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Friday, February 16, 2007


"It turns out that an eerie type of chaos can lurk just behind a facade of order--and yet, deep inside the chaos lurks an even eerier type of order. "

What is the limit to the resolution of perception
how to define perfection in understanding precision.
What is the dimension of multiple linked lines of thought,
how to smoothen the differences two different perspectives brought.
What is the limit of order
How to clearly set a definite border.
How to quantify , How to read,
Numbers that have been beyond limits freed.
How to not simply talk of infinity
But be well aquainted in a relation of simplicity.
How to erase the curves of questions,
With that single answer to all their versions.
How to integrate beyond imagination ,
The divide in the continuum of flow, this eerie distinction.
Where this melts , the difference ceases to exist,
Where visions beyond this reality begin to persist,
Where all this converges into a single enlightenment
a single explanation for every inexplicable development.
If I could grasp, If I could know
with an intuitive intimacy, the pattern in which complexities grow.
In calculative deductions, the touch of the artistic,
In the realms of logic, the first steps of the mystic.
to visit this borderline between madness and sanity,
to witness the arrival of a permanent eternity.
To live in that knowledge , to revere its gifts,
The immaculate understanding that never alters or drifts.
Thats all i seek , thats all i want to see..
The underlying mechanism that runs this world of thee.
In chaos , In order ,
in learning , in wonder ,
In humbling inspiration
In my ignorance and its realization.
In whatever beyond possiblity that could ever be..
In all my entangled definitions...just abide with me..

"Familiar, condescending, patient, free,
Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be?
Heaven's morning breaks, and Earth's vain shadows flee!
Come, not to sojourn, but abide with me."

Saturday, February 10, 2007


A casual thought, a slight remark,
stern demarcation by a comparison stark,
The smell of fresh print..... the strange delight,
Text read under shadows of a dim yellow light.
Thoughts reinforced, thoughts created,
opinions discarded, ideals venerated .
The book and me , alone.. inspite of the din,
Weaving a pattern of emotions...we thus begin

The first page begins with a dedication,
the rest vulnerable and open to interpretation
the ink changes, even the handwriting often,
smudged with tears.. the pages soften.
in so many thoughful mirrors; multiple reflections,
with time some fade, mere optical illusions,
some crosswords confront, some words perplex,
unsaid understanding yields to a vocabulary complex.
The words are known , by meaning well,
But their precise purpose is difficult to tell.
To grasp the core , and leave the rest,
In least words , conviction conveys the best.
flip a few more, still the constancy prevails,
through the entwined accounts, a single theme pervades.
that theme, that crystallised agglomeration,
to dreams, to life , to light : an eternal affirmation.
stories begin , chapters end,
with changing seasons, changing trend,
but a dry petal, leaves preserved ,
bookmarked notes, instances well-observed.
underlined in pencil, some line of thought,
erased after a while, the meaning no more sought.
All these seek a definition beyond it all,
reaching high without claiming tall.
A fruitful journey, the path to realization.
a few digressions , and "self-preservation"
Turn back a few pages, reassurance,
that single binding thread, her presence,
All pages are in white ahead,
And the last has not yet been read.
Enough written , enough told,
dreams shared, this page I fold

To complete, to conclude, to judge anew,
Time shall be refresh, to renew
these closing lines for" the Book Review".