a buddha is born in me

 

& 

 

every morning

a 'buddha' is born in me

 

as a clear babbling stream

are all my meditated thoughts-

 

the roots of worries

like mirror reflections-

 

the moon-beam of life

at a reachable distance-

 

i gaze into myself

in perfect perspective -

 

and visualize myself

as a rootlet in every happening-

 

 

the goodness of others blossom

as the bright bars of morning sun -

 

i destroy my poison

to let in good thoughts-

   

'bliss hereafter in my life!'

i enjoy in meaningful silence.

 

&

 

in the speed of seconds 

in the friction of events

in the rashness of conclusions

and in the heat of anger

i expolde offensive  words

and burn myself-

 

why everyone has drawn

daggers at me, all in unison?

  

i knock my head

in depths of darkness.

where my buddha

had gone dead ?

how did so many ghosts

gain entry into me

to crush and drink my blood?

 

&

 

' i will turn a good soul tomorrow!'

i tell the night that drags me along;

 i could read a soft smile at its lips!

 

----chandra kalaadhar