How one experiences the divinity is a mystery in itself. But whatever be the experience, it’s worth sharing. I am sharing my experience in the form of a short poem.
The morning temple bells, And the breezy lake side, The lemony fresh sky, And the fragrant marigold petals, The ivory conch echoes, And the invigorating mantra sounds, The soothing camphor fire, And the cleansing holy water, The clamor of the devotees, Brought to a dead silence, By the sheer divine presence, Not outside as a diety, but within oneself.
Bougainville flowers are a perfect example of beauty in minimalism yet owning a regality. I love bougainville and my favorite is the clustered one in fuschia. I admire its simplicity and poise. A short poem dedicated to this enchantress in fuschia.
Bougainville
The Lines
Her raiment- a story of plentitude,
Containing pleats and folds in multitude,
Carrying this flamboyance in attitude,
This enchantress of her own certitude,
Flashing fuschia hues of regal altitude,
Exhibiting artistry of extraordinary magnitude.
Reminds the onlooker- Exquisiteness is in complete acceptance,
Of one’s unique and sketchy outer existence,
Comparison leads to a deep repentance,
Obscuring totality in an act of reflectance,
Through the lens of imposed resistance,
Hindering life towards a path of transcendence. You owe these myriad angularities,
Tulip Brook 