Sweep the anger under the carpet
Drive the pain away in the attic
Lock the shame in the closet
Abandon the fear at the fence
Bury the guilt in the garden
Hide the care in the basement
Hang a smile when it’s all done
But know what shall then befall
You can’t numb them just some
Without numbing them all.

Notes:

The opening verse of Masnavi, Rumi’s greatest work, is one of the most translated lines in poetry.

Beshno in ney chon shekaayat mikonad Az jodaayiha hekaayat mikonad
“Listen to this reed, how it tells a tale of separations, how it speaks of longing.”

The reed, a simple end-blown flute made from hollow river cane, was once rooted. Part of a living reed bed, connected to soil and water. That cut is what makes music possible but the reed never forgets the cutting.

The hollow inside it, which produces the sound, is the wound of separation. Without the hollow, there is no music. Without the cut, there is no longing. Without the longing, there is no song.

Inspired by that, a poem on what we do instead

If not for the same
Crossroads had life fed
Or the joys and the scars
That those choices led

What kind of a person
Then had you been
If not for the same
Trails you had seen

Had it been a different hill
Or yet another longing
What would have you
Found in your being

“There are no mistakes”
The universe commands
There is a reason
Where every drop lands
Waste time forcing choices
Or peek inside with a pause
Hidden behind all voices
Can you spot their cause?

When you hiked not to get to the top
But to discover how the trail bends
Ever wrote down a thought without
Knowing how it all ends.

When your biases came pounding
You bent for only a few
Ever changed your mind about
Something important to you.

When you moved across oceans
To mend a broken heart
Embraced your guilt and forgave
Your younger self’s part.

When in spite of a heart full of rage,
You unclenched that fist a little,
You changed the shape of your universe,
You made it a bit less brittle.

I am caught in this double whammy
Why am I my soul’s worst company
Scared of the silence of my own solitude
Who else shall bear with such attitude?

I would rather indulge in the infinite scroll
Or take my chances against the army of troll
Or be buried in the burrow of books for a stroll
Than lay bare open with myself whole

I am caught in this double whammy
Why am I my soul’s worst company
Scared of the silence of my own solitude
Who else shall bear with such attitude?

All that which lies deep within
The mud blocks, the metal bars
The curves of tinted glass
The specks of dust
Beyond the bonds of the Earth
That scattered onto us
The paint of this light
All of it was cast very far
In the furnace of some star

Why not we wonder then
Where does lie the die for
The fears and the folly
The joys and the ecstasy
The sorrows and the melancholy
The courage and the bravery
The anger and the agony
The rare silence, the constant din
All that which lies deep within

Samkhya is the philosophical basis for Yoga. It reveals a dualism between Purusha (consciousness) and Prakriti (nature). Samkhya philosophy implies the human experience as a state in which Purusha is bonded with Prakriti. When untouched, Prakriti remains inactive; upon contact with Purusha, it starts the cosmic evolution, leading to life and intellect, and ultimately liberation (end of bondage of Purusha to Prakriti). There is no good word to describe the essence of Prakriti in English. Whereas Purusha signifies the observer, Prakṛti includes all the cognitive, moral, psychological, emotional, sensorial and physical aspects of reality.

Wake up 
‘Coz while you have been living
you have not been feeling,
you have been existing
With so little sensing

Wake up 
Not to the sounds that you hear 
but to the sobs that you don’t
to who you really are
to what you bear

Wake up
‘Coz what gains are any good for
Showing yourself to the world
When those close struggle 
to see you unfurled.

Wake up. Breathe. Feel. Love.

It isn’t made in stone
but it ain’t fragile
It resides in every bone
but it ain’t sterile

It dissolves my duality
Of desires and sacrifice
I carve myself a reality
Worthy of my own choice

It needs no nectar nor necklace
‘Coz power needs no drape
My faith is figureless
‘Coz belief needs no shape