No Two Sunsets Are Ever the Same

Everything passes
Good and bad,
Small and big,
Everything.

The easiest thing to do is let them pass.
Holding on is an effort.
Holding on
Drains.

Learn lessons
But prepare to relearn.
This time it may be different

No two sunsets are ever the same.

The Joke

If I was constantly aware of my place in this universe- as an individual of one of the millions of species of one of the billions of planets- it would constantly strike me a little ridiculous what a big deal I make of myself.

Selfish Sorrow

I don’t know if many people realise it. I did only four years ago. When I cry for someone’s death, it’s hardly ever really for the person who passed away. It’s usually for myself. I will never see him again. I will miss him. I wish I could see him smile at me just one more time.

About Life and Death

We assume Immortality. Only a death of someone close to us reminds us of our Impermanence.
We make promises and think of ways to make our lives more meaningful, now that we’ve experienced this reminder. It’s sometimes referred to as the Funeral Syndrome. But Time flows on and we are too soon lulled back into the false impression of permanence and nothing in our life really changes.

Normally, I would think; I expect to live quite long- maybe till I’m eighty. I expect to fall in love, raise children, and watch them raise theirs. I expect to do great things in psychology, music, the environment. I expect to learn everything I want to. And make some changes in the educational system- perhaps start a school or teach.
I expect so much.
But for all I know, there could be an accident this evening in which I die. And I’ll be off…in non-existence, quite peaceful to let it all go.

But even though I don’t worry too much about my own death, I know that how I live matters. If I don’t live to my full; if I don’t love freely, if I don’t help those who need it, if I don’t do all that I want to, it could be too late for any of us, at any moment.
And then there will be tears and regret.

Eulogy

Who was Sripadrao Uncle?

He was a Teacher.

But if this is true, then the word ‘Teacher’ must absorb infinitely

From his character, mind and actions.

‘Great’ falls too short. Not even close to enough a word to

Describe him.

In my humble words he was

A profound thinker, a good person with a

Heart so pure, untouched by negativity. Invincible.

A knowledgeable person of great intellect.

Even at great ages so energetic, optimistic, dedicated,

Wise, generous and so curious.

That was him.

In every life, there are some sparks of inspiration.

He was my first and brightest.

For everyone who knew him and those fortunate

Enough to have been taught by him

In Any way,

He was an Inspiration. A teacher.

Can any being measure to his qualities?

Maybe

If he was born again.

Remembering him with great affection and respect.

His student.

Sripi, as some of us refer to him, started teaching us Biology in our 8th. He was around 79 or so then. He would walk into class and make us excited about learning about the cell of plants. I'll never forget the analogies he made in class. My basics are good because of the drive he gave. But he was good at literature and history too. And very knowledgeable about music.

In my 11th, he had a haemorrhage. It was severe enough to force him not to teach anymore. But he would long to. I visited him at his home from then on. Once in a few months. He would see me and smile. What bright eyes even at 86 years of age! And each time, I would come home more driven to learn more. He was kind and soft spoken.

If i had just one wish now, I would like to see him smile at me Just one more time.

Poetry to me

My poetry is just my means of expressing myself in a free way. I don’t believe in rhyme or structure of any kind. I also don't believe in conveying messages to my readers. But like all poetry, mine too can be interpreted in more than one way. That is the beauty of poetry. I will not venture to explain any of the contexts. If you think you know, good, if not, big deal. As one of the clouds say, once it is in the open, it is the readers to read in what way suits them.

Anger

Anger.
Like a vengeful human on a leash
If you were to be freed
What damage, what destruction…
What chaos.

But making me stay is a strain
Why not just yell me out?
Break something inanimate
Or animate…

No.

Freedom of expression?

Is to hurt?
Is to break?
No.
That is savagery.

I am.

If u must express yourself
Do it in a civilised way.
Art, music, poetry, conversation,
Reason, logic…

That would make me stop existing.

Wouldn’t it.

Don’t smile so derisively.
In your wish to be rid of me
There is violence.

You.
You are the reason for
My blood pressure.

If you let me do as I want,
I wouldn’t be.
You cage me and expect me to disappear.

What else can I do?