Gathered Blooms

A little poem on the Master's Gaze, the Grace that puts an end to the afflictions of the seeker. 

It was the day after Maha Shivratri after temple hopping of the ancient temples in and around Trichy in the great night of Shiva. My sister and I set out to offer our worship to Lord Vishnu at Srirangam, close to Trichy. After a fulfilling darshan of Sriranganathar coupled with tasty nibbles of the Prasad-pulisadham (tamarind rice) and thayirsadham (curd rice), we got into the car. As we engaged ourselves in a conversation waiting for the driver to return, a Sadhu approached us. He passed off easily as a traditional Indian Sadhu, clad in ochre robes. He had flowing hair and wore Kumkum on his forehead. It was beyond doubt that he approached us for alms; we casually handed out some money. There was a faint but a sure sign of gratitude on his face. He then immediately turned around and lifted both his hands above his head at the temple tower in adoration of the Lord and walked away quietly. This could seem as just another ordinary act of adoration of the Lord…. May be the mo

 'From silence all sounds emerge and into silence all sounds merge.' A short poem on the sound of silence. The Sound of Silence The pealing of the bell, The chirping of the birds, The buzzing of the bees, The rustling of the leaves in the trees, The booming of thunder, The soft fall of the snow in winter, The noise of the rain, The chugging of the train, The tik tok of the clock, An old door on which a sharp knock, From silence all sounds pop, And in silence all sounds drop, Silence has its own sound, A few sensitive hearts can hear, And in which if one can drown, Embraces peace so dear.  Picture Courtesy: David Tip www.unsplash.com