to love, O ! my love, and care for the souls who care to share.

Love not me, the me they see, love not the greens that are on the scenes that may be seen, but love the love, O ! my love, love the love of life for life that forever been. Love not me, nor the way I had to play the given roles, but love to love my love that you have to love, love my goal, O ! holy souls ! Love not me, or the eyes you may or may not see, but love the skies where fly the eyes of the “lonely crowd” of life- sea. Love not me, nor the arts – they are but the ways to say, but love to love the ways of love that I may, but never say. Love not me, the me that one may see in the mundane sea of life in the highs and lows, but love to love my love for the people who love to love the love that grows and flows.

Love not me, nor the mind that you try to read, but love to find the seeds that breed the seeds of the creed. Love not me, nor the gains or the pains, but love my love for the love of the loveful mundane rains that sing all along the rainy song –

Shall come I

The way we do

Through the doors in them, us and you.

Shall come you

The way we did

Through the doors of seeds of the highest creed.

Shall come we

As we are

Through the doors within, near and far.

Ipsa consuetudo assentiendi

Periculosa esse videtur, et lubrica;” Cicero, Acad., ii., 21

[The very custom of assenting seems to be dangerous and slippery.]

Parabola-18.

The eyes see not the seas, sees the mind. It’s the mind to see the sea that calls behind to see the shades of the waves that never rest but till the clouds shower their best for the trees. The mind sees the seas full of lives and full of rays of the ways that the lives do live – the mind says, “It is azurite shine” – the eyes believe to live the ways to relieve and relive. Leave the leaves of the make-believe beliefs and believe to live, relieve, leave and to relive through the pages of ages of you and mine, and mind the minds of all its kinds in the ways you may find – mind, it’s the shrine where lived, live and to live millions sages of the ages who come to grow and sow the seeds of creeds’ learning through the burning pages of ages to bind the minds in all the kinds in the way you or they may find. Mind the minds of the purest, greenest, greatest and kindest kinds that find and bind the minds of all kinds in the ways to do the ways that may ray in thousands ways that all knew but yet are the newest new. Mind the minds of the greatest minds of their purest kinds that find and bind millions minds through the sea that you may or may not see. Mind the minds who find and bind the millions minds by putting the life-sea yet to see before us, them, you and me. And see the seas of seas, as they too see many of us, them, you and me.

“It’s my way to say that they may say in their ways in millions ways.” He told you – a handful few tales that you too knew about the life-seas. He sees the seas through the minds as he finds – the seas where all try to rise as that’s wise. He sees the seas and seizes the shines of the shrines into the slightest sightless eyes. Now the mind is searching a bit behind and asking to find the theme – is it the sea to see, or the way to see the sea ? The leaves of beliefs lived by sages of ages, or, the pages of ages ? Minds of kinds or kinds of minds ? The ways or their rays ? Is it the shines or shrines of sublime chimes in times through sublimes shining nowhere again so high, or is it the mind-shrine where live we, they, you and I ?

Infirmum Dei fortius est hominibus: et stultum Dei sapientius est hominibus.” I. Corinthians, i., 25

[For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weaknesses of God are stronger than men.]

Parabola-19.

Knot the not-s of the spots where lots don’t go, plot the slots of the blots that Helots don’t sow. Sow the rows and know the toes that foes don’t do, row the lows of the flows and grow the “know”-s that should you. Grains of rains will wash the pains of the body and the mind. Chain or gain every now and then should not be able to make you blind. Mind the kinds of the minds behind and sow the rows of bodies, soul and minds. Rains of grains will free the brains and will bring the gains yet to find. Rains of gains will break the chains that have blinded so many minds. Mind not ever to mind the kinds that cause for minds with sores of hurts. Bet to wait on your fate at any rate to open the gate for the heartfelt heart of the hearts.

Knot the lots of the spots that never blot with mundane change. Range away the range of avenge that shadows like the stone-henge. Net the late-s of alike fate to get through the simile-gates. Don’t let the gates to do the fates and slate the plates of newer dates. “Dates get the gates albeit to bet the fates on the due most day. ” they may say, but never sway anyway on the way to reach the gates of the shrines ofTibet. Reach it in your way.

Not the lots, but the thoughts of Helots and sages, drew the cue of the foremost few in all ages. Fast or slow, the time may flow, through the waves of the times. Thrust to burst the glow of the chimes of times’ flow, grow deep and slow in the soundless rhymes. Chime the time, in sublime of the lots. Spot the dots of blots of the knots of saintly thoughts. Slot the plots of the lots where the Helots cannot go to blow the dots of the not-s with the lots of knots that forever grow.

“But could youth lost, and love still breed,

Had joys no date nor age no need,

Then these delights my mind might move,

To live with thee and be thy love.”

- Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd, Sir Walter Ralegh.

Parabola-20.

The water sings, the water sings to the sky. The tiny creek sings a loveful song all way long – a loveful song. The song contains the chimes of pains and of gains. Pains of bound in a crackling sound waves for long all way long – lonely creek’s streamy song – the song of pains, the song of gains. Gains that regained again and again by the singing monsoon-rains. Rains that come in the days, rains that come in the nights. Rains that bring the darkest sparks of the brightest lights. The creek spares a little of its chimes for rights or wrongs. And all through the lifetime sings its sweetest mundane songs.

The darkest hue of the finest blue of the sky pays its due to the loveful song that he for long knew to be amongst the finest few. The greenest green of the forest’s breast whispers in joy the farthest time. The time that contains in the pains, gains, and the oldest chimes.

The joyful whistles of the muses of the birds are too with the song acting like rhythmic guards. The finest hue of the furthest blue drinks in the sunrays and takes birth anew – knew not they, as they drink the sunrays in, they will become emerald green. Green that no man made or makes but is made by the suns and the lakes. Life around and life abound, lives around like the creek’s lively sound. Lively sound ! or the lovely song ! which of the terms goes right and which goes wrong ? A song that makes the life full of sounds and brings down heavenly chimes on the mundane grounds.

He went through the village skirt and up the stream, and reached the land of joyous dreams. The deepest of the inmost themes sparks in him like the morning sun beams. Beams that wave up in the sublime sky where unite the life’s they, s/he, you and I. Far more high in that sublime sky, flies his mind, mind flies and flies. High and high in the bluest sky he rises to where the shy clods fly. Clouds of songs and clouds of mundane pains, clouds of rains full of gains. They say to him about the greenest lake, where once in a galaxy-year, a man partake to bath with the finest of the bests of the muse. Nothing new with the things he knew other than this one of the cloud-world’s news. One in a year can partake in the bath of the greenest lake with the best of the loveliest muses, and will live there so long the autumn dawn will pay its dues to the stream-side morning dews. And, if the muse is pleased to sing the rain-song in a way that does not go too far wrong, the man will gain the muse again and then up to the last days of the spring-rain.

The eldest of the clouds speak to him clear and loud – “You may be proud to win the entrance here, where lively lives share and care. But free man ! what to fear ? I am sure that you are the man of the year. The trees voted for you, and the joyful birds did too. The streams and we, the clouds all have made the choice – and the one is you. May be you knew not, or may be you knew, that, you were supported also by the rain-songs and their color-bow too. You’ve been spoken to by the butterflies, beetles and ants, and have gained the votes of the softest plants. The shiny green tiny herbs and the sunrays with their waves and curves – all voted for you, and the secret news is that you are chosen by the best and the loveliest muse. And not to say, but say must I, that the muse has given a choice of preference for you without shy. Surely you are the man who deserves all these gains. And, without pains I guess that you will be there up to the next monsoon rains. Then why do fear ! O! the best of thinking men ! Cheers for the gains ! Let us cheer !”

Mentem sanari, corpus ut aegrum,

Cernimus, et flecti medicina posse videmus:” -Lucretius, iii, 509

[We see sick minds cured as well as sick bodies by the help of medicines.]

Parabola-20a.

The man – humble, laborious, honest and meek, passed through the dreamy stream and the tiny shiny creek. Passing through the emerald greens of the mountain forest, he sat by the shiny creek to take a rest. Most laborious and honest of the time is the man with the broadest chest. And it was the dusk and the evening stars’ sparkling light in the beginning of the mundane lively night. It was the tranquil darks of far and nears – the dark that in itself fades and blurs. It was the shades of the Starry Night that caused in him a dreamy flight that creeps down to him in the sleep and takes him to the dream-house’s inside and deep. The farthest sky sang to him the oldest of the songs, the pulsars pulsed to him about the rights and wrongs. The southern breeze pulsated on his eyelids to deepen the dream – the dream that is dreamt only by the side of a mundane stream.

The blooming clouds swam past him and the night, and the moon tried to bright up the light of the mundane sight. The mundane tales, that no one tells, of the nights that shine the dream of a humble man sleeping by the side of a mundane stream.

Near and far, are the lights of the silver moonlit nights. And the moon, imbued in the clouds shown up for ever bright the lights. Never the children of the earth did fear to bath into the moonlight of this part of the year. Since the time they lived sublime waves of the caves, to drink up the melted moonlight, they were the braves. They were the braves to come out and let them flow into the silver-moon’s cloud imbued glow. Glow that flow like the cascade bright like the milk, smooth and wavy like the finest of the muslin silk. Since the men live in the farthest nights they bathed in such silver moon’s silky lights. Lights not bright but the smoothest of the light that may shine up on earth, the mundane lives’ mundane nights. Nights that fight all the chains and mundane pains. Nights that write the rightmost thoughts in the brains. Nights that fight right and bright the unjust plights. Nights that bright up the lights to pave the way to the rightmost mights of the sights. Sights that see in the darks all the way through the rays of the finest days that never sway. Nights that bright up the rightmost ways of rains of gains. Up and below, shines up the silky lights of the silver moonlit night.

Shines up bright the softest moon now far and near. All the brave came out of the cave, but with a few of them came the fights to fear. Nights of sights of light so bright with silent gains. Lights of nights with a sight so bright whispers to wash off all the mundane pains.

Parabola-22.

Sleeps not he, sleeps not he, but he too dreams – the waves of dreams flows through him like the mountain streams.

“I cannot see the sea my love, you know, but I can feel. I can feel the gentle wind that grinds the waves and paves the way for the newer waves yet to bring them in and to sing the mundane songs yet to bring. I cannot see the sea my love !” said he , “but I can feel the sea as you see. I can feel , my love! It’s full of warmth and waves and it paves the streams of dreams.” He hold her palms and whispers a part of King Solomon’s psalms –

“ For lo the winter is past

The rain is over and gone,

The flowers appear on the earth,

The time of the singing birds has come,

Arise, oh my favourite, my dove,

And, come.”

The breeze and wave-chime concords his whispers and carry them far. The clouds are full of gains of rains born out of pains of the sea. The sea may or may not see the rain to contain the seeds of gains for grains. The shiny sky washed off the last bits of the color shades that it had shed through the would be shiny day yet to come again and to fade on the azurite bed of sea – a sea to talk for, a sea to see.

The strengths and lengths of sea on the eyes that couldn’t see the sea. The shines of the glaze that rise in the hottest sea-noon, the shines of the bless that praise for life when it’s a full-moon, the glows of the colour flows of after-rain bows that goes away soon, and the norms of the crudest storms that forms in the South-sea and reforms the life-forms of far away lagoons, and the smells of thousands flowers that blush and bloom everyday. The curls of pearls that colour the girls and bring the way out of a time-waved taboo about the girls who too are like the pearls as the smile they smile are born out of pain and bound by chains of the taboo. And the sea-rivers that sing their sweetest songs all the way, and the flower-seeds that breed the creeds of the timely rhyme that blooms out of a mundane sublime chime.

Should he leave the leaves to live and make believe and relieve the souls to relive the goal for the whole to become one seen by none as a one in the round that’s to be found not around but within in the dense tense and sense that rains the leaves of believes in the shiny green that relieves the doors of force more and more of mores that spring out and moves about the sense of tense to get the fate and bait the same in the game of the doors to pass by the mass that never see the sea that leaves believes to relieve the leaves that never fall but in all sow and grow in oceans of motions that blow the flow of time in sublime of the days that show the ways to full-moon night and bring in light that never fades in shades but breed the seed of the creed that may read itself and the time and in sublime build the guild and the vaults that never halt to grow the salt out of sublime sea that is not to see but to have the taste of the best things to do the due out of the dues that come as the news out of time !

Et nihil hoc ad nos, qui coitu conjugioque

Corporis atque animae consistimus uniter apti.” Lucretius, iii., 857

[That is nothing to us whose being solely consists in the strict union of body and soul.]

Parabola-23.

There been the emerald green city – Koh, that very few know so to grow the roads named thoughts of Eternal Knots that bind the roads but loads them none like the rays of the sun mingles in zingles of colours’ home to roam around all abound everywhere near and far all way long all along millions more of crore of crores but all in a row, there is the emerald green city – Koh, that is known by a few of old and new whoever may grew to see the flow of selves and rivers in reverse of the sky flying high springs of colour-rings in the tricks of creeks around the azurite sea that the luckiest see above the emerald ground where the sweetest chimes and sounds of times round around the shiny streams that are seldom found in dreams of the thoughtful purest minds in a pace to face itself in the self of the same but of other kind when far behind calls away the way of the mundane life like a lone-island in the waves and colours of pace dancing face to face everywhere near and far all way long all along millions more of the cores of core, but all to grow and flow to go to the city –Koh, that very few know so to grow the roads named thoughts of Eternal Knots that bind the roads and then spread all of them like a thread of the finest taste of Muslin to bring in the singing scents of talents of the rarest of the full-moon nights that flights through the sight of sites to bring the most bright of the tranquil rays of the cosmic days without sun to round the run of run for paces of orbit-races that albeit trace the phase of none to leave behind anything the eyes may find to keep in mind to name mind-roads without loads that flows in and out all about to grow out and in the city – Koh, where they’ve been for so long all along their life-tour’s way as they may grow and flow like the chime of time on a tiny shiny wheel that by the skillful reel feel itself to fill the self by taking in the lights around that it found to round the sights that see the sea of hues of the dues of the dews drowned in azurite blues and the bluest hues of the sky that belong all along so near but far near and far all way long to its self that it may feel and so reel in and out all about to refill the flows of glows in and out all about the emerald green city – Koh, that is even known to a few of old and new whoever there may grow to see the flow of selves and rivers in reverse of the sky where fly so high the springs of the colour rings of springs in the tricks of creeks around the azurite sea that the luckiest see above the emerald ground where the sweetest grounds of sounds of timely chimes round around the rounds of shiny streams that are seldom found in dreams of the thoughtful purest minds of some of the kinds in a pace that face itself in the other-self of the others of same kind when far behind far a way falls away the mundane life like a lone-island in the waves that pave the sea-doors of either-or-s of neither-nor-s’ traces of graces of pace of race dancing phase by phase to face the phase near and far everywhere.

Far and near – everywhere – near and far.

Quod …. Mutatur …….. dissolvitur; interit ergo;

Trajicuntur enim partes atque ordine migrant.” Lucretius, iii., 756

[What is changed is dissolved, and therefore perishes; the parts are separated, and depart from their order.]

Parabola-24.

Neither nor-s for the Or-s of either-or of the nor-s forge the force of the force of the doors that lock the force of the mores of force that blocks the doors that locks the force of the mores of the Four to open more of the doors of force of mores found to be bound by shores offshore. Roars the time and its doors to the cores of mores to force the doors to change the mores of force and doors to unlock the force of mores – mores of force that block the doors to force the talk to lock the talks to chalk the rocks of blocks to rock the chalks of talks to rock the blocks that grows in ranks and rows in the highs and lows that flow in and out round around without bound.

Bounds that rounds around the grounds’ sounds to be found in notions of motions of nations in the fashions of notions of the time to get the chime of the rhyme of motions – rounds that bound the grounds of motions of notions that goes far a way far away for a way to the cosmic ray that may play in the poles of souls the motion that grows and rolls so high in the sky where fly the minds of the kinds that gives the way of the ray that may stay in the way but never sway to go a way that brings the days out of dark to spark the thought of knot to bind the lot of the lots of million spots to grow in and out and round about in the time of the timely chime that binds the minds and finds the way to sow and grow in the flow of the doors of the mores to bring in mores of force of the Four of the core to hail the trail that never fail to reach the lights who write the rights over the mights to gain the rightmost might to fight the fights of the nights that grows in pains and chains of the minds and blind the sights of the wrongs and rights that’s proven for a long along the long way of time to reach the perfect rhyme of sublime and to put it with the rightmost chime along the long long-songs of rights and wrongs to find the lights that fight the mights that blind the minds about the wrongs and rights to have the sights that bright the lights to light up wronged sights of the darkest lights that sparks out of pain again and again throughout the time to regain the chime and rhyme of the flowing time that’s growing on through the paces of forces in spaces that leave traces of motions that grow abound and not to be found in a time far away though it may pay the pace of space the ground of force of the forms of norms that get its forms and reforms all the way to reach the lights that enrich sights of wrongs and rights that fight the night of the nights. “Nights” is but to say anyway in the way that to many minds may symbolize the forms of decay of the forms of the norms that forms and reforms the forms of the kinds of the pace and force that gains the doors to gain more and more mores of cores and courses of forces of the sights that bright the lights to light up the nights all along a long long-space and time to carry on the rhymes and chimes of the songs that come along a long long-way to get the rightmost ray that may sing the mundane song yet to sing –

“While passing through the ancient City OfMind,

Try to find, and when you find any other of your same kind,

With them and you, be kind and try to find further ways to bind.”

Numquam adeo foedis adeoque pudendis

Utimur exemplis, ut non pejora supers int.” Juvenal, viii. 183

[The example we produce, are not so shameful and foul but that far worse remain behind.]

Parabola-25.

And they came to game by the fames of the names they blame and to try to tame by shame of lame blames that too came with them to frame the blames to tame in the name of the past names that never tamed or framed anything but their lust and did cast the fast thrust to free the souls and goals that roll and roll forever here and there and everywhere to and fro as they grow in all the kinds of minds high and low to and fro in and out all about the goals and souls that roll and roll through the roles and goals that role and toll on names of fames found to be bound in the frames of the blame-games that came with them, then they came to game by the names of the fames that tried to flame by shame of lame blames that too came with them to flame the blames to blame and tame in the name of the past names that never tamed or framed anything but their lusts and did cast the fastest thrusts to free the souls and goals that roll and roll forever here and there and everywhere.

Shall they feel the way they deal with others who never curse in the name they try to put the frame to tame the minds of humankind not to find but to feel in the zeal and

Segrati celant calles, et myrtea circum

Sylva legit; curae non ipsa in morte relinquunt;” Ænid, vi., 443

[Secret paths hide them, and myrtle groves environ them; their care do not leave them even when they die.]

Parabola-26.

Lake that shakes and makes its way on the way not to Rome, but roams in houses that could not leap and remain dipped deep in shades of the hungry blades of hunger-storms that break the forms-norms and shapes of body and mind and leave behind the ‘grapes of wraths’ in the name of paths that have no rays of days nor any star-light. Wraths’ grapes shape delight, but in pains, and enchain the grains and gains with the chains of the sightless mights’ rites of feasts of the fists, not the least in the east in the north river-mouths and so forth in the south in the forest of west and the hills nor appeals could stop them or shame to run with the blame-games of unseen names, the more they claim the more the flame of the fiery bird that is well heard in south-north and so forth in the east and west the bird that guards the herd of humankind totem in the same name and bears the light to light up the dark sights of the dark-sides of the darkest nights and writes the rights of rites and of the rites of rights that glow up in the deeps and dips into the deep sublime-seas with thematic ships and schematic skills and till tills that what is grown in mind-fields and sown in the mine-fields, and builds the guilds to undo war near and far, in the mind-mine-fields.

Mind, O! mine, the game of Nine that line up the fine of the finest chimes that’s found to be bound by the frame of rules of game that may shake but could not tame down nor could drown in the lake that shakes and takes its way through the monads of bonds to bind the minds of humane kinds and paves the way for braves not to sway between the zingles of right-less rights, nor delights to see the sightless lights of darkest nights, but lights the rights and mights of rights of the brightest sights to write up the fights of lights with nights through the dark-sights of the dark-sides of the darkest nights and bright up the sight to see the way that never sway to chose the rightmost of the wrongs and rights.

Lake that makes and takes its way through the lakes that shake but never break nor sway the lake that’s wavy but never bends the sakes and makes its trends of a lake that lends the ends of life for millions friends of the sublime chimes – lake that makes the shakes to open up the doors of time with timely waves that cave the braves of time through the doors of mores of force and force of mores of sights and lights of sublime of the lake that forms the norms and reforms the forms and norms with the timely chime of a time of chime of the lake that shakes all the forms and makes its norms of forms-reforms and norms with the rhyme for timely times and rhymes and chimes that is grown by its own source-resource of re-sourcing source that cores the mores and doors of the Four of force through the way that may long along all along the way so long bring the song that all may sing or all do sing or all do sing in their own-grown way as they may, like the shiny ray of the tiny wheel that feels and fills its shiny reels to deal with the drills of thrills and to deal the heals as it may on its way all along the way its ray may bring and sing through the time in sublime one of the chimes of life’s mundane-song that is not yet sung by anyone –

“Souls are but one

Though the minds may be any,

And bodies are millions more and many.”

bwÌ ivMm‡gv Aw¹ bwÌ †`vmm‡gv M‡nv, bwÌ †gvnmgs Rvjs bwÌ ZY&nvmgv b`x||

‡mv K‡ivwn `xcgˇbv wLàs evqg cwÛ‡Zv fe& ,

Abyc~‡eŸb †gavex ‡_vK‡_vKs L‡Y L‡Y, K¤§v‡iv iRZm&‡me wbׇg gjgˇYv||

‡mv K‡ivwn `xcgˇbv wLàs evqg cwÛ‡Zv fe& ||

a¤§c`-251, 236, 239, 238

[Avmw³i gZ Av¸b †bB, †Ø‡li gZ MÖn (MÖvmKvix) †bB, †gv‡ni gZ Rvj †bB, Ges Z…òvi mgvb b`x †bB|

myZivs wb‡Ri wbivc` wbevm ˆZix K‡iv, w¶cÖZi D`¨gx n‡q cvwÛZ¨ AR©b K‡iv|

Kg©Kvi †hgb iR‡Zi gj `~i K‡i, †miƒc cÖvÁ e¨w³MY GK GK K‡i ax‡i ax‡i wb‡Ri Kj~l `~i K‡ib|

myZivs wb‡Ri wbivc` wbevm ˆZix K‡iv, w¶cÖZi D`¨gx n‡q cvwÛZ¨ AR©b K‡iv|]

Parabola-27.

Then the songs came like a blameless flame never to shame or flame –the songs came – in the shiny frame of the greens, in the rays, in the azurite sky through sublime ways all along the senses of life came the songs that don’t make the wrongs and never crimes – in the rightmost time came the crimeless chime and timeless rhyme of colourless time bathed deep into the colours of chime came the songs of rays in the ways that the ways do come to the fewer of the fewest some – some of the sums summing up the sums and sums of the some to sum up the some – sums of times and some of chimes summed up to the times with the sweetest chimes – times of chimes and rhymes of the time brought some of the new chime-paradigm taking the chimes for making a time that hymns with the purest of sublime, hymns go long along the rhymes and the chimes that belong for the mundane song of the songs of greens and songs of rays – songs that always find their ways or they pave in sublime caves the timeless ways of the chimeful waves of darks and ways of lights, ways of the sights of lights through the darkest nights – nights of rights and nights of wrongs.

Lights of bright darks spark the song of the songs of sights and songs of lights of rights that have the might to breakthrough the mundane nights – of fights of darks and the knights of lights who by the lights bright up the darkened sights – the nights of the caves that paved the lights of the rights of the rights-mights and rites and still bright up to light the darker mundane nights – nights of lights of the rightmost sights lighting up the way that never sway to pave the ways of rays from cave to cave.

Brave-most lights never fights with the nights or for their rights, but keep up the rights of lights of sights that bright up in every single mundane nights to the rightmost ways to do the rights of sights of bright lights of rights to pave the waves of brightest sights of rites of rights waving through the mundane nights of waves and lights of dots to spot a lot of eternal knot – not the lots of thoughts of lots of spots and knots to bring for lots the timeless thoughts of the sights of rights and the rights of the knots of oughts to spot the lot of thoughts amongst the millions ‘do’-s and ‘not’-s by the dots of oughts. Oughts and ‘not’-s spot the knots of things’ being and becoming – long along the long long-way did and shall they ray the way as they may or may not bring the being of the rings and ring of things and becoming of the times and chimes bringing the things in being to sing the songs that all or none bring to sing the ring of beings of things to be in the chime of time through the times and beings of rings to bring all into being and to sing one of the timeless timely mundane songs –

“Where came from ?

Where to go ?

Where to end do we grow ?”

“And I shall again be on earth when there has been draught, and scarcity of water for a hundred years, born not out of mother’s womb when my praise will be recited by the saints. Then I shall cast a look on mankind with hundred eyes, and they shall call me the hundred-eyed from that time. Then, ye gods, I shall support the entire universe until there is rain with life-sustaining herb created out of my own body. ……….. ” – Markandeya Chandi, Chapter, XI, 46-49

Parabola-29.

The doors of the Four of force of mores opened the doors and now the mundane time decides to bend to lend its hand to end the trends that send all to far too far from the end of Humankind and now the rounds found that its too bound by the bounds of bounds that bind the Humankind to find its way as it may vary to be agreed from time to time, and the grounds round the bounds that they found to hound the pace of progress through the doors of mores that opened to be with the time deciding to mend the space to face the pace, and the pace faces the phases of the race – the race faces the Phases of the space and pace. The sounds found that they are bound with the bounds of the grounds, so do the rays all the ways slide and glide – they hide and hide in the ways but never sway – the pace now race face to face to face the pace that bring the rays on the ways – the minds are blind though they find and bind the minds of million kinds, and may be more and more as the mores of the Four of doors. The force of Four and the Four of force and mores are of course the doors to course the course of course.

The doors of the force opened and the west now rest after the feast they’ve made with the east, south opened the mouth and the north came forth. The Four of mores opened the doors of talks that chalks the blocks, and now the mundane time bends to meet the ends. The west , giving its best, now rest and watch the watch, and share the priests of the east to make a proper list of the least-s. South opened the mouth and the north came forth.

The grounds are found in the rounds and the doors of doors are the force of the Four of the force to open the doors of them-us-their and yours through the course of mores of doors to recourse the mores of force, and of course, the mores of the Four are the doors of force to recourse the course of course.

The mind to find to find and bind the grounds and the rounds with the bounds of grounds and rounds that bind the Humankind to mind its way as it may vary to be agreed from time to time, and the grounds’ round that bounds what they found to hound the pace of progress that opened through the doors of mores to be with the time deciding to mend the phase to pace the race, and the space races through the race of the phases – the space faces the Phases of the pace of the race for the grace.

Caetera pars animae, per totum dissita corpus,

Paret, et ad numen mentis nomenque movetur,” – Lucretius, iii,. 144

[The other part of the soul, diffused all over the body, obeys the divinity and great name of mind.]

Parabola-30.

The rays plays ways and the ways lays rays – the base rays ways and the ways raise rays, the rays race in pace without trace, the race of pace and the pace of race find their ways in time-space wherein in the thin the pace of rays and the race of pace traced the race’s phase to face and then found the rounds of grounds that were bound to be bound by the bounds. The grounds now found the sounds in the rounds and the doors to doors are the force of the Four of the course of mores to open the doors of them-us-their and yours through the mores of course of doors to recourse the mores of force, and of course, the mores of the Four are the doors of force to recourse the course of course.

The grounds they found and bound by the bounds of rounds of endless grounds that bounds the rounds of rounds and pace the race that rays the ways of the sage and trace the pace of the grace that s/he says of the days and of the nights where the dark sky too bright with the flights of endless cosmic lights. Through the ways, rays, days and nights of lights says the sage to raise the ways and the rays – “Race the pace to grace the race and ways as the ways play the rays that lay the ways, the ways race in paces without traces, the ways of pace of the rays and races trace the phases to face the race, and the race rays the ways and pace the phase always face to face all the ways; the ways too race phase to phase and face to face as the phases phase the ways face to face, the phase of ways and the ways of rays raced to raise and then found the grounds to be bound in the rounds and by sounds. Of course the doors of the course of the Four of cores of course, doors, mores and force course the discourse to recourse the mores of course, doors, mores and force; the force of the Four and the force of doors, the mores of mores of the cores and the doors of mores are the doors to recourse the course of course; and of course the doors of doors are the force of the Four of the force to open the doors of them-us-their and yours through the course of mores of doors to the doors recourse the mores of force, and of course, the mores of the Four are the doors of doors to endorse the cores of the course to recourse the course of course.”

Modus quo corporitus adhaerent spiritus …. Omnio mirus est, nec comprehendi ab homine potest; et hoc ipse homo est; ”

- St. Augustine, City of God. xxi, 10

[The manner whereby souls adhere to bodies is altogether marvelous, and cannot be conceived by man, and yet this union is man.]

Parabola -31.

The runner rushes fast. He must reach the freedom that may for ever last. The runner runs through the stone hills. The runner leaves behind a war that kills, now and then every when, the children, women and the men warring with/on/at or even Horse-de-combat or even the lotus of foetus. The runner runs like the timeless shiny arrow, the runner runs like the time-sparrow. The runner runs and runs but never tends to bend to reach the victors’ glory and joy that seldom end. The paths are full of wraths and of pains. The path that the runner runs through is yet to be followed by the victory’s gains. Reigns of pains chain the gains and mains. The ruins of reigns of reins are sometimes reigned over by the mundane monsoon rains that flow out of the gains of the preceded or breaded clouds. The rains not enchained with the pains to be none or someone one of the proud crowds that are proud for not knowing what to do, crowds that crowd along but know not when/where to shroud or to be proud to be the crowd that lend and vend but do not tend to be free of baseless prides that tried but never could enchain the mundane-rains by pains or chains or any of the ‘gains’ that are ever found. Crowds that are heard hard on grounds with allowed aloud sounds but missing the very grounds and/or rounds that they tend to bend for to lend or amend. Crowds that tend to vend or lend to send the mends of bends. Free enough not to be proud of such crowds, the runner runs through the time-space paradigm to reach in time the victory’s chime that never end to fly high the glory’s flag ever to bend. Runners run like the rushing boy, or to say, fly anyway like the butterflies. The runner runs ahead of awards of gains and pains of sighs. The runner passes through the tears of the nears and dears that through the times of mundane nights and days try to find the reality-chimes of one of the most wanted rhymes – “Cheers ! dears, no more fears or tears, as like always, even in these days we have the ways of the best shining rays.”

Parabola -32.

Runners running without ramming through the swaying ways and always pray as they may, the runners running through the ‘we’, ‘you’ and ‘they’, runners rushing through the joys, groans and sighs of the ‘lows’ and ‘highs’ on and around the runner’s way. The ruins of reigns of reins are too reined to reign over by the gains of mundane monsoon rains that grain the gains of the preceded or breaded clouds. The rains not enchained with the pains to be one or someone none of the proud crowds that are proud for knowing not what to do, crowds that are proud for long along but know not what/how to cloud or aloud the crowd that mend and tend to lend but do not bend to vend the trends that tend to be free of baseless prides that tried but never could enchain the gains of the mundane-rains by pains or chains or any of the ‘gains’ that are ever found by them in any name. Crowds that are hard heard on the bounds with aloud sounds missing the very grounds and/or rounds that they vend to lend for the bend to amend a mend. At some end such crowds tend to vend or lend to send the bends of mends of their own ends. Free enough not to be one of the prouds of such crowds, the runner runs through the time-space paradigm to reach in time the victory’s chime that never end to fly high the glory’s flag ever to bend. The runner runs like the rushing boy, or try to fly anyway like the sky-butterfly that seldom fly high in the sky. The runner passes through the tears of the nears and dears that through the times of mundane nights and days try to find the reality-chimes of one of the most wanted rhymes – “Cheers ! dears, no more fears or tears, as like always, even in these days we have the ways of the best shining rays.”

Parabola -33.

The runner is on the rush like a hasty boy, runner is rushing like the busy butterfly, he runs through the eyes flying through the skies that seldom fly, the runner speeded like the tiny shiny arrow, the runner runs like the time’s tiny sparrow that retrieves the things left behind but not to leave the leaves of believes. The runner leaves behind the unkind bloody war, the runner lives through the war that kills now and then every when, the children, women and the men warring with/on/at the war, or even Horse-de-combat or furthermore the lotus of foetus. The runner runs like the timeless shiny arrow, the runner runs like the time-sparrow. The runner runs and runs but never tends to bend to reach the victors’ glory and joy that seldom end.

The runner leaves behind the unkind bloody war, the runner lives through and past the war that kills now and then every when, a war that kills but feels not for the children, women and the men that it kills. The runner runs through the stormy desert full of stone-hills that too seldom feels. Runner runs and runs but never bends and carries with in within the victory’s joy that never ends. The paths are full of wraths and full of pains, the paths which are runned through by the victories which never rein but carry in the caring victories that will ever reign. The runner rushes fast. He must reach the freedom to ever last.

Parabola – 33a.

And the sands of the lands that land through the silver bands of the river-flow, grow and grow in the highs and lows that flow through the river-mouths of the Norths, Easts, Wests and Souths of the minds of the kinds that don’t find the rings of things to bind the behind-minds within them but try to tame the mundane-needs and those of the creeds that they breed to feed and lead through the ways of the waves of life-sea that they seldom see but dives into through the lives they live and believe to be the life. Life is life in the ways as it may be in the sea of life forever to see, through the sights and lights also of darks and shades of the waves of the timepiece of the Time that the times piece into pieces like the pisces in the sea, with time-sign of the 9.

The mind mines are not found in lines though they sway on their ways like the river ways that lay to the bay the gifts of sands of the growing lands being torn and reborn like children every now and then in the chimes of time-paradigms flowing in the sands of lands through the silver bands of water lands blessed with the hopes of grains without undue pains of chains that bite behind and try to bind the minds by causing pains to take away the gains that come through the mundane rains.

The minds or brains ? Where are felt the gains or pains or the chains ? Know not they though they feel the gap and fill in the gaps of the given frame in life’s name, and seldom they use to blame some names but not the rules of the game but fail to claim or to be there on their fate albeit they could not get the gates through the mind though they too could find the kinds of minds to find for gains and not to bind by chains to brain-through the pains of chains to the mains or merely to show the reigns that they may bind the lanes of the brains or minds of the kinds of the lands grown out of the gifts of sands gifted by none of them but by the holy grace through the silver river-bands.

The sands of the lands land through the lands of time’s piece wearing a timepiece with chains of pains and binding not the knots of just lots through the spots but by pains of chains that blot or slot lots of dots trying to ‘dare’ to share and care here and there through the spots of the lots of dots to find and bind the minds of kinds never biting fore or behind and living through the lines of the Nines to spot and find the kinds of minds that ‘dare’ and care to share now and then everywhen, here and there everywhere to grow and flow the kinds of minds of the flowers and growers of the lots of mind-dots and bots of the spots that are sought by the lot of oughts of the bonds of the Eternal Knots.

Non debet alteri per alterum iniqua conditio inferri.” – Roman Maxim.

“An unfair condition ought not to be brought upon one person by the act of another.”

Parabola – 35

Coherence of hence and thence of the sense of tenses’ lens-glance to sense pretence pre-absence of the children’s dens of dense dreams through the streams they’d ne’er been other than in the streams of dreams that beam their sleep in the days and nights of cosmic lights that may sense the tense of coherence of the lens of thence and hence of the lanes of pre-absence or ab-presence of the doors of mores of cores of lores and the core doors of the lore of mores of the gates of lents that never bent to abuse the views or passions to fuse in the lessons of lesions or lesions of lessons for the time that may chime in the sublime the sweetest dreams, as a kid too dreams to play by the side of dream-streams in the streams of dreams of streams of time that always chime.

Sense of coherence of the dense tense felt by the krills drilling out of thrills of the shades of chill South-sea-hills where till now till the whales without sails of ab-presence of tense of coherence of dens’ dense hence and thence and of tens of tenses now sense pretences not to kvetch but to fetch the kudos of intense sense-judos with the krills that still drill around the bounds of grounds rounding the chill South-sea hills where till now till the ice the price of the long polar nights from the lights of an aurora’s glow that grow and flow in the high and low of the cool high polar-sky.

Coherence of sense of sense of dense tense-lens of a kilt built by the pages of meta-languages through the ages of sages and sages of ages but not by kids kitsch like this one or anyone that paves the babes of waves of a quantum-leap in the deep sea of life not to nip or grip but to make the trip of life to meld and weld the derailed quantums of momentums yet to reach, enrich, teach or preach something anything to share and care with all of us, you and them as some may mayhem in the name of time-frame game, though the game may be decided by all of us, them, you or even by me by the acts on facts in illusions of elisions causing collusions in fusions of confusions barring the rains of gains to overcome the pains of chains or reins and to gain the graces of the races of paces for races’ and paces’ traces to parse the verses near and far anywhere where they, you or we are.

Lens of sense to detect pretences of coherences and differences to be used by someone none who conquers, the conkers which conjure the injured by shirking like sharks, by oracles of coracles weaving the kilt to build the thin of the built-in pages of ages of sages freed from the mazes of the maizes of wages and of the rages of crazes to raise hyacinth on the plinth of monolith time-spaces that parse the verse of sublime chimes in kitsch rhymes of kids yet to be amongst the beings through all of us, them, you or even me. Now tell me, could it be a dense pretence of tense coherences of some unused senses ?

justa pari premitur veluti cum pondere libra,

Prona, nec hac plus parte sedet, nec surgit ab illa.” Tibullus, iv., 41

[As a just balance pressed with equal weight, neither dips nor rises on either sides.]

Parabola-36.

Tiny mirrors of shiny mirrors on the hall, shiny mirrors of tiny mirrors make the call, thinking a bout about the forces that recourse the courses to bring the chain of the gains freeing from the pains of coils of toils in a life mundane. Linking the bout about the forces abound that in the days passes off through the masses of bright sunrays thinking about to make use of many of them linking round the doors of force in a different name. Names differ but so far the force do come, some when less but some when more than the sum, somewhere less and somewhere more than the sum of the some that came ago, some come to go, some yet to come to do the sum in the way done by all and not by the some. Tiny mirrors, shiny mirrors on the hall, shiny mirrors, tiny mirrors, make the call -

Silver night in the sightless sight

Of the crowds that proud not right.

Silent crowd once think aloud in the days

That seldom pays the wage of the age to work through life-ways.

When the chaste Aria gave to Paetus the reeking sword she had drawn from her breast, “Believe me !” she said, “Pactius, the wound I have and made hurts not, but it is the wound thou will make that hurts me.” - Martial, i . 14.

Parabola-37a.

“Believe it’s the time to live not to leave!” thought he. But he could see the fearful tears that spear through her eyes. The sighs in her breast, he could taste, so he haste to say that he never wanted to say. “Nay!” He blinks and thinks not to look to her eyes, the eyes, where, now the high clouds sigh. He tries. He tries and lies – “Believe! It’s the time to leave! So, you know, I’ve to go.” He has to go, and he goes. He went and goes. Grows the crowds and the clouds flow high in the sky. The crowds to go; the clouds too have to go. The clouds flow – fast and slow – in the mundane skies high and low. The crowds do flow. High in the sky the clouds fly. The clouds fly in their eyes. Eyes that may cry and dry again to cry like a dove for her love. The dove that sighs but shies to cry. The dove that has to leave her love but cannot fly, cannot fly due to the stoned-wings as her mind screams as if in the bad-dreams. In the bad-dreams as if she screams as she has to go, though she knows not where she is going to go. “Believe! It’s the time to live! Not to leave!” thought she. But she could see the fearful tears that spear through his mind. She looks behind in the minds, and she finds love and loves only – only loves – like the doves, bathing in the rains of sunrays of the mundane days. Now she prays to the God and wishes that he says – “Never shall we leave the other. Rather together shall we love each other, we shall love, O! My dove, we shall love all the ways. Believe! I did not mean to say ‘leave’ rather I said that, it’s the time to live.” But like the unseen crudest lot, he says not as she thought. He says in such other way that she found him never so. “See! It’s me saying that I have to go.”Then he goes. He goes in the flows that people make to partake.

Nulla placida quies est, nisi quam ratio composuit.”- Seneca, Epist., 56

[There is no tranquility but that which reason confers.]

Parabola-37b.

The city crowds that shake all the times and paves the waves of a moving lake. He too takes a part in that lake – the dot therein in their time yet to make the lakes that shake all the times all through the way to reach the proper-most way. The dots reach the dots though the ways may sway all the ways and that they won’t ever say. Or may be things differ far in the other way – the ways always are but fine and on and in the line, may be that, not the ways but the dots sway. The dots bring in and the dots take far the dots from time-spaces where they are. The dots love dots and the dots do hate. The dots knock dots to open the Gate. Some dots came fast and some dots were late to face the fate. Some dots give in and some dots do get. Some dots dot the lots and some sum and freight the fate. Some dots wait, bate and get the dots where the dots often met. Some dots spot dots where the dots made the Net. Some dots ruin though some other dots may win. Some dots win and leave the spots so that other dots too can win. Some dots win themselves and let others too win. Some other dots know the dots to bet to get to the dawns’ golden plate shining over the graphite slate of a fading dark. One Joan-de-Arc or any untraced silent spark of the pains cause in dots’ minds silent rains. These rains live not so long along the way the pains may have lived. Many dots may or may not live for a long along a long way away to live beliefs amongst lives believed. Many dots may or may not live for a long along a long way away from the lives believed wherein the lives relieve to relive and to be relieved. Even then many dots may or may not leave the spots far along a long long way far away to belong for a way among lives yet to be lived. The beliefs live in love; love lives.


Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae; Virgil, Ænid, iv. 23

[Some footsteps there are still of my old flame.]

Parabola-37c.

In the lots, lots of lots live in the finest dots. Dots that might take a flight above other dots may change the lots. Dots that bear in lights shine up bright to make difference between the wrongs and rights. Dots give lights – shine bright and some dots try take away from dots the inborn sights. Dots do share the dots to care. Dots do dare than what they are. Dots do care more than what they share. Dots bring, string and sing the chimes of the rise and fall. The dots make their loveliest call. Dots bring love for them and for all. Dots say ‘They’, ‘you’, ‘we’ or ‘I’. Dots say – “Stay more!”. Dots say – “Good bye!”. The dots bear in from the dots the unborn dots of thoughts and the dolly holy child. Some wild dots get crazy, with the dots that have grown so mild. The dots go right the much they might; even then some dots do a lot of wrongs. Though some dots fear to hear to the chimes of times, the dots hear to the dots cheerful timely mundane songs. Dots break the lots of the dots, though some do save, with the lots of those who are wise and brave. Some dots save the dots’ by forming dots’-wave when some hot dots send to war, some other dots without lot, to a country far and far. There the dots kill lots of dots and take the lots by fighting in the brisk, not for them but for some other dots not incurring the same levels of risk. There dots do scorn, the dots do mourn, the dots do cry and the dots of pains come down the eyes of dots like silent rains, and they never dry. The dots shoot the shots of the fiery fury dots; the dots drop the dots of bombs on the dot-full spots. The dots kill some dots and sale some dots to live on them, the dots dot some other dots to change the lots by dotting name. The dots eat, smoke, the dots do drink. Some dots dot-play in dots to stretch up to the dots who in themselves sometimes shrink.

A natura discedimus; populo nos damus, nullius rei bono auctori.

- Seneca, Epist., 99

[We depart from nature and give ourselves to the people, who understand not.]

Parabola-37d.

The ways sway not, neither blink. The dots write up rarely the exact dots of thoughts they think. The dots think in thoughts of the lots and sink in. Dots sink in the dots of thoughts they think in. The dots pass through the mundane-night in search of the light. A dot of light to spark the way for the lots of the dots out of dark! The dots dive in the thoughts of dots and bring the lights. The dots of lights help righteous dots to win the fights amongst the dots of wrongs and the dots of rights. The dots teach to the dots that try to learn some of the dots that the dots could ever earn. The dots judge the dots that are dotted with crimes. Dots indulge the dots that could break through the doors of chimes. The dots take from the dots some dot-full rhymes. Dots’ wrathful paths sometimes dot the moths for the maths of getting into the doors of time. The dots plan for the either-or, the dots speak and smile to the dots of nearer rank and file. The dots write the rights and/or the rites, the dots fight for and with the wrongs and rights. Dots listen to the dots that play and sing. Dots guide the dots of lots to make something. Sometimes dots paint a saint, sometimes the dots bring a king. Dots make the bell for lots of dots and some dots do ring. Dots remind dots to mind the ways that they behave. Dots ask the dots to return the thing that someone gave. Dots preys on the dots, dots get preyed. Dots say they pray to the one who have made. Dots sow dots in the lots for some dots to grow. Dots grow up in the dots to make the dots of a timely flow. Dots dot the seeds of the creeds of the finest dots that come to be the dots of the lots that the dots never see. Dots know not but grow up and, like ever, flow. The dots say to the dots, “See! It’s me saying that I’ve to go.”He walks through the way.

Ad unum

Mollis opus. Horace, Epod.,xii.15

[Fit, but for once only.]

Parabola-37e.

There all the ways find their ways though sometimes they may sway for long for a timely song to show the way that may never say, “See my love, love forgets not the love to love, but I’ve to go anyway.” “Never go! Never go! O, my love! Never leave the way we live and I insist to live, O, my dove! How you’re gonna leave me in this darkness! Don’t you see around me the mundane sea that waves so high! How may I, say, how may I live this life’s speedy flow without you? Can the sun ever bring it’s glow without the finest morning dew!”. Thinks his mind but he cannot mind to say such as due to the life’s coarse chime by this time both they have been far for a long long a way from the life’s loveful time.

She on the way back, makes her silent-pray, back the way, knows not she where she is going to go, knows not she where all the ways do go. She crosses the way as she too should flow, in the flow of the public streams, where in the pains of the broken dreams, her mind screams- “Leave not! Leave not! Live! O, my love! Believe! I love you even now, and believe. Like the plants creeping around the stronger tree, I can’t live without you to free my love, don’t you see? Or like the silent monsoon rains of the gains that the clouds bear in we too are the rains bound by chains of the love. Don’t you feel the pain that gains from you your loveful dove? Feel and see the southern breeze on the mountain ridge waves the silky emerald-crease all the way. Like way, pave the way of the love, O! My love, that never sway. O! My love! O! Loveless dove! How you bade good bye to your spotless love! Love that shines like the stars in the heavens’ timeless skies, how may I bear with the memories of that love without sighs! Could the first man on this earth ever leave his beloved with alike pains! O! The chains of pains to bear with mundane-brains………….”


Invitum qui servat, idem facit occidenti.” Horace, De Art. Poet., 467

[Compelling a man to live a life against his will, is as cruel as to kill him.]

Parabola-37f.

“……….The life all the way! The gains of chains of the pains to have but never to say. O! My love! Don’t you see my love is like the silent rains that chain the gains, again gain the chains but never pains! O my dove! Let’s make our love a love like love to live, a love that live and love each bits of love, and for none to leave. Don’t you see the rays of sun on the river bed for ever shine! O! My love! Just like that, shine the love within you and mine. Don’t you too feel the song of love that the minds forever sing! O! My love! I do love you like ever and like anything. O! My dove! It’s our love that I beg from you to kindly give! Leave me not! Nor my love! Please do not leave! It’s our love! O! My dove! It’s our love that I do love and believe to live. Do not leave my dove! Do not leave! Let us live to love and believe! To believe, love and live. And not to leave.”

Now, high in the sky, the evening stars sigh. And the humid southern breeze, in her pains, drops down soundless as the spring rains. Southern breeze on her lips and chicks, southern breeze breezes on her eyelids. Southern breeze bridges the charming memories of her love that right now, with a sequence-forced “Good bye”, skids as if with all the mundane-speeds. The reds of a mundane-dusk bade not a “Good bye” to her and wait for long. The glows that flow from the evening clouds sing to her a far away mundane-song. All way long she drifts into the shifts of thrifts of a crowd that never lift them over the ‘must’-s to do. She looks into high in the eastern sky where the azurite blue grew into a mournful cobalt’s hue. She threw her mind, the love-blind, to the south where the clouds grew so high.

Does he know where to go with the burden of an endless sigh? Could he fly in the sky where the life is lifted high? Sky that makes the oval round.

Vidi ego nuper equuam, contra sua frena tenacem,

Ore reluctanti fulminis ire modo: Ovid, Amor.,iii. 4, 13

[I saw, the other day, a horse struggling against his bit, and rushing like a thunderbolt.]

Parabola-37g.

Like a love, free for ever and yet unbound. And who ever found a love that truly reigns over the mundane pains! Like these silent monsoon spring-rains, could love be lived ever without chains! Chains of gains of loveful times, a time full of the best mundane chimes! “Could love be found unbound like the love of sky with the sea? Could love be just like that as you taught about the love to me? O! My love! Even if not you and me, it’s our love that shall forever be loving you. O! My dove! My beloved love in me that I love till now loves you to love, and it’s you, the only you. See my love! It’s my love, to and for you, that compels me now to leave. Live alive a lively life, O! My dove! Live a life that any someone may live. Love brings near two minds from far and reforms them both to newer forms. The loves are pained for the forms they gained from the forms around and from the norms. Forms and norms bind up all norms of forms to cause storms. It’s not you, neither me, rather it’s the social norms and forms that has barred and broken our love’s lovely norms and forms. I beg your pardon, O! My love! Do forgive! It’s out of love that I have to leave. Believe, it is the fairest way in this time-spaces pace of race that I can trace to be better for you and me.” Thought he, “Think of the pearls that are formed due to pains but forms the shells’ highest gains and carries the chains of the shells’ sores’ pains! O! The shells! Pearls – the highest gains out of pains that are left for the shells to bear within but not to tell. Carries in the gain of pain – O! The shell! But never tells. Just think of a love like that, O! My dove! Think of love like these spring rains – the gains of the spring clouds that now drop down in their pains. Or, ask the dusk for its fading rays, ask the sparkling evening star about the love………..”


Tanquam thura merumque parent ……….

Abstentem, marmoreumve putes: Martial, xi.,103, 12

[As if they were performing some sacrifice……..

You would think them absent or marble.]


Parabola-37h.

“………….And listen what sky-pearl says. These are like the loves where sometimes the best way to love is to love only through distant gaze. Here love is the love of parallel ways that love both but never becomes one to live or leave. Love is the only thing that we never leave and that we believe to live. Love is the love for something that we never leave. We may even leave each other, but not the love! Love is loveful for ever O! My Dove! With you ever shall be my loveful love. Real love can be even like the loveful sea and lover sky – the sea loves the sky but cannot fly up so high. Love is like their bluest song, the song of love that is sung for long. These songs are loveful as they are lived to sing to and from the far. Love is like the blues of sky and of sea. Love is the spectrum of life and soul that we may see. Sky and sea loves their highest loves though never they are one but two, but their lovely love plays for ever with millions forms of blue to bring the billions of touches and swatches of blue. Know not you that love is the pearl of a pain-bound shell! Love is the sky’s and the sea’s bluest tale. Sometimes love are the ways that never meet, but from away they make for the other the loveliest greet. That is love, O! My dove! For you remains for ever my thirstful love. Think of love like that of a shell carrying within the gains of pains, O! The shell! But never tell. Don’t you see in the love of the sky and sea that love is for some to relieve, leave, live, love and to believe to relive! Love is rarely the way that is only to live, rather it’s the way to believe, relieve and to relive. O! My dove! For you remains my endless love. Me too, know you, love the loves that makes the doves together forever to live. But it’s the love for you and our love that compels me now to leave………….”


Exsilioque domos et dulcia limina mutant…… Virgil, Georg., ii. 51

[And quit for exile their homes and pleasant abodes ………]

Parabola-37i.

“……………Chain not you in the pains, O! My love! Look in this spring rains of clouds’ loveful gains. Break the chains of pains O! My love! and bring out of you the silent rains of loveful mundane gains. When like the rainbow shining after the sunrise-rains if any when arises in you our love that you may bear in like the tale, think of the love that is loved by sea and sky or by a shell. But never tell the tale O! My lovely dove, never tell! Carry within you the painful gain of a gainful pain, O! The shell! Never tell any body that mundane tale.” Thought he, “O! My love! It’s not the me you see, it’s our love that shall forever be loving you. My beloved dove! O! My love, it’s the love in me that till now loves only you to love, and it’s you, solely the lovely you. See my love! It’s my love, for and to you, that will inspire me even now to live. Live alive a lively life, O! My dove! Live a life that many a one could not live. Love brought near and dear our minds from far and reformed us both to newer forms. The love, now may be pained from the forms that chained through the forms around to deform the love-norms. Chaining forms and paining norms may try to deform all love-norms but only to be the cause of mundane-storms. It’s not you, neither me, rather it’s social norms and forms to deform, and that has barred and broken our love’s lovely norms and forms. It’s the forces to deform that are trying to break love’s eternal knot. But apply your thoughts and now or then every when try to find your ought and not. Even then, please pardon, O! My love! Do forgive! It’s out of love that I had to leave. Believe, it was the fairest way in that time-spaces race and pace that I could trace to be better for you and me.” Thought he.

“Believe it’s the time to live, not to leave!” thought s/he. Though s/he couldn’t see the tearful fears that steamed to the eyes.

Fit etiam saepe specie quadam, saepe vocum gravitae et cantibus,

Ut pellantur animivehementius: Saepe etiam cura et timore.”

- Cicero, De Devin. i, 37

[For it often falls out that minds are more vehemently struck by some sight, by the loud sound of the voice, or by singing, and of times by grief and fear.]

Parabola-37j.

The sighs in the love-nest, s/he could taste, so s/he hasted to say and then s/he was found to say that s/he never wanted to say. “Nay!” s/he blinked and thought not to look to the eyes, the skies, wherein, even now dark clouds sigh. S/he tried. S/he tried and lied – “Believe! It’s the time to leave! So, you know, I’ve to go.” S/he has to go, as s/he goes. S/he went and goes. Like ever flow the clouds and the crowds grow high. The clouds too go, the clouds too have to go. The clouds like ever flow, fast and slow, in the crowds high and low. The crowds do flow. High in the sky the clouds fly. The clouds may fly like May-fly or hay in the mundane eyes that may cry for a love of a dove of a love that sighs but shies to cry. The dove that had to leave the love but could not fly, couldn’t fly due to the stoned-wings as the mind screamed in ‘life’s bad-dreams. In the bad-dreams as if s/he screamed as s/he had to go, though s/he knew not where s/he was going to go. “Believe! It’s the time to live! Not to leave!” thought s/he. But s/he could see the fearful tears that speared through the mind. S/he looked behind in the minds, and s/he found love and love only – only love – like a dove, bathing in the sunrays of sunrise-rains of the mundane days. Then s/he prayed to the God and wished that s/he said – “Never shall we leave the other. Rather, together shall relieve and live each other, we shall love, O! My dove, we shall love all the ways. Believe! I did not mean to say ‘leave’ rather I said that, it’s the time to live.” But like the unseen crudest lot, s/he says not as s/he thought. S/he says in such other way that s/he found him never so. “See! It’s me saying that I have to go.”

Then s/he went. S/he went in the flows that people make to partake. The city crowds that shake all the times and paves the waves of a moving lake.

Et velut immissi diversis partibus ignes

Arentem in silvam, et virgulta sonantia lauro:

Aut ubi decursu rapido de montibus altis

Dant sonitum spumosi amnes, et in aequora curunt,

Quisque suum populatus iter: Virgil, Ænid, xii. 521

[And as fires applied in several parts to a dry grove of crackling laurels; or as with impetuous fall from the steep mountains, torrents power down to the ocean, each bearing all down before them.]

Parabola-37k.

S/he too took a part in that lake – the dots therein in the time yet to make, lakes that shake all the times all through the way to make the way. The dots reach the dots through the ways that may sway. Or may be things differ far in the other way – the ways always are but fine, and on and in the line, may be that, not the ways but the dots sway. The dots bring in and dots take far the dots from time-spaces where they are. The dots love dots and bots and they may hate. Some dots bring in and some dots do get. Some dots got the lots and some sum of freight of fate. Some dots bait, net and get the knots where dots often met. Some dots spot dots where the dots made the Net. Some dots ruin some other dots win. Some dots win and leave the spots so that some other dots can win. Some dots win themselves and let others too win.

Both of them, passes through the ‘life’ that they have to live, the life that once blessed them with the Eternal Knots of a lovely mundane love. The life they lived, ‘life’ they will and till now believe to live, believe, that very life compelled them to a loveful leave. It’s a mundane tale that s/he sees in these seas of life and learns of the lots of dots of spots of love-knots of different forms of dots of different skies and seas. It’s a love-tale that s/he may tell only for those who love the love to relieve, believe and live to relive. It’s a very mundane tale that s/he knows and sows to grow and flow near and far everywhere, now and then every when. Believers! Believe! And try to get into dots where the love-knots often met. And try to spot and change the lots of the dots that net for blotting the love-dots. Bate over the deformation-forces of fake ‘fates’. And that too may be a way to gain the grace of real fate and to open peace-gates of love to live, relieve, and to believe to relive.

Parabola- 38.

Conch shell ! now tell the Tale that never fell, tell the tale of the emerald tiles of the House that can be seen from millions and more miles. Conch shell ! tell the tale, but only to the holiests of the wises of the sets and rises and only to the holiests of the braves of the waves and the caves. Only to these holiests tell about the tales that the emerald tiles engrave in them in the frames of the leaves enchanting the Creator’s Holiest Names, here and there everywhere, now and then everywhen, there, the mains and lanes all take birth from endless plainness in spite of the painless plain less plains. Conch shell ! Tell the tale that is not yet told but is to be told, tell the tales of myrtle tiles millions-fold. Tell the tales of the never bending curves of curves, tell the tale that tells the tales of the never ending tiny herbs, tell the tale of the never and ever mending verbs of herbs. Conch shell ! Tell the tale of the tiny shiny curves of herbs of verbs. Tell the Tale that took birth and shall always take birth near and far anywhere in many forms to give the norms of the forms to the forms thriving for just extensions to trace the race phase by phase to face face to face the decaying forces of unjust deformations or destructions. Conch shell ! tell the tale that many know and grow but dare not to tell, tell the tales of the leaves and believes in that endless tiny Emerald House that can make its way to the rightmost way where the souls of goals all come to partake their parts of the sciences and arts that bridged the breezes to breed the holiest learning-sprees to live and let live and to believe in the life to live, relieve, leave and relive.

Conch shell ! tell the Tale that never fell to tell the tale that tells of the tiny shiny Emerald House with no children or spouse, tell the tales engraved in the leaf-like tiles that can be read even from millions or more miles.

[Conch shell ! It’s the time, so, after enchanting the Creator’s Holiest Names, tell the tales that the myrtle tiles of millions fold, of that tiny endless emerald household, enchant in their engraves but only for the holiests of the wises and braves. Tell the tale to these holiests but tell without sounds, as the sounds too are grounded in the bounds of bounds.]

Quis vetat apposito lumen de lumine sumi ?

Dent licet assidue, nil tamen inde perit;”

- Ovid, De Art., Amandi, iii . 93

[Who says one light should not be lighted from another light ?

Let them give over so much, as much ever remains to lose.]

Parabola- 39.

Starry Night, Starry Night, take a flight into bright sights wherefrom grows the lights of seeds to breed the highest creeds of the times. The timeless time that seldom throws mundane chimes. Starry Night, Starry Night, it’s no dark. It’s the womb of the wombs of the lights that wait to spark through lovely nights that all love in all the ways. It’s they you and me, who may see the sunlit days, not the rays. In the cosmic ways darkness grows all the ways like always. As you too may feel the same though may not say. Starry Night, Starry Night, tell me and all please the cosmic tale of cosmic rays traveling through the nearest and furthest ways, tell the tale but do not say the things that you should not tell. So never tell to all the tale of the birth of the rare-most stars or the tales that tell about the birth of the first drop of water or the first monad of the flame. Never tell to all about the first star-dust or from where it came. Were they born near ? Or, were they born in the furthest far ? Though you may only tell some of the cosmic tales that others too may or can tell, but never tell the cosmic tale that never fell on the earth till now or in the past as well.

Starry Night, Starry Night, on the land you may tell the cosmic tale only to those who are by the side of the perfect-most water-flows’ silver-bands and to those who are or close to the greenest parts of the land, and to those who look up to you out of pains of the desert-sands. Starry Night, Starry Night, by the sea – sky sea to feel but until the stars rise, not to see. Don’t tell please to all wherefrom came the firsts of them, you and me. And those who, before the second set want to see the cosmic sea, you may tell them not to do the things in that way, you may tell them – “See not, see not, it’s better not to see the cosmic things in a mundane light.”

A quo, ceu font perenni, vatum Pierris ora rigantur aquis;”

- Ovid, Amor., iii . 9, 25

[From whose never failing spring the poet drinks in Pierian waters.]

Parabola- 39a.

Starry Night, Starry Night, tell those who, before the second set want to see, the cosmic sea not to see, you may tell them not to do the things in that way, you may tell them – “See not, see not, it’s better not to see the cosmic things in a mundane light. Brightmost of the brightest can be seen even in the furthest star-lights. You may not need to fight the dark and its lights, rather, keep in mind that mingled together they both live like them in their kind. Think of the cosmic womb that bind the cosmic lights and the Dark without even a single spark to bind, just keep in mind that darks and lights are but only distinctive forms following their distinctive norms. But what to see, and you too must see, is if that form is for or before you. So, it’s the slightness of the minds to judge anything only basing on the kinds. Theme-less minds, bathing in the darkened nights brought, to light and to the sights of the sites, the thoughts that are highest bright.” Starry Night, Starry Night, sinking in the brightest sights of the farthest sites’ light the night drinking in sinking links shrinking in the blinking stars. Starry Verses linking the clean-king with the farthests to be relieved of the curses. Near and far all to nurse the mindful lights, as they have got the might to light the sights of rights to stop fights in the sites. Right or wrong, all sing the song of life as it may be seen to flow in the slow tales of the finest and furthest sky’s darken nights. Nights that bring the lights here to the earth to make the ways better than what they are and to make the days further bright. Dark and light, the days are bright with the lights and rays of love in what the thoughts of dots partake and say all the ways and always. All, through the ways, to sing the rays the loveful song – “So long you care for others too, what you do goes not wrong.” The nights too seldom light up the nights’ flights up in the far.

Quae est ista laus quae laus quae possit e macello peti ?

- Cicero, De Finib., ii, 15

[What praise is that which is to be got in the market place ?]

Parabola- 41.

The nights too seldom light up the nights’ flights up in the far. The nights bright up, the sights light up from where they are. The nearmost far and the furthest and rearmost near, all do share the burnless flames of the unknown names whom to care and those who care. Mundane layer of a sublime sayer who ever prays for eternal bless on the beings and things in the finest ways and cares not for the wrath or praise, nor in others’ ways, for what s/he says – “Guess not forth and gaze not back, praises are only for the Creator Who blessed us with the thoughtful sights in the nights and with the brightest lights in workful rays, ways and days.”

Starry Nights, O ! Starry Nights, bright up the lights with the flights of sights. Starry Night, O ! Starry Night, bright up the dark with the light of sights. That is your might and that you know too that it is the task that the Holiest One entrusted you too to do. You too can help us see above the life on the lands or in the sea. The sea we see and that we see not in the furthest time, you are there to bring in their mundane-chimes of the silent hymns and the silent psalms of the calmness of the sum-less some of the parentless child who grew not wild, rather was relentlessly Truthful and heavenly mild. The dad-less kid with fad-less speed skidded up to the highest bid and brought the gains to bear with pains and showered the earth with endless rains of heavenly gains. And the holiest prince who left all for the either-or of the neither-nor of mundane rise and fall. And the collective-child who with the timely endless chimes waved up to give a lift to his own time. Many a one in any or none, many-any-none in all but One who could do the things to be done sings the very same mundane-song – “So long you care for others too, what you do goes not wrong. So guess not forth and gaze not back, let not you break, sway or crack. Let them do what they do, and do yourself what should you. Pray to none but the Praiseful One who blessed us in all the ways with the thoughtful sights to see the differences between the wrongs and rights in the days and nights, and with the brightest lights of rights and sights of darks and lights full of mights of in-borne rays in the workful nights and days to be worked in, on and with millions ways.”

Starry Night, O ! Starry Night, bright up the light with the flights of sights. Starry Night, O ! Starry Night, light up bright the sights of the darks by sparks of lights bringing in the sights of wrongs and rights. Starry Night, O ! Starry Night, light up the darkened mundane caves and pave the waves of sights of lights to pave the ways that never sway to lead the proper-most ways for the holiest of the holist wises and braves.

Habitam quemdam vitalem corporis esse,

Harmonium Graeci quam dicunt … Lucretius, iii, 100

[A certain vital habit which the Greeks call a harmony.]

Parabola- 42.

I’ll come, as I am, and as I did breed the seed of the creed of the mores. I’ll come, as I was and as I am in the doors that you may or may not see ashore or off the shore of the life-deep sea. See and dive the five seas of lives if you may see in yourselves of shelves amongst the few you for ever knew, see, one is me. You and me and the boundless sea that you see in you tell the tale that tells it’s tales but only to a very few. The breaths you take and the loves you make – you partake me to dive the Five-seas of lives forever to see the sea you see in you and me in the loves to live and relieve to see the see beyond and in you, them and me – the sea that forever lives. Better to leave the leaves of the beliefs that relieve none to live or to re-live, but live beliefs that relieve all the leaves that live to live and let others live and to leave relieves for all who believe in beliefs that relieve all to live and to re-live. The smile you pay in a lively way to life’s loveful song, goes not wrong as all way long life in itself is a song all along. The song you bring through your time-ring yet to find, the goals of a kind of golden-blind rays of ways, is the song that you sing in your mind for me or someone else to find, the loves you make or take, the breaths you take or the breads you may make, you partake me too in to let me in within the twin drives of the dives of the Fives that you carry within, the way you sink as you think to drink from the sea of love in a blink of eye, the things you bring when you sink to think in the seas where live the ‘I’, eyes that are near and far, out and in – to see the ‘I’ to dive down high in the unseen scenes, that are never seen in the scenes of sins caused by the mars, we altogether make the ways that pays the rays to relieve the leaves of beliefs to live-relieve and to re-live through the sublime-lake where we all, in due courses of life-forces, have to partake. Sing not the song that goes along the wrongs mar-made, but bring in the songs that wash-off the wrongs made by errors of the little mermaid. The way she did and wrongly believed to sing in a wrong place the sweetest songs. All songs are sung to none but the one of the few to do the due to care for the others too. So what she sang in those songs are not wrongs but merely her way of love to love – “ O! my love, love not me but love the seas of love in you and me. Love my love! As you have to love the love in me, ‘the loving me’, love the love to renew the love that lives in you and in a very few. O! my love, love thy love and love the love that you may or may not feel, hear or see. And that’s my love, O! my love, can’t you feel that love, can’t you see ? ”

Sanctius est ac reverentius de actis deorum credere quam scire.

It is more holy and reverend to believe the works of God, than to know them.

- Tacitus, De Mor. Germ., xxxiv.

Parabola- 43.

Generations of gene-ration of a nation of degradations of gradations and gradations of degradations of the passions that cause no pains of fashions of the chains and pains but caused hindrance in the fiesta-trance of the slave-lords who preyed out of those who may be found near around to locate and bait by the sounds that would have found the bounds and grounds to sow the seeds of hatred or greed to mislead the hidden force of the mores of doors and of the mores to the cores to the minds of freemen who everywhen and everywhere every now and then tried to free them and all from the bounds of the matters grounds and who loved to live free from the bounds of groundless grounds forced by the surround-sounds and by the rounds for punishing grounds that needs no trial- “So, forget and care not the nods and put all the odds to weak them down. Target one by one and employ all without or with the robe, cloak or gown.” So, the nascents of the decents and their descents with all their dissents were nipped in the bud in the muds of sighs and shies and cries. But that’s not the end as the horizon may seem to bend though it really never bends nor it ends.

Parabola- 44.

Qui certis quibusdam destinatisque sententis addicti et consecrati sunt, ut etiam, quæ non probant, cogantur defendre.

Who are so tied and obliged to certain beliefs, that they are bound to defend even those they do not approve. - Cicero, Tusc., Quaes., ii.2

The soundy crowd, so proud and loud to shroud the thoughts of thoughts in the spots where lots of lots are slaughtered by the rots trying by plots of slots to blot the shiny dots on the axis of the praxis’s tile wheels not for thrill but to feel the reels of life on the life’s endless sea that few may see and a few may feel until it’s the time to work the chimes of that rhyme that only some could sum and tell in the tranquil way of race to pace the phase in an enthalpic form in spite of the entropic norms to deform the forms that play around in the bounds and rounds and abound in the farthest spaces the nouns of which yet to be found by the norms of thoughts tied in and with the forms that reforms or deforms themselves generally without even knowing it and split the knit of knots of eternal tie that you feel, s/he feels and so feel also I, though we may or may not know how to grow the hidden seed of the creed in a tranquil way through the paces of races that race to pace the phases to grow and flow in an enthalpic form in spite of the entropic paces and norms to deform the forms in all the forms, shapes, norms and even in the thoughts and spots to change the lots of the lots of dots of the beings though in the rings all are one but none someone to breed, feed and to lead the seeds of the creeds in the rightmost way that never sway though may give the ways in the nights and days to the darks and rays on the ways to grow and flow near and far, now and then, everywhen and everywhere to do and to feel the reels of life in the life’s endless sea that few may see and a few may feel its time in time and may do or tell that tranquil tale.

Parabola- 45.

Neque gratia neque ira teneri potest: Quod quae talia essent, imbecilla essent omnia. Cicero, De Nat., i. 17

He can be affected neither with favour nor indignation, because both these are effects of fragility.

Smile and shine, O! mingled mind of mine, though frost-bites on your face shall bear in the marks of an ice-age or the memoirs of someone kept in cage for claiming wage but not the ‘competence’ to earn a pittance that placate the fates of the takers who can not make the things into beings but can shake or break and so they take from the wages through the ages to turn the wages into pittances that is earned by dense and hard labours through the days and through the nights by human-lights who enlight the nights and days in millions ways through the works and thoughts all over the spots and claim sometimes only a fair wage to renew the nights and days. The human-lights that rarely fight or rise in rage for their wage but bear in to the extent a human could do without shelter, care or food. Thus the human-lights are decayed in decades of their sights and the dark-shark swallows them day by day in thousands ways in the names of rites and fights that were never fought by the ‘prisoners of war’ near or far though they are being gripped, sold and resold as prisoners of war. This is but only one of the ways of ‘life’ the takers are punishing all to – is this new to me or to s/he or you ?

Smile and shine, O! pilloried mind of mine though frost bites on your face pace the trace of the coming ice-age or reminds someone’s face who was kept in cage for claiming due works and due wage.

There Lies a World Hidden, # Mysterious, unknown, and forbidden. # Where dwells entities with technologies beyond our comprehension, # And knowledge kept hidden from us, in this other dimension. # Will the truth ever be revealed? Earthly forces of power and greed want forever sealed, # Forbidden knowledge for warfare to wield. # When humankind understands, # To use the knowledge acquired from these strange lands. # For the benefit of humankind, # Then entrance into their world we will find.” There Lies a World Hidden -Frank Scassellatii

Parabola- 46.

Sky, O Sky , O holy Sky , tell to all the root-cause of all the pains and sighs that comes but was not seen by the eyes of the child who was mild with the love of the mother-soul of the eternal goal to breed the seed of the creed to a holy goal of sharing and caring for all as a whole, in spite of the brutal facts and acts she had to face through out the life and the toll she had to pay in many ways of the nights and days of the darks that spark to jerk and shake not to remake but to break the real-form and to deform the real values and norms of the creed to proceed to the positive goal which confirms that the creed as a whole is but one to breed the seeds bound by the needs crust that must be broken for the seed to be free and to become the tree of blooming-spree to grow and flow the flowers of growers who are the pure souls of the best of the mundane-goals that don’t want to fight but work for light of the souls to work through the creative goals and to partake in the life that the Holy Soul wanted to make where nobody take more than that they may make out of work which don’t spark or jerk the pure souls neither shake to deform the pure souls’ real form to turn into an evil or a sear soul deviated from the goal that was implanted by the Holy Soul within the pure souls to reach the goals of the fusion of the creation that never ends but may bend to mend the wounds of the rounds of bounds of the negative force that try to endorse the evil trends by the bends of the sparks and jerks to shake not to remake but to break the real-form and to deform the real values and norms of the creed to proceed to the positive goal that was implanted within the pure souls.

Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell to all the root-cause of all the pains and sighs that comes out of the causes that see not the eyes of the child who was mild with the love of the mother-soul of the eternal goal to breed the seed of the creed to a holy goal of sharing and caring for all as a whole. Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell the pure souls of goals not to sigh or cry but to unite through out the sites of seen and unseen lights and to try to locate and placate the broken souls to not allow any more sear-souls to derail from the real humane-mundane-goals. Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell the pure souls of goals not to sigh or cry but to unite through out the sights and sites and to try to ignite the holy lights of the holy days and nights within the evil souls derailed from the real mundane- humane-goals.

Parabola- 47.

Together, we arranged very few of the things as they are.

Together, we work for a future yet to be better.

We bear with some of the things as they are.

Together, we work for a better time to come here and there.

The thorns of scorns and mourns that we do not need for the sake of or for the needs of the seeds of the creed that breed not the grids of greed to lead nowhere but to ashes caused by the sores of the core-mores that splashes throughout the history to show all the most proper ways throughout the ways to the ways towards the rays of the souls of goals who could reach and sometime preached the lights of the souls of lights that rarely fight but for the rights of them and of others who need to be cared for from the perspective of any of the either or that choir us to chorus of the internal lights towards the eternal light containing the source of the course of the source-codes of the cores of mores and the lights and rights of time-space sites containing force of all of the forms to perform the norms that may be needed to form a rightful path in the aftermath of the birth of the souls to reach their goals and to play the rightful roles that may not toll the unjust pains from them or from others of the path that do not reverse nor perverse the courses of the forces of which they all were made and about which the holy Soul forbade the shoals of souls and the pure souls to proceed on the way as that may take back to the days of the past full of the bloods and tears and fears caused by the greed and lust of some deformed souls that toll on others for their wrongful needs and greed nd misdeeds that lead nowhere but to ashes caused by the sore of core-more that splashes throughout the tree of history line of time-space ground and are found to cause many to be fined and which remind that every form may be deformed so needs to be reformed and that not only the deformed forms but also the deformed norms may cause cata-storms that break the breaking points and joints of the forms and the norms that remained or gained and even lost from the earlier norms of the things and beings in the process of the becoming of the space-time and the becoming of the chime of time that may be right or may be wrong to bring in and sing the rightful songs of that time to pave the waves of rightful thoughts throughout the spots of the lots of the lots that are but the dots through the time-space-line of the nine of the rings of the things and beings bound in the round of the things that may or may not be found by the minds and eyes that see through the seas of lights and that seldom fight each other due to the plights not caused by the souls’ lights but by the earlier unjust fights or wrongful uses of the might not to enlighten the beings or things that bring us rightful gains of grains and brains without unjust pains of unjust chains and grows and flows the moths of Thoth and the rightful prime-most thoughts that serve the lots of spots to come out of the sores of mores that the wrongful minds try to ignore out of the tense of ignorance of the light that they too bear within their selves which became but elves in that time-space as the time and space was occupied or burnt by the darks or sparks of the darks of the darkest sores of mores that may be caused by the deformed mores of their core-thoughts or may be because of the deformed forms of the norms of the source-codes of their mores which may be deformed due to the works of the negative forces of the courses through which that source-code went because as time spent the things change too in the worlds around and within the bound of the mind that may or may not be found by the normal minds and eyes that see through the seas of lights that the darks try to seize to increase its own space in the time-space of that space-time and that is the eternal chime of the holiest verse of the universe – the unique-most rhyme of the holy verse, becoming out of the paces and races through space-time of the things and beings, and of the souls playing their roles in the very same game with different names and frames of the forms and norms of the darks and sparks and lights that are sometime angled in the ways as to be entangled in the fights of the lights with the sparks of darks and such fights may or may not leave the marks for the future time to locate and to placate the errors to cure themselves from the sores of the mores or course to achieve the force that brings the ways out through out the nights and days of the rays and darks mingled to make the jingle of life but not to cause strife for themselves or for others to allow the mars to march through the doors of mores or force or through the norms or forms but to play the rays that shows the rightful ways for all not to befall the curse that are contained in the verses or the adverse or reverse verses of the none someone who created the holiest verse that was formed in the days bygone but remain in the dens of the minds and make their way out when out of pains of unjust chains and through the dots of thoughts or spurs of whispers or nails of yells or anything that brings out their faith and trust that justice is as must as the faith to remain in its form intact and to come to become facts in fact and to react with the tact that the rightful souls may need to contain and maintain to breed the seed of the creed of lights that rarely fight but to protect and correct the errors that may come from the mayhems of the games of various names that were played by the darks and sparks coming out of the sores of the cores of the mores that may be caused by the grids of the needs and greed but to be sure are actually subject to cure through the process of the holy and mundane grace that may not be found as they too are bound by the grounds of space-time and sometimes covered by the wrong chimes that brings the pains and burns in each of the turns out of the hell that would not fell otherwise on this mundane life to cause more strife and pains of chains and unjust pains for the creeds and seeds of the creeds that race for the traces of graces to maintain paces in the race of the races to maintain pace of the race without causing pain for them or any and to show the grace of those ways through thought-rays how the holy One made the first one to become many in the forms of norms and norms of forms that may deform through passing through the time-space and through the race to find the place of the grace to trace the grace to maintain paces of different phases and to face the life face to face not to fight but to embrace and grace with the depths and lengths of strengths of the light that ignite the lights towards the ways of the light and to pave the waves of millions of minions who also bear in the light but rarely unite to prepare and to dare to mark the spots of dark sores of mores and norms of the forms and to fight through the sites by the light’s sparkling with the sparks of darks of the forms and norms and to settle more and more of the proper mores to say to the dark sores – “Enough is enough and proceed no more as we have tolerated too much of unjust pains caused by your mind-sores and dark-grid of the greed and lust and now justice is must to maintain the belief that we bear in our mind and that we find through the best of the ways that never sways but ignites rays to the best ways to bring the best times out of the sublime-chimes that come out of the space-time to ensure and to make sure that all be relieved of the pains of the unjust chains and pains and contain the belief in the sights and rights and lights of the holiest someone none who shows the ways to the many-in-one to accomplish the things that is to be done to contain and maintain belief.”. And if they say that ‘we do not have any belief’, be sure as am I that that is a lie and tell –“Well usually we don’t tell but as we do have our belief so we place this leaf before you to be considered by your mind and by the wisest of you that you may find as we want to contain and maintain all in this race of life contained and maintained in vast grounds of time-space that may or may not be found by you although surely your elders knew that we all became many one out of the one who was formed by the holy One dictating us to contain and maintain all without unjust pains and strife of life and to get rid of the unjust chains and pains that we find to bind the light of our soul as that too hinder our ways to the holiest Soul who ordained us to contain and to maintain the proper paces through the time-spaces through which we may go and has also ordained us not to bow before any even if many but to pray and bow before the hole Soul who has bestowed us with our goals and roles and to pass through the time by containing all and not to fall with the things that brings pains or chains on us.” and say in chorus “That is the way of the first and have lasted and yet do last as that is destined to ever last.” And convey them this leaf, of someone’s belief as already have been said, to make them realize and hope that they may be able to get into it to know their selves and to reach the goals towards their souls, and say – “See, this is only one of the leaves of the jungle of mores and doors and forces that took birth out of and endorse and reinforce the core belief of the mores and force in the holy doors leading to the purest and wisest of the brave living in the holy cave wherein we too live and pray and wherein play the lights with lights coming out of lights and to bring out lights out of the own-soul’s lights that rarely fight but to contain and maintain the Belief and this is only one leaf of the vast tree of the brave waves of the sea of lights that you may or may not see but which remains in each and every planes of time-space of this sea of light that we all live within and also contain in like an eternal chain not to bind but to find proper places in the races of the races to maintain paces and locate the best of the graces of the sights and rights and lights that we all contain like a chain and as that’s the best way to maintain pace in this mundane race of the races to ensure paces with the time-space and to contain and maintain all of us as was ordained by the holy One to contain and maintain the pace of the race and to contain and maintain the sites of sights and rights of the lights that rarely fight but to save the light and ensued lights and to ignite lights out of lights through out the sites as may need the time-space in its pace of the race to locate the grace of the holiest One who formed the very first one out of none and caused to grow into many one containing the raining of training to become many-in-one and to maintain the holy order of the paces and phases of the races of the races through time-space full of lights that rarely fight but are containing the mores and force of the cores of mores of the source-code of the doors of the many of the mores that contain in and are contained in the lights’ sea that you may or may not see due to the sores of pains and chains that may be caused to you through the darks and sparks of mundane strife of life although this sea of light remains in all the planes of time-space and in all the phases of the life’s holy verse that you may find throughout our or your universe – the unique most verse of the holy One who made the very first one out of none to become, as we now are, many one but contained in one sea of lights coming from and moving to the holy Soul who caused to ignite and causes by the holy light to enlighten the sites through the lights and rights and rightful might of the holy Light who ordained to contain and to maintain the paces throughout the time-spaces so that all remain and contain the Belief to maintain all without pains on souls or bodies or brains and, though rarely, have allowed the lights to fight for the continuance of the holy lights of the trinity of dignity and justice and security to ensure peace to contain and maintain the sea of lights that may or may not shine bright but remains in all the sites of sights and even in the darkest-planes of time-spaces wherein remains the container and the contained of the lights wherefrom derived and is maintained our belief giving birth to a jungle of billions of trillions leaves originated from and netted within the very same belief, of those leaves this is only one leaf and as already told that we have got a manifolds jungle, and now it’s for you to decide and guide yourselves either to mingle or to entangle.”

Parabola -48

Live in the leaves that believe to live and to relieve the sight of the third eyes towards the skies that did not melt the horizon-belt though felt the real causes of the pauses and of the ‘laws’ for and of the ‘POW’s who are young and old and are bought and sold like the cattle won or lost without battle but for only to ‘tame’ in the game and by the name of the ‘war-lord’s who never fight amongst themselves except for the speech fights in the blame-games that they sometimes play to pass their time without the chime of sublime and as per their ‘laws’ it’s no crime even to cause millions or more to be lost, in the desert or frost, for some sort of ‘sport’ or for the grids of greed’s paradigm of the nonsense time that has lost itself like the naughty-elf that has lost its way in the alpine range and then try to avenge for its errors through causing terrors by beating in the bushes here and there and there is no magic mirror on the way to come and say – “Listen and stop. Hey ! Hey ! you angry elf! Look at you and know thyself. Beating in the bushes can not really disprove that really you’ve lost yourself from the leaves of beliefs of the cores and doors of mores who care for all small or tall, and have taught us all many things about the rings of the things of the force of mores to find the doors and to trace the rays of the past and the coming ways out within and without but with due care not for only few but for all the big or small who care for and share with all. But for now, you know how you have lost yourself and your ways in different ways. And now, please have a look at yourself to find you as the mirror’s elf . See and compare thee, compared with the works and greatness of you in the past times, you are now playing only to pass the time as a pass-time and beating the bushes without knowing thyself, and the mirror says that you are nothing but a crazy elf depriving the soul and missing the goal and thereby loosing itself is becoming nothing but a naughty or pass-time elf.”

In fact and as a matter of fact of the facts that act and interact with and in themselves most of us, the elves and the millions of minions of this time of pass-time time without the chime of sublime are too like a tiny monad of this bad time’s angry elf who knows not but has lost itself . Now as the way out within or without there are no neither-nor or either-or except self-realization’s magic mirror.

THE MONADICS

1.
The farthest you
Surely knew
The smells of the greenest morning-dew !

2a.
Mundane ties! Don’t say lies,
As lies bring pains and tears and sighs.

2b.
Am I of this time !
Or, the time is mine !
Can I drink and flow in the life’s holy wine ?!

3.
Is it my name !
Or, only a frame !
Who’s the one who came for them ?

4.
Could we rather, wait to gather
The parts of the lost ‘we’ all together ?!
Should we rather, haste to gather
The parts of the lost ‘we’ all together ?!

5.
See ! my thoughts too are not mine !
As is the sun and its shine !

6.
Have we not
Forever brought
The feathers of the wings to fly for a lot !

7.
The olds and the new
But only a few
Are amongst all who may claim for a due.

8.
What else we may say
Can we ever pay
The rightmost thoughts in a perfect way !

9.
O! the penniless saint!
I beg to give you a cent,
And you please pay me the cent percent finest scent !

10.
O! my nearest one,
Never tell anyone
That you too knew someone none.

11.
Had I been
Out or in
The body you saw – ‘black, lin and thin’.

12.
The endless time
In its own paradigm
Dances with the chime of its prime-most mime!

13.
You all, and mine
Are but dots of a line
That ends to a circle of the 9.

14.
The numbers are
Near and far.
Numbers give births, numbers mar.

15.
Should I say
The way I may ?
The way that knew but crew not they !

16.
The best thoughts we preach
Could never reach
The mindless mindful coarsest speech !

17.
What’s the pace
Of time-space,
To win or ruin the endless race ?

18.
Here, you see the time in you,
Playing in a way that you too knew.

19.
Feel my touch and listen to the sublime song !
See, I’m being you without doing any wrong !

20.
So long you care for others too,
Goes not wrong what you do.

21.
Feel, taste, listen and see
This is you, they, she, he and me.

22.
I’m the ‘me’ that you never feel or see,
As the drops of the sea cannot see the other parts of the very same sea.

23.
But I bring the mundane songs to sing
Till it’s the time for the parabola-ring.

24.
“Frighten not but bright up and light up the ways always.
That’s the way to ray the race.” – said the sage of the age.

25.
One in none,
You are the one
None someone to bind the bonds of
Many in One.

26.
The way we do,
Know you too,
Shall we grow
But to sow and flow.

27.
I didn’t sing to you, the loneliest songs
Of the wrongs cherished to sing the mundane-songs.

28.
Shall we not bring the songs yet to sing ?
Will the moon shine up the golden ring !!

29.
Be not proud.
See the cloud – showering gains of rains but sounds not loud.

30.
I’ll be there too, as I am here and there had been
And I’ll share with all the lights my self is bearing in.

31.
Don’t be late.
Bate the fate,
And get through the gate albeit.

32.
Neither against him, nor for him.
We work but for all-one theme.

33.
They-you-me
We all shall see
The sea that flowed in
The sea of they-you-we and me.

34.
No sounds in these crowds
No prides left for the prouds.
No other mights can get these lights
No other brightness can bring these sights.

35.
Not the things they bring
Not the songs they sing
Nor the wisest priest or king
Can bring the Parabola-ring.

36.
I will do, as do they and you too,
Something old but looking to be new.

37a.
Tell them all that, I never shy or sigh
Being blamed down for the works so high.

37b.

When we are one in many, then we may be weaker than any,
But when we are many in one, be sure to be weak to none.

38.
Did they come but to blame
Not your self, but the name ?

39.
Beware more of the sore that some have in mind.
Beware more of the sore of that some as they may bite behind.

40.
I was none in the crowd that proud for
The either or, or neither nor.

41.
The sky went up in the sky
The sky of the skies that could not fly.
Sky showed up the way to the sky
For the skies who wished to fly.

42.
The light in the minds, or the lights in the brains !
The loves in the hearts, or the loves come with the spring rains of gains !
Forgot not he anywhen the lights of loves coming out of the hard-earned grains !

43.
Splendid love for a candid soul,
Love for those who reached the goal !
Loveliest are the souls who care for the whole.

44.
Split not, split not! O! holy souls.
Stay together like the waves of the life-sea that altogether forever rolls.
Roll, and roll, and never rock each other in the mundane sea.
But don’t mind seeing others or let others to see.

45.
The maimed brains of the waste-membranes
Causes hatred to works in a life mundane.
Knew not they that, in the other life they will have nothing to do !
Then why they restrained from works on earth and caused others too !

46.
Green leaves who lived in the same
Once played on the life’s joyful game.
Like them, all the souls too came
To live a mundane life in the Creator’s holy names,
But they are blurred and barred by the unjust frames.

47.
Mind-darkness darkens through the leaves of beliefs of ages
Darkened mind-darkness throw the waves that paves no pages.
Mind-darkness carried amongst the race the worst of the rages,
Darkened fairy images took off the fruits, rice, even maizes.
Mind-darkness darkened to throw the waves of beliefs of pages.
Even then lightened darkness through the leaves live to pave new ages.

48.
Brightest lights of millions flights of the Greats,
That grates not the gratefulness over the great-full plates,
That slates not the millions lights of the brightest flights
But shine the warmth of the wings of kites to the detailing slights.

49.
His highest wrong so long
Was to be long to belong
That’s why for long along he had to cross the farthest far and long furlong.

50.
It’s not the way they say it may do.
But the way the things are done by them, us, and you.

51.
It’s the tale that we all to tell to the caedar trees.
And the song to sing all along to reach out all the three-s.

52.
It’s not the hottest spots, neither it’s the coolest one.
It’s the thing to be done by many one
But not in the ways of the days bygone.

53.
Is it your eye, or your I
That flies in the freest sky !
Who is it to see what comes through eye ?

54.
Go through the ways
That never sway
And are enlightened with the seen and unseen rays.

55.
The time we read
Was dusty bloody-red.
Was it the one for which the prayers prayed ?

56.
What’s the news ?
And what are the views ?
North-East-West-South, all he chews ?

57.
A land
Where even a child was killed for 2000 bucks only.
And, this is the land wherein I was born,
And still do ‘live’.
Don’t believe ? Believe !

58.
Souls are the one,
The minds may be any,
Though the bodies are millions more and many.

59.
Where came from ?
Where to go ?
Where to end do we grow ?

60.
The being’s space
And its pace
Decides the length of mundane grace ?

61.
Where to leave ?
And, where to live ?
Who makes the norms of forms ? Who believe ?

62.
Rebirth yet to be born
Of the Eesha, ‘crowned’ with thorn,
Is really prayed for or it’s too a scorn ?

63.
It was a door
Through the walls numbering 4.
Walls were 4 ! Or, even more ?

64.
Is it not enough for a night,
When fly through the darkest sky,
Hundreds or more sightful kites of lights !

65.
Oho!, when you have a sum,
Save some, save some, save some.

66.
As differs the sense of the very same verse
We have only Justice’s shadows and images.
So, justice can be done only by the Creator
Who built the ages.

So none can ascertain that his justice is precisely just.
But we all agree that, to let humanity last, peace is a must.
So, let us all try to control the lasts of lusts to be more just.

67.
I’ve an original sin.
As there myself too had been,
But my works’ length was very thin in the thin.

68.
Listen to the nights.
It’s a legend through the nights.
Listen, O! my friends, to what the trees say,
And, through the sky-sea try to see
What the stars sign by the distant rays.

69.
See the seas and the bees who works all the times.
See the taste of the life-elixir with the sweetest mundane-chimes.
O ! you, the holy souls, the best children of the times !
Do you waste your times ?
Know not you that it’s one of the most heinous crimes ?
Have a sound body ? or, even one who is lame, deaf, dumb or blind,
Anyone who lives, may work at least with the mind.
Hands, legs, ears and eyes, voice and mind,
All are the working organs gifted by
The Creator – the holiest, the most gracious and the most kind.

70.
Finest dark on the farthest spark of azurite ice
Of a dawn that goes on far, once, or may be thrice
To ruin a gain-less win that is high in the price.
Finest spark on the farthest dark, once or thrice !
Flies the price of the truths or lies on the bluest ice.
Rainless ruins that never win but bite behind
And take the price many a thrice from humankind.
Furthest dark for the finest spark of priceless price
Bluest shades that never fade on the azurite ice.

I know, such dense is the darkness that the sun too, as if, dares not to shine.

But, this is the land you inherit to cultivate, O, Ye! Shrine-less heart of mine.

THE MUNDANE SONGS

1. He had

Mainly because of his distinctive path
He had to swallow the “grapes of wrath”.

I found him walking
Very very slowly up to the end
But, never found him to bend.

I asked him, who, really, was he ?
I asked him, who, really, is he ?

He returned a sentence only-
“Alike you
I am the soul
I are the mind
And, I is the body.
Never can they bend the souls down.
Though they can delay the mundane goals
And may break-through
or even dissect the body”.

See the palms -
The wounds bleeds even now in various forms.
And the chest – speared and torn.
See the feet -
Stricken by the nails of unjust norms.
And, the head,
They have ‘crowned’ with the thorns of scorn.
They bear the statue
engraved on the top of the altar.
But can’t feel the self
when in the name of the self
the very throat, they slaughter.
But you, who war simply because of being paid,
See the palms
And look deep into the eyes,
Is it not the very self who prayed-
Care the much you can to those who cares
Share the dues to all who shares
And beat the swords, right now, into ploughshares.

2. his journey to
Many an events on his journey through the life,
And through the lives as well. Only a very few of those tales I tell you.
May be many of them many or some of you already knew.
And surely he knew too,
As most of those seemed to him to be nothing new.
So, he bathed in them and some of them and he took births anew.

The shiny dot that ended in the biggest blast,
And the seeds of the creed swimming over the ovum’s crust,
And the greens telling him the life’s hidden tales,
And the man, who against the wind dared to open the sails,
The war-orphan of not a very different past,
And the peace of the graveyards that everlast.
Many a flowers nipped in the bud in their infanthood,
Many of the truths vigorously bright but primitively crude.
Gliders of the skies and the shiny bird of a tiny wood,
All spoken to him and told him the life’s endless tale the much they could.
In his journey through the life he had to gain
From himself the right to drink up the gains of pain.
Pain or joy ? joy or pain ? pain or joy ?
I can’t say unless allowed by the troy,
But I can tell you some or this one tale –
I found him enchained and pained at almost every steps, as he denied
To leave his believe that each of the souls of goals should be dignified.
I found many one of them tried to improvise a crucifixion,
As in that case those ugly man-traders could gain and pain with a newer fiction.
And many tried too to improvise he was who,
He spoke not, as he knew who he was,
And too knew that very few were there around to judge who is who.
People around guessed and told, told and guessed,
Some caused chains of pains to derail him, though few blessed.
Did he care for the pains intended to derail him ?
Or he was only on his way ?
And one day felt someone within him to say –
“Take care of you and them, the much you can take care,
and that’s what welfare is, and it is too your purpose to be here.
Be in the line of positivity the much you can.
Mind that this should be the aim of your Karmo-Dhyan-Gyan.
Dhyan are the mind’s pacific culminations,
Gyan are the powers of the time’s expressions.”
-“But, what is the positive ? how can I guess
the ways that I may use to assess?”
-“Positive is that which with the lowest pain
helps to run smoothly the life’s ongoing chain.
Sometimes you may gain some of the rightmost way,
Once you gain them, forget not, and never sway.
Sometimes you may unwillingly cause some pain,
Seek mercy, O! ye holy soul, seek mercy then and then !
And, the primary powers you are pored with, save,
Save until you get someone to share, or, dare to save up to the grave.
As, that are the strengths which take part,
In the event of the creation of the best art –
The universe, the unique-most verse of the time,
And, one fail to feel this unless in the perfect sublime.
Sometimes you may reach and stay there through your mind-doors.
May be you’ve already seen even the holiest gates of the Four of mores.
Again you may be far a way from there,
But never forget to take the highest care.
Sometimes you may reach, sometimes anyone may fail,
But, O ! devotees forget not to sail
At least once in a day in the sublime-wave.
The ship you judge to be the best will do,
Though, in judging the ship, you should take the highest care too,
And the ship your purest mind chose for you will do,
But, sail with the utmost care through the sublime-wave.
Take care as well, when you will be there,
O! the wise devotee! Be cautious but brave.
You may be right or wrong in choosing the ship,
But, if you have sailed all through with the devotion of your purest mind,
You may be one of the souls pardoned, as the Creator forgiveth the best,
He who have blessed us with the soul, body and mind,
He is the most Gracious Almighty – the most Kind.
And, if anywhen, you feel that you are one of them who have been relieved,
Pray for, O! Ye holy soul, pray for them who outlived death or relive,
Pray for all to enlighten the path for those who really believe.”

Blessed are those who can
Differentiate between a poem and a verse.
Far more blessed are those who bless and bless only,
And seek pardon on behalf, but never curse.

3. the Holy Tree
And there was the holy tree, beneath it were the lakes
The lakes wherein everyday bath the holiest souls partake
The tree had been there and there were too the holy lakes
And the rules made by none of them and that’s why they couldn’t break
The holy tree and the holy lakes surrounded by the hill of Five
Even the souls of the bodies that died could bath in the lakes to be kept alive
Even the loners could go up there, but the bath they were to share
And the care they took of them signified who they are
The lakes and the tree abut which knew but only few
And who bathed there, blessed-most they are as they were born anew
The holy lakes beneath the holy tree, for only those who believed
Relieved of the pains and sighs, rising up above the highs outlived
The holy souls that reached that goal, read the holy verses forever read
And got the chimes of sublime and the lights that never fade
The holy souls reaching that goal were blessed with the eternal lights
The light they carried in them to pass through the darkest nights
The holy tree and the holy lakes, who could reach there read the holiest book
The holiest book given to all of us but the less-blessed can not make a look
The holy-tree born ever-free, the countless leaves of lights
Even a single leaf can outlive and shine through the darkest nights
The nights you see when sun does not shine are not nights that is told
The nights are that comes with someone’s birth and lasts even after becoming old
The nights come there and there come too
They know, you know and we know too,
There come the ones who will bring the light
That ever goes over the darks’ and lights’ eternal flight
The holy tree beneath which, beside the lake was the holy cave
Many holy souls bathed in the lake, but the cave opened only to the holy and brave.

4. they tried to disprove
And I saw their dissatisfaction that led them to haunt the smile glowing his mundane-face.
And the more they tortured, the more was the Creator’s grace –
A mild smile, always, on a satisfied face
A grace of strength to win the race of race.
They earned from the livelihoods that he could have earned.
They tried to disprove the virtues from the eternity that he learned.
And they haunted him every now and then.
But there were no jungles for him nor any den.
They were cowards and so he was deprived even of a trial of justice to face
But they sentenced him to endless torture in all the ways they could to pull him down from the holy grace.
Devils led the way, and the weaker souls swayed
To stand in guard of one of the holy souls for whom they, for long, prayed.
Let us don’t comment on the devils’ play as that is the way of them.
But see the misery of the poor souls who use to use the Creator’s holiest name.
These tiny creatures on earth pray and are preyed for long
And did let others’ fall preyed by the devils and there they seldom found anything wrong.
Knew not they that their confusion caused way for the evils to win
Nor that causing suspicious division and mistrust were aimed to ruin.
The devils caused the best and the precious-most children of the time to unwanted death.
They took off the breads and roofs, liberty and dignity, bonds and ties
And even tried to bar or poison the breath.
And the more they tortured, the more was the Creator’s grace –
A mild smile, always, on a satisfied face
A grace of strength to win the race of race,
Living on the soil out of toil but believing high.
And that’s the main offence, he committed in fact,
That caused the prolonged haunt trying to cause him to die.

5. We all must toil
And when you can get through the given time and space,
You reach the eternity contained in you,
You reach the life’s highest grace.

Now see the land we love the most.
Let us all sit together to have the look to the greens.
Let we all altogether have a look to the sky-book, for some whiles.
Many of us will again be here when we return from the exodus of thousand miles.
We have to come back to this bluest sky and the greenest soil.
Though we may leave now for the sake of peace,
We have to return again to establish equity and justice.
And, up to then, for days and nights, we shall toil,
We have to toil,
We all must toil.
Now let us all sit together and see the land we love the most.
The shiny green land that gives the most.
Let we all altogether have a look to the sky-book, for some whiles
And say good-bye to it until there are the most beloved smiles
Seeing us victorious as we come back again
From this unjust compelled-exile.

6. even at the moment
Where bends the sky there fly the eyes,
And where ends the sky there live the I.
So, even when we get apart, save yourselves
And no pains, no sorrows, no sigh.

Even at the moment when I have to cross the largest mountain,
Or, even when I am all alone on a tiny boat in the sea and the sea is full of stormy rain,
No fear, my friends!, no sorrows, no pains, no sigh.

Even at the moment when you have to cross the largest mountain,
Or, even when you are all alone on a tiny boat in the sea and the sea is full of stormy rain,
No fear, my friends!, no sorrows, no pains, no sigh.

No pain, my friends!, no gain.
To give some gain, you have to incur some pain.
Better than being enchained is living on the soil out of toil but believing high.
No fear, my friends!, no sorrows, no pains, no sigh.

Where bends the sky there fly the eyes,
And where ends the sky there live the I.
So, even when we get apart, save yourselves
And no pains, no sorrows, no sigh.

7. Say
Say, “I am but an one, unlike again like anyone.
I am one who strives for the goals of the souls,
The goals that satisfies or adjusts essentials for exploring the body, mind and the soul,
Which is blessfully bestowed by the Creator.”
And say, “O! yes I do love the people of my land as they are too the part of the Humankind enchained in the pains of misery.
And surely,
Me too is a believer to believe in the rights and mights to and from who Creates.
A believer in the perfectness of sights and lights of the One who Creates,
Who Creates and let us live, leave, relieve and relive.”
Say, “I believe that though shall we leave, we shall leave to relive.
And, as we believe, we may live through the harshness of life that very few may.
Though that’s not meant to say that others are different, though some of them may differ.”
Then say, “So far I know, this rightful flight of the souls light to grow
And the strength not to bow before anything mundane,
Sometimes caused trillions through millions of years to unjust-undue mundane pains to chain the goal of the souls.
And, those pains brings no gains for the souls of goals.
So, O! men of souls, let us let our own and others’ souls’ lights to grow”.

And in your mind, you may always sing the very old mundane-song –
“So long you, care for others too, what you do goes not wrong.”

[Whom they scorn ? John ! whom they torture every now and then !
Whom they blame ? Mikoyo ! for whose death they try every now and then !
Whom they try ? Abdallah ! whom they try to put with sentences !
Try them all, try them altogether as time passes !]

8. See
See, he survived through a long loneliness,
Even then the happiness sparkling through the eyes.
Walking through the millions of individuals’ dream
Without having an oasis in the crowd of ‘mainstream’.

See, he walked through the roads of Nineve to Mithila
Carrying the warmth of the endless human-dreams.
But, only heard the passers-by screams
Of unfed souls without goals.
Up there above the mountain-top shines the summer-nebula
Showering the cosmic thoughts on the life-mundane.
And, what is that you call ‘the hell’ or ‘heaven’ ?

The sage of the time to break some of the thoughts paradigm
Walked thousands of miles of space and time.
Now says he, “You see, Nineve or New York cannot help you to find your souls.
Dare you to detach from such shiny loop-holes ?
So, you get your self , O! my friend you get yourself back to you.
Think and place your soul without any rush or cue.
Reaching the state when the creed-seed is ready to grow,
Prepare yourself to sow them in your pre-arranged fertile meadow.
Then grow and flow like the singing vows of life that never bow,
As the life is nothing but the parabola bow.”

9. No far are the souls
No gains come without pains
No gains ever and so never the pains.
No pains-no gains, no gains- no pains.

The drops of the rain coming down on the solid plains
See the gains of rains, see the pains of rains
See, the crystal clear watery crown-drops falling down on the earth.

No far are the souls my friend! Never had they been.
Though there were, are and may be too many walls.
Even then, see anywhen they can break the walls
The coupled souls of love dance the sublime waltz.

So chain the pains and turn them into gains my friend!
As you too know that the gains too are pains.
And to gain the utmost gains, breakthrough the walls of mind-chains.

10. They waited for
They went in the nights’ deep.
They went in the lab-dips of the night.
They went through the night in search of the lights of the dawn.
They walked in the sky-ways of distant cosmic rays.
They walked all along altogether.
And waited a long polar night for all to gather.
They waited for them all.
And that’s why they didn’t fall.

A bravo summer night in the river-bank,
A deep breath of the honey-smell from the mustard field,
A long tale along the life that the sky tells to you,
A few tasks to be done by millions minds.

A chill midnight in Bavarian Alps,
A door behind you that you closed forever,
A storm that you have to pass through the clouds,
A life that you can not share.

A mind that never minds the brutes and the kinds,
A song that never had its raudeavu to they or you,
A life that was barred, to be shared, due to undue taboo.

11. the mundane-keys
Silent rains coming down on the greens that bring you a drop of the sky.
Silent raindrops drops around, calming down the sky.

The kids-ancien lost the mundane-keys when they drowned in the stream,
And found them nowhere in the stream up and down, down and up.
The brown dreams, and only in the streams of dreams you met the kids
Who played round the Patagonian plains or by the Nile,
Who stopped a while, while rushing down the Bavarian Alps or the Steps,
Kids, who punched their step-marks in the Mekong’s clay,
Kids, who bids and play for the life to make it l’mundane.
The kids-ancien lost their keys drowned in the stream,
Or in Chan-hu-daro, or in the Saharan plains ?
Or, they lost the keys in the dreams of the dreams full of pains ?

Silent rains coming down on the greens that brings you a drop of the sky.
Silent raindrops drops around, calming down the sky.

12. and then
And then, none of the planes shall fly,
Nor any ship shall sail offshore.
The lights on the earth shall lit no more.
And there shall be no stars or sky.

But even then there shall be I.
And, everywhen, there shall be we.

When there shall be no man or woman to lie,
When there shall be no way nor any passers-by,
There shall be no arts, sciences, and even these sublime-songs.
And there shall be no mights, rights or wrongs.
There shall be no chains or wars nor any pains or sigh.

But, as there shall be the souls of goals,
Surely there shall be I,
And, everywhen, there shall be we.

Those who habitually mistakes or misinterprets, for them say I,
The I is I myself, again it is not this I.

13. they flamed
Fearing the winds of the lights he had in himself,
They flamed the burns to turn him off,
They named him what they needed to name,
To tame down a holy soul,
And to misplace the goal he had been assigned to
Didn’t he see their tricks for a long ?
Didn’t the mundane song of life show him the way ?
Why do they thrush, knew not him ?
So did he when they praised.

14. Do not sway
Didn’t you know whom they embrace and whom they hurt ?
You have to have the finest arts to live.
Live like you the much you can, as you know who you are,
Fear not O! holy mind, the souls of goals shall care for you and so shall He.
They may seem to be mighty, but soulless really they are,
And that’s the reason that you may dare to share.
You may dare to take care of their morbid souls,
And you may care for them to perform their actual roles.
Whoever you are to see the Creator’s kingdom close and near or still too far,
Surrender not to the evil-doers, try to put an instance of stance.
If they have done more than anything to you in the mean time,
As you have pronounced some of the best holy rhymes of the time,
Do not sway on your way. What more can they cause ? Incur.

15. Live like you
Bear not the body only as the animals do too,
Live like you, relieve like you, and relive as and when should you.
The light you have within is the eternal one,
The sight you are sharing is lit by the many holy One who is none.
Fear and agony is the final temptation they may place before a holy soul’s harmony.
Let not them to win this time and never say –”ضبكتني لما ضبكتني”

He leaves not you, neither did He leave,
As that’s the bless He forever agree.
They may try to tie you with their chains to inflict pains,
And may try to dump you down with some mundane ‘gains’.
Never let them in where the Holiest live in,
Try your best and never give in.
As we don’t see the air but we all do breath,
Many of the holiest souls have outlived death.

So long you are rightly on the holiest way,
Never bend down, nor should you sway.
Bear not the body only as the animals do too,
Live like you, relieve like you, and relive as and when should you.

16. kinder-souls
Yet not have they beaten their swords into peace-ploughshare,
Though millions of kinder-souls go without care!
Yet not have they found their holiest king,
Though praising all his worth, they sing and sing!
They failed to do all these as,
Till now their minds are barred by their own-made pains and chains.

Into peace-ploughshare shall they beat their lusty minds’ swords.
“But, when ?” the biggest question on the time’s blackboard.

17. The life he had
The life he had was a canvas-scape
And the time he lived in always changed its shape.

Crowded with the cloudy thoughts and chimes,
Once he heard to the rains that was singing some none-sense rhymes –
“Beware of them who try to whisper you what you are not,
Beware of them, who try to show a few to be a lot,
Beware of them who talks in more than a way,
And, beware of them who sway or cause other to sway.
Beware of them who talks more than they work or think,
And of them who drink not themselves but let others sink.
Beware of them who take the chance to reach you and whisper –
“See, O! Poor soul! How lonely and helpless you are!”.”

The life he lived was a vast canvas-scape
They crowded and tried in vain to change its shape.

18. nobody on his way
Nobody on his way to the dead’s ground!
But only the soldiers, slaves and the crowds,
And some pains, wonders, shouts and the prouds
Of the ‘Rabbi’s who thought that they had made ‘the fall’
Of the One who was in himself a heavenly call.

And, when came the storm,
As there was too much, too too much of painful sigh,
Could they see? The soul that was born in high
Was taken back to the sky.

Without wings, swimming through the sky, did he go.
Now they cry in his home and in Rome.
Now they cry for the soul that left the earth long ago,
And now may or may not take some more time to come back home.

19. They say
They say that they have made the moulds,
And they try to limit other people’s goals.
Did they mould their lusts and greeds?
Did they fix up the range of their ruthless deeds?

Tortured and tormented,
Dissected and fragmented by undue concussion,
Truth-seekers now wait for the proper-most time of the incarnation.

20. Who ?
Who control the controllers?
And who shape the shapers?
Who guard the guards? Who judges whom?
And who keep them on papers?

Who jails the sails?
And, who rail the hails?
Who ray the ways and who ways them?
Who flames the names?
Who are tamed men? Can you say who tame?

Who rains the pains and who pain the gains?
Who has been put in the chains? Who enchains?

Caught up in the bounds of life,
Who are to sigh up the sky?
It’s nobody of a distant reach my friend!
All that are the container and the contained – they, you, we and I.

21. The someone
Find the first drops of the rain
Falling down on the emerald leaves.
The first drops of the rain
Coming down to the earth for the people who follows the beliefs.
The first drops of the rain
Falling down on the furthest ferns.
The first drops of the rain
Falling down on the someone with no home to return.

The first drops of the rain splashed on the wings of the lonely kites.
The first drops of the rain coloured with the purple-green thunder lights.
The first drops of the rain carrying with it the heavenly chimes.
The first drops of the rain sing to all to help reach the deepest sublimes.

The first drops of the rain falling down on the upward face of an obsessed saint.
The first drops of the rain coming down from a sky looking like a water-paint.
The first drops of the rain making the moment’s silver crowns as they fall on the concrete plains.
The first drops of the first rain-fall falling as heavenly grace on everyone’s face to wash all the pains.
The first drops of the rain splashed on the wings of the lonely kites.
The first drops of the rain coming down to kiss on the lips of the thirsty soil.
The first drops of the rain falling on the leaves of a virgin forest that never spoil.

22. we rise for
We rise for the holiest silks stretched through the waves on the river-beds.
We rise and work to reach out the lost loop-holes of the pro-life flow-threads.
We rise for the holy child again to be born,
Who will have on the forehead the sign of a shiny crown of thorn.

We sow the seeds of the dreams to come that the time bestow
We sow the seed in the soils of mind and tell others to do so.
We plough the soil of the mind the much we could and we can.
As we found very few jobs better to be done other than.
We break our pains and dig out the gains of the time.
And we throw the chains of mind that we think to be the task-de-prime.

We rise for the sun that stretches the golden ray on the leaves.
We rise for the children of the earth who believe in the blesses
And bade those to others who believe.
We rise for the rhymes yet un-torn
Which will pave the way to the eternal light and cause to pace ahead.
We rise to save the mothers and children who are crucified.
We rise for the lasting peace and tranquility without any dogma prefixed.

We rise for the children of the earth who dare to share.
We rise for the brave devotees who pray and take care.
We rise for the sons of toils who make the sun rise.
We rise for the paddy growers of the earth who feed the saint-king and wise.
We rise for the dreams that the mankind bear in forever.
We rise for the peaceful minds who shall turn braver.
Braver than the beasts and brave enough to face the Mar’s Medusa.
Braver enough to pick up the times’ Mimosa
With the leaves open for a lovely touch.
A touch of the time-priest who shall make the call for peace in south, north, west or east.
We rise for the children of the earth who dare to share.
We rise for the brave devotees who pray and take care.
We rise for the sons of toils who make the sun rise.
We rise for the paddy growers of the earth who feed the saint-king and wise.
We rise for the dreams that the mankind bear in forever.
We rise for the peaceful minds who shall turn braver.

23. they shall see
And they shall see the sea, the tree that never fell.
They shall see them all and will tell the tale.
They shall go the furthest far and far more than they are.
They shall ask the dusk – “Does the sun rise? Does it set?
Are we too early? Are we late?”

They shall smash and they shall wash
The inborn darts of dirt of a mundane-clash.
They shall leave entangled and shall go.
They shall go as they won’t bow
To the force that men has made.
But, grace is that they shall bade.
And they shall bade the songs of songs,
They shall wash-off the pains of wrongs.
They shall leave and shall come back soon.
Sh-sh-sh! Quietly wait, soon, the hawks shall be coming down from above the moon.

But, now, they shall again see the sea
And the tree that never fell.
They shall see and shall tell the tale.
They shall go the farthest far from the places where they are.
They shall ask the dusk- “Does the sun rise? Does it set?
Are we yet too early? Are we late?”

24. where the sun shines
There the sun shines on the shrines and the moon light kisses on the icy shades.
The holy tree’s branches all around and the lakes without bounds.
And the birds bringing in to sing the silent mundane-song –
“So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.”
There the sun shine on the shrines and the moon’s light kisses on the leaves’ silver-shades.
And only some would have the charm to get in through the golden gate.
There the masters of the creeds caring for the holiest of the seeds preserved best for the world’s fate.
There sat the saints who denounced all the things even then grew so strong.
As if tuned by the same, altogether all of them sang the pre-known mundane-song –
“So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.”
There the mountains are large and high but none of them were the prouds
Rather shared the sights in the days and nights with the breezes and the clouds.
And in the shrines the saints meditated for the world outlived by all of them.
Thousands had thousands minds for the bests of mankind but they all never fall beyond the range of the agreed half-theorem –
“So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.”
There had been the holiest tree and there had been the holy lakes around
The lakes shone bright in the days and nights with the shades of the light without bound.
And at the entrance of the silver shrine there had been a golden gate
A single verse was heard as one in their would hear thousands birds chimes singing the song –
“So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.”
Can’t you feel? Don’t you see that the time opens up its doors for you
With the sweetest of the chime of sublime?
Don’t you see the non-mundane thee sitting beneath the holiest tree?
Can’t you feel in the layers of time of which you are but one of the billions leaves?
Don’t you share the for whom you care the best of that you could earn?
And, don’t you think and say that they needn’t pay anything to you in return?
When you share and care for others with the best gains of you,
You gain the best of anything that in your life you would ever do.
And then you too share in the life’s finest layer and you too could sing the mundane song
- “So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.”

25. just preserve
If need, just preserve the seed of the new creed and wait for the time.
When it’s the time again, breed the seed of the creed,
And for them, leave the task
For which there is none to ask, but the Creator
Who is the Merciful to open the doors of the either-or
For you, but do not leave the race of the races in the phases of the races
To prove and disprove the Creator’s grace.

Leave not the race, nor the pace.
Leave not the phase, face face to face
And, trace the best of the Creator’s grace.
And, leave not the time before the time,
As that’s too a sin, if not a crime.
If needed, leave the place but not the race,
Leave not the pace nor time before the time, O! Holy souls!
As that causes pains for all of us
By causing delay to reach the goals.

26. lives you live
Two lives you live.
One you feel and one you believe.
Two existences you really are,
One takes of the one that you share.
Two lives you live within.
The material one can be touched,
But the sublime remains hidden within.
Two bounds you have to care,
The range they put on you, and the range you incur.

27. And when
And when he threw away some of the mind-chain,
The salvation was being gained and it was the time to contain.

Then they came,
The slave-priests and the s-collars who pretended
To preach for the lights though themselves had not the sights of wrongs and rights.
The slave-priests knew more or less more about him,
And feared people’s-rise if they too could dream like him
Of a newer humane-time beginning a newer and better age.
So they declared him to be a ‘ghost-led’ man to be kept in cage.
So rude was the s-collars as well,
And they started to tell that in this land he was the prime-lunatic.
He dared to say – “It’s less harmful to become lunatic than becoming a fanatic.”
The slave-priests and the s-collars also tried to prove what they told about him,
And to ensure success they caused him to be out of the income-stream.
And very secretly, they tried to colour him as a violent terrorist.
These are why, nothing to shy, he had to starve many many a times.
They could dry up his flesh and blood, but could they undo his dream?
Next they tried to subdue him by any means,
And gathered and employed all their strengths to cause to him an endless starvation.

Ask not, O! The next generation,
Ask not to anyone – “Who was he?
What made him subject to such cruelty?”
He ‘committed the highest sin’ of the slave-land.
He dreamt and preached for a brotherly unity of the souls and for liberty.
He dared to dream for the unity of universal humanity.

28. The Creator blessed
The Creator blessed him with a straight and simple way.
And that’s the thing never tolerated they,
They who worshipped pains grief,
And they decided to bend his way or end his life too brief.
He who walked through the roads of time,
Knew very well that not himself but they are those who committed the crime,
The crime that caused too many lives,
The crime that are caused by the devilish Five-s.
This was the question he asked himself again and again –
“Should I inflict or incur pain?”

And there were the blesses of the Creator that he found,
So he could look into the matters the other way round.
And he was made known that-
“They were the people who lost the divinity.”
And he felt for them a humane-pity.
O! They! Who lost the blesses of the Creator and worshipped pains
As the sole-way to reach the goals,
Though the path of the Creator is lightened with trillion of lights of glow,
And the river full of the blessings by its side always flows.
The river that is to be bathed by the holiest souls
Of the children and the saints who knew the goals,
And pray for them who, being misrouted on the way
Walked and lead others to the pains though knew not they,
Or did they knew that using the earth’s holier names,
They really disguised their strives for riches, power and fame!

Most of them should not be called ‘sinners’ as they themselves were misled.
But they all were like vultures feasting on the dead.
Only a few of them actually knew what they do
Is the evil of misrouting the believers through the ways of life. And it was nothing new.
It was nothing new, as there had been people like them even earlier,
Who worshipped and welcomed pains, suppression and war.
And to achieve their mundane gains de-routed others.
Even in the earliest dawns they killed their brothers.
The way they committed their everyday jobs,
Were same as the way they used to temperate the mobs
To crucifix, to throw stones, or to burn in flame,
The souls seeking peace and harmony on earth in Creator’s name.
Be it in the north, south, west or east,
They caused the holier souls’ death who spoke against the unjust feast
Made by selling the corpse of someone dead
And they did all these though millions children died unfed.
In the deads’ name they committed the most heinous sins,
They destroyed many other creatures and too the greens,
And killed millions to experiment their heinous taste.
Knew not they that on the crust their fates do rest.
The fate of the sinners await for them,
Surely the worst is the fate of them who misled others by using the holier names.
They are like those apes who somehow managed to get hold
Of the holy trees as the real followers were not united and bold.

Blessed are those who can
Differentiate between a poem and a verse.
Far more blessed are those who bless and bless only,
And seek pardon on behalf, but never curse.

29. through the souls
Believers are those who through the souls,
Are agreed with the holiest books, about the goals.
The goals on the earth and the goals of eternity,
That leads to the highest harmony –peace and prosperity
For themselves and for others as well.
Others who could not tell –
“I feel pains O! Man! I feel pains
As the consequences of your material-gains.”
Believers are those who dare
To differentiate between fair and unfair.
There may be differences as they all are men,
But they will resolve them peacefully every now and then.

And I found him seeking to the Creator to show the rightmost way,
The way that’s the simplest and the strongest and which knew not they.
They who twisted the ways by interpretations that cause others to sway
In confusions in deciding between the right and wrong way.
And, thus, many get delayed, much more are entrapped
On the way, by the ditches cunningly wrapped.
Some they called ‘sciences’ and some ‘ideal’,
And they also scrambled the false with the real.
And they used most of the talents
By tempting with mundane pains and material gains.
But, though very few, there were too the talents
Who for the welfare of humanity dared even to incur pains.
Many of these holier souls’ sacrifices were not generally heard or told.
But learns about them the holy souls of goals if the times unfold-
“The Creator’s way is full of joy and we do share
The way with those who dare to share and care.”

30. of the hard-most times’
And I found him to say –
“O! Creator, the holiest souls of goals have shown us the way.
They have informed us about the ways
And the norms and forms of it.
But it’s one of the hard-most times’ that we meet.
O! Creator, give us the strength of endurance
So that we may reach better ways of performance.
Fill us with courage, so that we can stand strong and bold
Before them. And let us know the techniques yet unfold.
And empower us to win before being ruined by them.
And we seek all these from you, in your holiest name.
And, surely we shall win over them
Who wanted to make their feasts by turning others to beast.
Empower us! O! The Creator, who loveth us the best,
To destroy the destroyists in east or west. ”

Blessed are those who can
Differentiate between a poem and a verse.
Far more blessed are those who bless and bless only,
And seek pardon on behalf, but never curse.

31. Avigyan
See, this is the time-stone, O! Ye holy soul!
Here is contained the cause and effect, the means and the goal.
Feel it – it pulsates.
See the colours if you can.
Here it comes to whisper to you its Avigyan –
“Gyan is the force of times’ expressions,
And it’s the container where is contained the creations.
The time you are given to spend is the space for your soul’s expression.
Things to you are same to all,
Who in the time-game rise and fall.
Whoever rises and whoever falls,
Is decided through the age-old gimmick of scrambled true and false.
Truth is not total but the highest reality.
And it extends, you know, up to the eternal infinity.
Infinity is the symbol for that which the human beings fail to contain
As they are limited by their limits of brain.
That limit, some try to reach, and some leave unused,
Some explore strength and resources from it, though some let it to be abused
Like the soil on earth and many thing,
Almost like the tale of that ancient king
Who crowned a land of fertile soil
Where a lot of grains grew with minimum toil.
By the side of the kingdom, was one island
That had gold-mines, but no arable land.
Once the king, by a ship, went up there
And found the golds and golds without care.
Then he decided to shift there the capitol.
So was done, as what the king says that was all.
There, they excavated the gold-mine,
And made with golds, the golden palaces, temples and a gold-shrine.
Few years went by and the golden houses grew too high,
The royal palace seemed as if it has reached the sky.
Foods were supplied from the mainland.
One day, the supply stopped as the mainland was invaded by an alien-band.
For saving the kingdom, so many soldiers died,
But the king was lost in the war though he too tried.
The king and his benevolents then fled to the island capitol.
And, the attackers blocked the island and curtailed the food-supply, and that was all.
Now you guess what was the king’s fate-ultimate.
Could they eat the gold-minerals, golden palace or the gold-made royal gate ?

If the king would have spent the golds for the mainland with a kingly prudence.
May be the kingdom would have a longer endurance.

Such is the case of the men who spend their lifetime
But their selves are left yet unread.
That’s the reason that they bow down before the things they themselves made.
They can not find their own arable land,
But get startled with the gold-island.
That’s why they fail to see the graces of the Creator – the most Kind.
And, they fail to see the Creator’s gifts hidden in the mind.”

Blessed are those who can
Differentiate between a poem and a verse.
Far more blessed are those who bless and bless only,
And seek pardon on behalf, but never curse.

32. to know the real
Dots of lives on time-space parabola page,
A 3-D art drawn by the first sage beyond age.
“Sage or boy ?” ask me not, as that One is beyond age.
“One or many ? none or any ?” the formless you may guess in your ways.
As the sun is one of trillions rays,
Like that the same goal may have many a ways.
But as the way to be reached out in a darkened night,
You may reach the lights only by the eternal paths of the light.

The paths that leads you to undue bloods and deaths,
Cannot be anyway the paths of the light,
Though sometimes to make your way
Through darkness you will be compelled to fight.
Whom and when to fight and where to truce knows the saints and the wises
Who knows that virtues too may, contextually, turn into vices.
Virtues may be vices and vis-à-vis,
Depending on the force of truth that the acts release.
Truth is the pace of reality as a whole,
It’s the harmony between cause and effect, means and the goal.

Thus, some are shown the rightmost way,
Some lose their strength on the way,
And some are misled, some starts not, and some sway.

The puzzle to be solved is to know the real,
The messages he carried down to the earth, is well-known, but Gabriel ?
Some says that Gabriel flied down, spreading his wings.
Some guess that he brought the messages through the holier things.
And it’s known to all that he came to the souls and not to the kings.
Name and form, matters not, matters the messages that he brings,
For the human beings in those times
When the life chimed its holiest rhymes
And those rhymes, with chimes, has been for long told,
How much could they reign the grains and gold?

Some prayed and some preyed even in the earliest dawn
Some does both and some does none
And that’s the way the life goes on.
Better is the way of humble toil
To grow up the food-grains out of soil.
When you harvest the grains that ye all have grown,
Share it in the most agreeable ways that are shown.
Share so that you may live up to there,
And care for yours, so you should do to their.

33. Do you pray ?

Do you pray ? O! Ye, the Holiest-verses Sayers,
Prey the blood-thirsty swords right now,
And beat them to peacetime productivity’s ploughshares.
How to prey? As you did in the earliest days,
Powered with the newest arts, adamant and united indeed.
Forget not to be equipped with the things you need.”

Blessed are those who can
Differentiate between a poem and a verse.
Far more blessed are those who bless and bless only,
And seek pardon on behalf, but never curse.

34. you have been
Haven’t you been in those waves
That paves the ways for the light to grow and flow?
Haven’t you been one of those
Who knows where to go?

In this foggy midnight, leave not the seed of creed
And the torch of hope that you bear.
And you know that nothing they leave un-burnt that you may fear.

You know the loneliest routes, and you know the ways to share.
You know what you are, but they don’t know who they really are.

Tell the breezes to show the way
That lead you to the greens, blue-seas, and to the azurite sky.
Live on soil living on toil, but keep your believe high.
And, tell the loners of the kites to fly high to see how soon,
There will be the next golden-ring rounding the moon.

35. for peace
There is no mother on this earth,
Seeing her child to be dead, who will be hurt the least.
Beat the blood-thirsty swords into peace-ploughshares right now,
It’s the time for peace, in the west and too in the east.
Enough have they enjoyed the warring-romance,
Let the peace gain now, another chance.
There is no mother on this earth,
Seeing her child to be dead, who will be hurt the least.
Beat the blood-thirsty swords into peace-ploughshares right now,
It’s the time for peace, in the west and too in the east.
If we allow to continue this primitive rivalry,
Civilization will end here with a sudden fury.
There is no mother on this earth,
Seeing her child to be dead, who will be hurt the least.
Beat the blood-thirsty swords into peace-ploughshares right now,
It’s the time for peace, in the west and too in the east.
If you are child of a mother who wants war no long,
Convey for peace, the much you can, this mundane-song.

36. fear not
Fear not O! ye holy souls of goals even when alone you are
To search for the way out for yourselves care and share to dare.
The holiest of the holies shall be there to take your care,
And will show you the ways in the ways He did
Tell to preach for the holy works, and the sinful, to forbid.
This to you and this to them,
Who bears, with the highest care, the holiest name.
He wishes and you be, so shall the ways always be.
And the ways may be shown by the things many cares not.
And your loneliness will be filled with the joys of good thoughts.
And your mind will gain the tranquility that can be gained by only a few.
And the newest of the news shall come to you that none of them knew.
O! the children of the earth, O! the children of the mother nature,
Pray for yourselves and pray for the wellbeing of the creature,
And when you sway in doing the things that you should do,
Forget not that you may not know about so many things that He knew.
And so, you too will be shown the way that suits you best
And the eternal peace of tranquility and scents shall fill your senses and breaths.
And fear not even when nobody is there to share,
He leaves not, He leaves not, He leaves not,
He is the one who share and care.
He share and He care.

37. the souls dive
And the holiests shall be shown the rightmost way.
Thought the sinners will sway and cause others to sway.
The souls shall be cared and shared for by those who do
Know how the shuttles explode not and dies not the crew.
And the souls dive into the spring of the life and death,
Some new and some anew everywhen to take the breath.
Breaths in the air, breaths to share, and breaths to care for
The fellows of the same earth to share and to take care without any either-or.

And the holiests of the souls dive and bath in the holiest spring.
And that spring opens for the holiest souls of goals
who may be a peasant or a king.
And some of them, see, on a thousand petal fragrant lotus,
And some of them resting in the wombs as foetus.

Some comes earlier and some comes late.
But none of them denies these ways of fate,
The fate fixed for the souls to take a taste
Of bounds as they are sent anywhere in east or west.
When they come down to the earth they work for
In pace of time, with love, virtues and/or vigour.
And, two things they are endowed with all the times –
Pacified tranquility of mind and the best ways through the sublime.
Ways are shown to them only who dare to share,
And are fearless on their way as they know that He is there,
To save from mundane wraths and to take the highest care.
He is the best of the holiest children of men,
Who, never, out of mundane agony,
Utters or thinks –”ضبكتني لما ضبكتني”

38. the holy fountains
Beneath the tree we sat beneath are the holy fountains,
Where the holy souls of goals go to get rid of their mundane pains.
There they bath in the lights unseen
And breathes in the smell of life that ever been.
There they dives in the glows of life,
And there they rest in the flows of time.
And where they go then, only He knows the best.

Some going there who were there for a long and knew
That the newer souls will come to shower and to take birth anew.
Beneath the tree we sat beneath for long are the holy fountains.
Where the souls have to come at least once
To wash off their pains and gains.

The tree we saw was the truth-tree and it was the fountains’ shed
Somebody could at best get some of the leaves,
But the tree ! never totally read.
And, the tree born anew in itself every now and then,
And breeds itself
By the roots, trunks, branches, leaves and the seeds.
The trees beside the holy fountain breed too the seeds of the creeds.
Beneath the tree where you found me times ago are the holy fountains,
Where all the souls have to go
To get rid of the chains of mundane pains and gains.

39. Come in the cave
Come! Come in the cave
That you waited for long.
Come in! O! The holy brave! Come!
Some come here to seek the sight.
Some come here to listen to the light.
Some come here to seek the right.
Some come here to seek the might.
Some come here to judge the right.
But all come in in the deeper parts of the night.
The night is dark, again the night is bright
As it shows men the ways to the rights and the right.
The night is dark, again the night is bright
As it empowers, some holy souls of goals, with the pacific might.

Come! Come in the sublime-cave!
The cave visited by many for so long
Come in! O! The holy brave! Come!
Come in the cave that you waited for long.
Come! Come in the sublime-cave!
Come in! O! Ye, the holy souls of goals! Come in, the holy brave!

40. waited for long
We all waited for long
For the sweetest song that light up the way.
The song that can be sung by you and us, and also can sing they.

The life goes on; the life goes on high above the loneliest sky.
The life goes on amidst the pains, cries, yells, and sighs.
The life goes on amidst the deaths of many
Due to a war for reasons they knew not.
The life goes on, on the spots of dots
Struggling to get change their lots.

And then, the full-moon comes creeping above the flowers of lemons.
And whispers-
“Blessed are those, who even died fighting with the demons.
Blessed are those, who dare to incur even death, but not servitude.
Blessed are those, who even starve to death but accepts not a thralldom.
Blessed are those, who have the opportunity to fight for their freedom.
Blessed are those, who resisted the war-moves
That could have killed even so many holy children.
Blessed are those, who dared to protest against the war-mongers.
Blessed are those, who care to share and dare to resist bloody blood-shedders.
Blessed are those, who altogether formed all over the world,
The Human-chain for peace every now and then. ”

Divided ruin. United win.

THANK YOU DEAR READER.

Shv.
01199182983@sms.citycell.com
moiinak@asiamail.com
sainteagle@hotmail.com
myworldhome@voila.fr

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