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The Art of Life Giving


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Nothingness is a nursery

For existence,

Unknown to us, forever behind a veil

That does not even belong to it…

We see the veil,

More as a curtain than a mask,

The unseen edge between the shadow and the form,

But there is no eye sharp enough in sight

To traverse into it without unbecoming…


That is an impassable chasm

With no bridge and only one shore,

There are no wings to carry us over

And being back to speak would not be us,

As we can’t be other than existing.

And if we were to speak,

There is nothing to utter of nothingness,

Of infinite absence of properties,

No language learned to disclose it,

No symbol of its to fathom,

And none to unlearn of it,

Same as no way to trace back

What has been done into the undone

And bring it back as it was.

The path flows only towards us

Whatever becomes, first must be

There is an otherworldly, secret alchemy

Of which we cannot know and feel

But through a Miracle, of Love

And willingness to realize

What has been shown to our eyes

To witness and seed.


Existence is the cradle of life

When life is meant to exist,

The creation is the moulding hand of fire,

The forging of nothing into what there is,

The energies of Love make the creation Alive

For what we can imagine to be able to See,

For what emanates from nothingness,

If we can find the sheer force to bring it right in our heart from it

To welcome it within,

For what we can envision to be living

To blossom in our minds, in our souls, in our hands, in our voices,

For what we look at to become worthy of life,

Deemed precious to be.


Nothingness is the Ghost

That cannot ever be

Unless we free up bits of existence from it

The Ghost looks at us only with our eyes

We cannot see it, perhaps we can embrace it

If we have the yearning to

Redeem the birth through our creation

Then breathing flames of Life into it,

To dance around its fire

And revel in it.


We shouldn’t be afraid to glimpse into nothingness

Even if the depth of our look

Is merely the measure of how we know what exists,

We cannot reach out what there is not,

But only if we weight it from the same well of existence we are born…

Not be, an echo of be is as long as we already are,

That is all that we were taught to know.


Creation,

We didn’t hear you as we didn’t listen

To the voice that announces your arrival…

For how long should we have been prepared?

How much Love should we have poured

Into your fountain of pleasures and storms?

What if now we will surrender,

Inquisitive, above the stars and below?


There is one path to encompass the nothingness into the living,

To seize its unforeseen gifts…

Quiet be so deep,

Let your mind be still,

The surface of your lake in the sunrise,

Give up your dear embedded aboutness,

Your whole desire to possess,

Even the detachment from it,

Leave your soul’s gates wide open,

Let your muse make the call

Wait humble and listen,

Feel how it is coming to you,

With its strange music and noises,

Welcome the shadows in your light

Spring them into silhouettes,

Build them into form

That you can touch and feel,

Let it have your shaping birth into your eyes,

Into your hands, into your palms,

Be the Maker of Life that You can see,

Give it, allow it

Like a God imagining worlds,

To know that you are there persistently seeking

And living,

Say Yes to your Dream,

Let your Passion be Free.


There is no promise grounded into the proof,

But only our will to reveal

The faces of what we love

And uncover its beauty,

Following our visions

Into the boundless mirrors of US.


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The Art of Life Giving