Rookie - 64 Points (23rd November,1951 / Guwahati, Assam, India)

I want to talk junk

Let me talk junk. I fee like it.
I do hope nobody else is affected in any way..
skip it if it's too long or too inane.Do it your way
Tentative at dawn, and emphatic by noon
Reflective in the afternoon by threat of dusk
The Sun retires peacefully knowing fully well
It will be born again after a good night's rest.
In its progression through temporal channels
Can the soul be immune to such Cosmic rules
True in any frame of reference?
Can births and rebirths be manifestations
Of the quintessence of Nature?
A compulsive need to permute and combine
An inexorable urge to create and destroy
Till PERFECTION is born?
Where, in
a formless universe peopled by
packets of pulsating light
ingrained at birth with
ecstasies of union, bliss of love,
evocable any time, anywhere at will.
Purest bliss would be reserved
as sachets of blissful frequencies
to be infused as rewards
in grades like A, B, C or D
to Packets that programmed themselves
To highest levels of sublime creativity.
One need not be a Picasso to sketch something
Quality is not the essence of creation.
Create to float in the orgiastic ecstasy
That creation alone can bring
Through flaming impulses to create SOMETHING
That never existed anywhere before
Till your essence conceived and molded it
To leave something NEW in the world.
I can visualise this formless world
Where I see impurities nurtured with care
Sorrow, dejection, hatred and anger
are some of their ilk I seem to discern.
They freely permeate that Ideal world
The Packets collide with them
much more often than not..
They are bombarded on the Packets
to test their discernment's worth.
Impurities are a must in that Perfect World
they only can make the Packets appreciate
And thank the process
that isolated them out of their entire system.
Some Packets somehow mutate to matter
sucking in hordes of impurity
That's what in the Ideal word
Get quarantined and annihilated
To prohibit any further mutation of

Submitted: Saturday, August 09, 2014

Topic of this poem: rebirth

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Stray thoughts. No story line.

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