Atma

Atma

We reached the cloudy Miami airport
totally exhausted and wringing in pain
the travel had pierced the peace
and weakened the body and brain

You exchange forceful words and
that leads to sanguine conversations
It does not really matter
what mundane matter was digested

The flight across the wavy oceans
and the vast continents below
made us feel like white soul-birds
flying above the tresses of mother-earth

The prison in the air moved faster
caressing the white clouds of maidens
the soul and mind is temporarily lost
for they are at different places
like a broken bow with Rama behind.

Do we have to be reminded like a curse
that we are just humans in this universe?
The space and scattered hopes that surround us
belittles our dancing spirit and ocean imagination,
the sun was up all day up in the mighty heaven
and we have taken a metallic chariot ride
to speak to god by using our souls as our voice.

The view from the glass window by my side
is a sealed spring that awaits to capture my
empty spaces where no words dare to trespass
nor scrolls of fires can burn the sad graves
of karmic past without mighty god's grace.

Atma the traveler in all ages and time
do not like the grave of empty spaces
that begins no where and ends anywhere
Empty spaces are dialogues of our past-play
that has to be erased from our mourning memory
only those fragrance of merit is passed on to reality
like new clothes worn and adored on Deepavali.