tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31803415504186559652012-02-16T06:08:42.646-08:00Playfulness begins with a child and ripens with age. Only those who relearn it and revive it, truly LIVE. Whatever I have written here, below, somewhere else or into the unknown (if you can understand), take it in the spirit of playfulness. Seriousness is a disease. In few words if I have to sum up all this: This is All a PLAY, nothing serious about it. - ManishMWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.comBlogger201100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-27313692206008080022010-05-10T11:00:00.000-07:002010-05-10T11:42:46.060-07:00

Beside the river, Away from din,Midst the peace, Away from sin. I used to sit, Beneath a tree,And looked around, For the born free. One day it happened, I went there friends,And observed the waters, And the changing blends. Water was shining, Waves were twining,Came out from river, An angel surviving. I looked at her, And felt great peace,She was a goose, I named her “PEACE.” To meet new friend,

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-36281122149864758722010-05-05T11:25:00.000-07:002010-05-05T11:28:42.161-07:00

I am reposting this blog entry due to one simple reason and that is: I personally like it :) :). If you haven't read it before in one of my previous posts, I hope you will like it.  Every once in a while we ocassionally notice few flowers standing in their boldness and softness....and get filled with beauty... Carefully notice the way they stand....the way they behold themselves.... there is no

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-36469903199098592832010-04-13T19:56:00.000-07:002010-04-14T08:12:49.172-07:00

Below you will find a discussion between me and Antonio (from Mexico City, Mexico). I met Antonio through Aardvark where he asked a question about free will. I responded to it and thus began a series of discussions that is presented below. Antonio R. (Mexico City, Mexico):         Do We Have a Free Will? Me:          That's an interesting question. I don't know why you are asking this

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-55733706273342011502010-04-09T13:15:00.000-07:002010-04-09T13:24:05.733-07:00

Whose words are theseThat fall on my earsLike a gentle breezeIn that soft, fresh breathI can feel you. With all engrossing armsYou approach me and in ecstasyMy hands feel your intangible touchIn that state of eternal blissI can feel you. Who defies all the boundariesOf dreams and realityAnd appears wherever I seeIn that state of utterlessnessI can feel you. Whose miracles are

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-51774794239877833502009-12-15T07:58:00.000-08:002009-12-15T10:20:28.529-08:00

Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali has always attracted me with its beautiful and simple rendering. A very concise book containing some of the most beautiful verses I have ever read. Without the special effects of rhyming that some of the poets are used to, this set of poetry has its own rhyme and rhythm that is beyond comprehension. In short, “Gitanjali” is a prayer directed towards the eternal

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-38717275186658489962009-12-10T07:42:00.001-08:002009-12-10T10:33:45.610-08:00

I always wanted to write on something that has so many shades and hues that it can be compared to itself. Here I may consider so many modifications of love, but the two kinds of love that I consider as the most worthy of comparison are presented. I must say though that in truth there is no demarcation, the seeming difference lies in the fact that one is the higher form of the other, that’s all.

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-73670311414487323682009-12-09T18:03:00.000-08:002009-12-09T18:03:08.995-08:00

And now I write of something that I consider as the cause of human fall and his rise, both. Humans look for a sense of security and look for assistance outside, and as and when the need for security of one type fades, the need for assistance is also gone. All human love (as we call it) is based upon a sense of security, it may be a long-lasting need or a need that lasts for a short time depends

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-75159561079689754202009-10-15T09:42:00.000-07:002009-10-15T09:43:23.486-07:00

If Sri Rama would have known that in future winter break would be in Dec. for us students, atleast he could have delayed his going back to Ayodhya ... and we could have celebrated this beautiful festival of lights, happiness and warmth with family and friends many times.. (I think he might have got cheaper flight tickets arnd. oct. nov ..better deals :D :D :D :D ) anyways a very BEAUTIFUL and

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-72558473741372549652009-10-02T21:54:00.000-07:002009-10-02T22:01:58.234-07:00

And you ask me of Meditation Haven’t you seen ants making anthills Or birds making nests Little honeybees collecting honey Toiling day and night but to Offer What purpose do you see In what you call a honeybee In that toil for collecting honey Or for that matter a tree That bears fruit and sets it free There is no purpose They live in harmony In your endless march towards nowhere You search

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-30211502375837665652009-09-25T09:52:00.000-07:002009-09-25T10:01:31.614-07:00

Every once in a while we ocassionally notice few flowers standing in their boldness and softness....and get filled with beauty... Carefully notice the way they stand....the way they behold themselves.... there is no need in it...they just grow....they just exist....and we forget in our everyday race... Where do we want to go....we don't know, we just run....without any destination.... a march

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-7677772194557201142009-09-24T08:13:00.000-07:002009-09-24T08:16:25.241-07:00

Would you love the flower, That I will offer thee, Whenever this destitute, Won’t be able to fulfill thy wish. Would you love that flower, That I won’t pluck, For it will mar its beauty, And you will have to be content with, Just looking it. Would you love the moon, And the stars and the flowing water! Would you love the butterflies, And the fireflies and the rainbows! Would

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-35404866170908532382009-09-21T18:13:00.000-07:002009-09-21T18:17:18.153-07:00

Sitting on a rusty benchAn old man poursThe depths of his heartHis age doesn’t justifyThe testimony of what they call OldStill he is OldNot for othersBut in his WisdomAnd now the childhood begins:The dream world starts protrudingWith its all gnawing and silent protestsStill everyone says, “It was beautiful being a child”The past holds an illusive beautyWhich was never thereAnd now the youth steps

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-66563892352567956972009-09-20T11:00:00.000-07:002009-09-21T22:42:59.316-07:00

Friend, my love,Let's sing a song -Of the beauty that youand I endlessly feel.The lyrics are the talks,that so effortlessly come out.And the harmony is in our feet,that they possess in their togetherness.Friend, my love,Come, let's sing a song.The song that draws its sapfrom the very life blood.The song that is in your smile,and that in my laugh.The song that fills its pitcher,from the waterfall

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-53268777397805717132009-09-14T22:28:00.000-07:002009-09-20T10:56:03.292-07:00

When you realize: It is about being simple Where the masks fall off And we are left in our nakedness Where there is no inside, no outside Where there is no poetry And without which there is no poetry Where worlds fall at your feet Still you boast not of your achievement

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-81009551146935635432009-09-08T12:24:00.000-07:002009-09-20T10:57:25.967-07:00

I am a flute On thy lips It is thy breath That gushes through me And I get awakened Again thy endless strokes On my reed Sound and resound A symphony of notes And I get enlightened And thou hast done this From ages anon I am not just - A piece of reed I do not recognize myself with that For I am that that plays me And I am that that awakens And enlightens and frees me I know

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-40320386453948991482009-09-08T09:39:00.000-07:002009-09-21T22:43:52.067-07:00

Reading beyond the words, and writing beyond the pages, there is something more, The echo of silence. Looking beyond the faces and the veil of cold expressions there is something more, The echo of understanding. Even before meeting me, there was something, that you wanted to know. You could see it, and so could I, The echo of beauty. Either you accept it or not, you were

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-53537326427329096542009-09-08T09:31:00.000-07:002009-09-08T09:36:47.333-07:00

In the womb of my mother I was but a Possibility As an infant, a Miracle As a growing child, a Reform As a grown up child, a Storm As a youth, a puffed up Ego And then, a twice born And then, a truth seeker And then truth itself…… The search is over The wanderer has reached home PEACE and Period.

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-13927513178749652302009-09-07T22:28:00.000-07:002009-09-08T09:18:33.999-07:00

Laughter asked Smile Why do you stay so Small And Smile replied For being small is dissolution and hence Surrender Is the way to bliss Smile asked Laughter Why do you grow so huge And Laughter replied For I encompass all and in that is Love And that is the way to bliss too Smile realized that For whatever I am the beginning Laughter is the end Laughter realized that For

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-56489277398290920152009-09-07T22:17:00.000-07:002009-09-07T23:29:34.030-07:00

Everything has merged into one. Freedom has calmed down, It rebels no more. There is an endless flow, The flow in which there is no effort. Love comes silently and without pain, for it has learnt to be love. Fears were shallow; all of them. I don't respect them anymore, still they are invited; always. Learning seems deeper, still negligible; for there is an endless seeking. There was

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180341550418655965.post-27710688587604016582009-09-07T21:40:00.000-07:002009-09-07T21:48:08.414-07:00

I am a fluteOn thy lipsIt is thy breathThat gushes through meAnd I get awakenedAgain thy endless strokesOn my reedSound and resoundA symphony of notesAnd I get enlightenedAnd thou hast done this From ages anonI am not just -A piece of reedI do not recognize myself with that For I am that that plays meAnd I am that that awakensAnd enlightens and frees meI know - I AM THAT

MWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10648870517881562856noreply@blogger.com1