aashishameya
05-17-2007, 05:08 AM
That, who is no where,
But lying every where,
That, who is not with me,
But within me,
Like fragrance in the soul of flower
We can’t touch it, only sensed it
I praise to that abstract
As my body acted upon my mind
Mind upon will
And will upon soul
Akin to that
Every soul is driven by forces
And these forces controlled by unknown, ,
I praise to that abstract
All the planets enslaved by love,
The cryptic relationship
Emblem of eternity,
Which, grows naturally
As flowers bloom in the spring
Without a pre-conceived idea
And either it is a frozen cold wind
Or hot summer wind
Both pleases our senses, without a discrepancy
Same, the faceless love,
The song of divine
Nourishes our soul with its soft feel
And the eternal flute, whose sweet and vital jingle
Flows through our breath
And soothes our hidden desires,
Which is not a part of our self
But from our congenital evolution, existing with us,
Get the thought of whose…?
I praise to that abstract
A man, who lives life with his wishes
His joy, sorrow, sin and virtue
Deeds and misdeeds and all his effort
Are glimpse of a perpetual idea
And who is playing with others
Mostly played by others
And, who climbs everyday a new mountain
Always at the abyss of dark ocean
Unless and until, he would not get rays of truth
The man, who is an objective reality
But, the subjective reality of him
I praise only that abstract
But lying every where,
That, who is not with me,
But within me,
Like fragrance in the soul of flower
We can’t touch it, only sensed it
I praise to that abstract
As my body acted upon my mind
Mind upon will
And will upon soul
Akin to that
Every soul is driven by forces
And these forces controlled by unknown, ,
I praise to that abstract
All the planets enslaved by love,
The cryptic relationship
Emblem of eternity,
Which, grows naturally
As flowers bloom in the spring
Without a pre-conceived idea
And either it is a frozen cold wind
Or hot summer wind
Both pleases our senses, without a discrepancy
Same, the faceless love,
The song of divine
Nourishes our soul with its soft feel
And the eternal flute, whose sweet and vital jingle
Flows through our breath
And soothes our hidden desires,
Which is not a part of our self
But from our congenital evolution, existing with us,
Get the thought of whose…?
I praise to that abstract
A man, who lives life with his wishes
His joy, sorrow, sin and virtue
Deeds and misdeeds and all his effort
Are glimpse of a perpetual idea
And who is playing with others
Mostly played by others
And, who climbs everyday a new mountain
Always at the abyss of dark ocean
Unless and until, he would not get rays of truth
The man, who is an objective reality
But, the subjective reality of him
I praise only that abstract