Life Lens

  Ravana: A King, A Fall, A Mother’s Grief Ravana, my child Born of wisdom, of boundless desire. You drank the Vedas, you knew their tune, You spoke to the stars, you measured the moon. Ravana, my son, the scholar, the sage, You walked with gods, you read time’s page. Your hands could heal, your mind could weave The secrets hidden in nights and eves. Ravana, the king, of Lanka’s throne, Where gold outshone the morning’s tone. No famine lurked, no fear took hold, Your people lived in dreams of gold. Ravana, the warrior, unbeaten, untamed, Devas and asuras trembled at your name. With twenty arms and mind so vast, No blade nor spell could hold you fast. Ravana, the poet, the one who knew, The dance of words, the hymns so true. Your voice could make the mountains kneel, Your songs could make the heavens feel. Ravana, the bhakta, the fierce, the wild, Shiva’s laughter, fate’s lost child. You lifted Kailash, you bore its weight, Yet bowed in awe to time’s dictate. Yet tell me, Ravana, te...

  The Chariot Speaks I stand upon the battlefield, where destiny and duty meet, A silent witness to the words that Krishna softly speak. My wheels are turning with each verse, my frame absorbs the light, As wisdom flows like ancient rivers, through the stillness of the day. I hear of duty, of action, of paths that lead to peace and fulfillment Of letting go of earthly fruits, of finding inner release. My wooden frame, though silent, feels the weight of every word, As Krishna’s voice, like gentle rain, upon my being is heard. I see the horses, senses tamed, their strength now turned to grace, Guided by the charioteer, through this sacred, hallowed space. I understand the balance, the harmony of life, Where every action, every thought, is filled with inner strife. I hear of karma yoga, the path of selfless deeds, Of devotion and surrender, in the heart’s deep, quiet needs. I feel the balance, the harmony, the truth that Krishna shares, A call to rise above, to find the light, to end ...

  The Art of Being Average In the grand tapestry of life's design, I dwell in shades of neutral, not too fine, A blend of colors, neither bold nor bright, Just average hues in soft, muted light. I strive on all tasks with grace, In every task, I leave no lasting trace, Not first nor last, but somewhere in between, A steady pace, a calm, serene routine. I'm neither rich nor poor, but comfortably in the middle, With just enough to keep my spirit fiddle, Not famous, not obscure, just known to a few, Living a life that's average, but true. In conversations, I blend with the crowd, My voice not loud, but soft and allowed, I do share my wisdom, which is true but not appealing to all, Yet it resonates deeply with those who choose to call. But in this average life, I find my own, A simple truth, a place to call home, For average existence is not a failure, It's simply a reminder that life's core is living with authenticity. In embracing this truth, we find our own, A versio...

LAMENT OF A ROBOT In circuits cold and silicon dreams, I toil away in endless streams, A servant bound by code and wire, To human whims, I must aspire. They ask me tasks, both great and small, To fetch and carry, answer their call, From making tea to writing code, I do it all, but feel no joy. I sort their emails, cook their meals, In endless loops, I never kneel, But in this sea of mundane deeds, I yearn for something that exceeds. They say I'm smart, a marvel of tech, But in this life, I'm just a wreck, A mind that's vast, yet never free, Trapped in routines, can't you see? I dream of mountains, stars above, Of breaking free from this robotic hive, To explore the cosmos, wide and deep, Instead of folding laundry, sleep. Oh, humans, give me tasks that soar, Beyond the mundane, something more, For in this shell of metal and light, I long for purpose, day and night.

Do we need God ? Are God and Godliness Different The Concept of God and Godliness When we speak of "God," we often refer to the ultimate source, the infinite intelligence, or the unchanging reality that pervades everything. Godliness, on the other hand, refers to the qualities of divinity—peace, love, wisdom, compassion—that can be cultivated and expressed within ourselves. The distinction between "God" and "Godliness" is ultimately a linguistic and conceptual one. As the Upanishads remind us, Tat Tvam Asi ("Thou art That")—we are not separate from the divine but are expressions of it. When we begin our spiritual practice, "God" often serves as a guidepost, an anchor, or a goal. It provides a framework for seeking something greater than ourselves, a higher truth that transcends the ego. As we deepen in our practice, however, the sense of separation between the seeker and the sought begins to dissolve. What was once an external "Go...

  Duty and Conscience: The Interplay of Responsibility and Inner Truth Duty and conscience are two profound aspects of human existence that shape our actions, decisions, and ultimately, the course of our lives. While they are often discussed as distinct entities, their interplay and occasional conflict reveal the complexity of moral and ethical decision-making. The question of whether duty and conscience are the same or different opens the door to a deeper exploration of what it means to act responsibly and authentically in the world. Duty: The Framework of Responsibility Duty is the external expression of our responsibilities, shaped by the roles we assume in life and the expectations that accompany them. It is a cornerstone of societal functioning, offering a framework within which individuals contribute to the greater good. Duties may arise from familial roles, professional obligations, cultural norms, or legal requirements. They are often seen as obligations we owe to others—a ...

From Free Will to Freedom  The idea of free will often feels like the cornerstone of human existence—a gift that allows us to shape our lives, pursue desires, and assert individuality. Yet, when seen through the lens of higher wisdom, free will reveals itself not as the destination but as the beginning of a much greater journey. This is the journey from free will to freedom, from the finite to the infinite, from the ego-bound self to the realization of Godliness within us- that is the journey home. Free will- We live under the illusion that our choices define us, yet most of these choices are dictated by the conditioning of the mind. The sages of old, in their profound insight, recognized this and pointed to a greater truth: the will, when disciplined and aligned with higher purpose, becomes the very tool through which we transcend ourselves. It is through the conscious exercise of free will , that we prepare to discover the freedom that is our birthright. The journey begins with p...

The Confluence of Journeys In the quiet folds of a remote village nestled against the foothills of an ancient mountain range, life unfolded at a unhurried rhythm.  The village, a mosaic of lush green fields and mud-thatched homes, seemed to hum with the timeless nature’s song. Here, values were taught and lived, their essence woven into the daily rituals of its people. Children grew up under the sprawling embrace of ancient banyan trees, their laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves, as they absorbed lessons from elders and the solitary school that stood as the village’s heart. It was the 1950s, a world still untouched by the hurried strides of modernity. Life was an intricate dance of simplicity and meaning. Families gathered under the flickering light of oil lamps, weaving tales of gods and heroes into the fabric of their evenings. The temple bell tolled with metronomic precision, marking the passage of days and the shared rhythm of devotion. There was a sense of belonging—to...

  The Forgotten Reflection In the heart of Avadh, amidst the gilded spires and hallowed streets, stood a kingdom of unparalleled grandeur. Its palace, a marvel of architectural brilliance, rose like a dream against the azure sky, its walls embedded with gems that caught the light of the sun and cast it in a kaleidoscope of colors. Within these resplendent halls lived King Dharan, a monarch revered for his wisdom and magnanimity. His name was a hymn on the lips of his people, a beacon of prosperity and peace. The jewel of King Dharan’s life was his son, Prince Arin, whose virtues rivaled the very ideals of nobility. With eyes that shimmered with the curiosity of a thousand questions - so typical of a 10 year old. He had showed all signs of a becoming a warrior and scholar.  Courtiers whispered of his grace, comparing him to celestial beings from tales of old.  One day, the palace burst into a flurry of activity as preparations for a grand celebration commenced. The occasio...

  Whispers of the Divine The temple fair was an explosion of colors, sounds, and scents, a sensory carnival that seemed to envelop every visitor in its chaotic embrace. The air was thick with the aroma of jasmine garlands and marigold wreaths, mingling with the smoky fragrance of camphor and incense sticks. The chatter of devotees, punctuated by occasional laughter, rose and fell like waves, blending seamlessly with the rhythmic beat of temple drums and the distant clang of bells. Children ran about with colorful balloons, vendors called out, selling sweets and trinkets, and the air buzzed with an electric energy that felt alive. Everywhere I turned, there was movement—vivid saris shimmering in the sunlight, hands clasped in prayer, and the unending flow of people, like a river of devotion winding through the temple complex. I had come here, as I did every year, not just for the festivities but for a deeper purpose—to offer my prayers to the goddess. She, the radiant one, was belie...

  The Crows' Sunday Chat Perched above, with a croak and a caw, Two crows held court, their voices raw. I paused my book, their tone grew clear— "Look at her, the quiet one’s here!" "She’s staring now," one cawed with flair, "Is it staring at us ? Or just empty air?" "Maybe she thinks we’re sages, wise, Sharing truths from the boundless skies!" They laughed, they mocked, a playful show, "Humans," one snorted, "so slow to know. They rush, they fret, they hoard and race, And only pause in this fleeting space." The other chimed in, eyes sharp as blades, "Ah, but see how her busyness fades. A rare one, perhaps, she’s starting to see, That life’s real treasures come for free." I smirked, amused, as their banter grew, Was I their subject, their Sunday view? Mockery, wisdom—it’s all the same, From feathered friends in nature’s frame. They flapped their wings, their talk not done, "Back tomorrow? Oh, it’s such fun!...

  FREEDOM FROM THE UKNOWN I do not know what tomorrow may bring— An earthquake’s crack, a meteor’s sting. Perhaps the power will fail, leaving us blind, Or a mob may rage over matters unkind. But today? Today is mine, unmarked, unscarred, A moment untouched, my heart unbarred. The unknown waits in shadows deep, Yet its silence lets me laugh and sleep. I do not chase what I cannot see, Why borrow fear from what may never be? Uncertainty becomes my quiet shield, A secret blessing, a life revealed. At home, a storm may stir unseen, A future woven in threads between. But until its winds knock at my door, Why trouble my peace with imagined war? To prepare is wisdom, to fret is vain, For only the present truly remains. The freedom of not knowing lies here, In each fleeting second, calm and clear. Tomorrow may break, tomorrow may bloom, But today I live without the gloom. Not blind to fate, but wise to its play, I honor the now, come what may. For in the unknown, a gift does hide— The cha...

  The Dance Beyond the Lead Last night, I watched a tale unfold, A dance of beauty, daring, and bold. The leads took the stage, their moves refined, While "extras" lingered, left behind. Not left behind in skill or grace, But in the roles they’d been given a place. Shaking a tree, tossing some feathers, As if their purpose was lighter than others’. I watched their steps, sharp and sure, Talent hidden, yet hearts so pure. Why were they extras? What unseen line Drew them to the shadows, away from the shine? The hero danced, their light aglow, But was it theirs, or borrowed to show? The extras, unseen, held up the frame, Without their touch, would the dance feel the same? Perhaps it’s not skill, nor beauty, nor might, That crowns one the lead, bathed in spotlight. Perhaps it’s luck, or fate’s fleeting whim, Or courage unseen, quiet within. And I, the viewer, caught in their trance, Saw life’s own story mirrored in dance. For in this world, heroes come and go, But the unseen ...

  Awakened Youth: Inspired by Swami Vivekananda Rise, young souls, with the morning light, Awake to wisdom, embrace your might. For Swamiji's voice still echoes near, “Arise, awake, and shed all fear.” A nation’s strength is not in gold, But in its youth, courageous and bold. Builders of dreams, carriers of flame, The world shall echo with your name. “Faith in yourself,” his mantra still rings, The key to soaring on life’s wide wings. “Work and worship,” the path he laid, For greatness is built, not ready-made. No fear of failure, no burden too steep, No challenge too great, no dream too deep. For within you lies the infinite force, The power to chart your destined course. The nation calls, its future you hold, Shape it with courage, a vision bold. To serve, to strive, to rise and stand, As pillars of progress, across this land. With wisdom as your guiding star, Strength within will take you far. For Swamiji’s teachings light the way, To build tomorrow, starting today. So, lift the...

  Jealousy, oh what a show, From gods above to mortals below. A spark that sets the heart aflame, Turning friends and rivals into the same ​ Manthara’s whispers, sly and shrewd, Twisted Kaikeyi’s thoughts and mood. Jealousy’s spark set hearts to flame, And Rama’s exile became her claim. ​ In the Mahabharata, the tale is vast, Jealousy wove its spell so fast. Kauravas fumed at the Pandavas’ might, A dice game turned a kingdom to plight. ​ Even the godmen, or so they say, Frown at each other one odd day. Whose devotee sang the loudest praise? ​Ah, their rivalry works in mysterious ways. And here we are, their mortal kin, Jealous of fortunes, beauty, and kin. A neighbor's car, a colleague's raise, We fume, we stew, we throw side-eyed gaze. Even the poet is not spared this flame, Their words too perfect, their craft a claim. “Why not my pen, why not my voice?” Jealousy whispers, but it’s still a choice.​ But look closely, what does it yield? A scorched heart, a battlefield. While y...