Reading a book - you like,
Is almost like meditation.

You touch the pages,
You smell the pages,
You focus your eyes,
You block everything else,
From reaching your ears.

It’s a state prior to Samadhi.

The cauldron is never resting,
For decades - it’s simmering,
Over magical warm everlasting crystals.

The witch, with her
Inherited magical hat,
And dusty broom,
Goes everywhere-
Bringing back ingredients-
And dropping into cauldron.

Magical spoon goes merry,
Stirs gain and again.

The witch never followed a recipe,
Never read a book
Always allowing intuition to guide
Surprised to see bubbles-
Cauldron never did it.
What’s coming out now?

I felt happy,

Looking at that number -

An absolute "Zero"

The foot falls into my garden.

The garden I built for myself -

With great planning and effort.

I know -

I built it for myself,

Yet I put -

"All are welcome" sign in front.

I am not looking for masses,

I am looking for that one soul,

who walks closer to me.

I only need one set of steps,

to find their way in.

But think about it -

a perpetual sadness arrives.

Though I felt happy

that nobody walked into my garden.

When I sing, 

I see their faces glow, 

I hear their hands clap, 

I feel their hearts fly. 

And I go back, 

Night after night, 

to sing a new song

to the gathering crowd. 

I am outgrowing,
The cozy little box I live in.

The shiny golden box,
With silver lining-
Is all I built from forever.

Thought of moving out,
Finding a bigger cozy box -
To lay-in until time infinity
Is scary as hell-

Yet, I need to venture out.
I am outgrowing,
This cozy little box.

With my Queue Tsaheylu'ed onto all-knowing Tree,
I am chatting with it bit by bit,
slurping the knowledge drip by drip,
filling and bulking my tiny brain,
with what it could consume sans going insane.

I am moving half asleep,
yet I go where I got-to.

Like my dad's ox cart pulling,
sleeping rider home.

I am half awake,
Yet I try to stay burning.
Like my Mom's wood-stove -
covered with its own thick ash.