Song of Exit

Oh little bird

Why do you search?

Can’t you see?

You are free

Fear not

Nothing external can cage you

No body

No place

No space

Small enough can cage you

No house

With its walls and windows

Can cage you

All disintegrates upon to its conditions

Little bird

Your Golden Cage

Is within

Your house walls seem thicker and thicker

Because you are more and more imbedded into

Your sense-desires



Lord Buddha once exclaimed

“Oh house-builder! You are seen, you shall build no house again!”

Thus cultivate, little bird, cultivate

Take upon the path the Elders have set you

And slowly untie the knots

That bind you to suffering

Oh little bird

Why do you search?

Can’t you see?

You are free

ps. Here is a free resource for Buddhist practitioners. I thought all precious, free things should be shared, here it is. Credits go to my teacher who introduced me to this book.

The Cuckoo Sings

The cuckoo sings

Good news it brings

To my small cage

Of worldly things.


Please teach me

And set me free

My cuckoo friend


In an old cage I am,

Dirty cage

Worldly cage

Of birth, old age and death.


Please teach me

And set me free

My cuckoo friend


I wished that all birds like me

Could all be free

So I left your side

To help them break free

But nobody listened to me

Everyone is too busy

With worldly business

And since I am weak in the Dharma

Stuck in the cage I became

Suffering I am


Please teach me

And set me free

My cuckoo friend


Now I learned

That I can’t teach

Liberate anyone.

It’s all a construction of the ego.

It’s all about self-liberation


Whoever is tired of the saltiness of the Ocean of suffering

Will search for the purity of the sweet River


May all beings one day break free from this salty Ocean

May they find the source of the River of Life!


It’s time to emerge from the Ocean

Climb up the Mountain of Truth

And find the Source!


Please guide me

Dear cuckoo friend.

Before You Leave Come Say Bye

“Before you leave come say bye,”

Said the old man

To the young boy.

Good friends they became

Just like the Little Prince visiting the plane-wrecked Antoine Saint Exupery.

Was it accident that this young boy

Landed on the 3rd Planet in the Solar System?

Gravity has its own ways to pull people together,

And separating them.

The young boy learned that he had to leave soon

So hurriedly he rushed to say bye to the village community

And the old man in it.

But just as Gravity pulls people together,

It also pulls them apart

Making it hard to say bye.

Adding to this challenge,

People decomposed fast in this world

Like old ‘mushed’ paper

People got old and decomposed.

It was hard to say goodbye,

Somehow gravity was pulling them apart,

And the old man was decomposing like paper.


Paper like people

In a paper like world.

At first we stand straight and young

But soon we become old and curled.

Like balls of ‘mushed’ paper,

People and planets spin around

Joined and separated by the force of gravity.


Oh world,

Impermanent world,

You throw us together

And separate us

We are born,

We age,

We die,

Not having time to say a proper goodbye.


Remember as the body dies,

The soul lives on forever with God.

(So light up the spark of Love right here, right now, and Be with God.)

Reflections On A Train

Life is like sitting on a train backwards facing

Not knowing when we will reach our destination,


The final destination.

After sometime the train resumes its journey back to its departing station.

Back and forth it goes.

Carrying an uncertain number of passengers,

All from different backgrounds:

Rich, poor, young, old, students, teachers, buyers, sellers…


On a bench sat a man,

Dressed in a shirt and pants like a middle class worker.

He took out a chopping board,

He must be a chef and he is trying to save time by chopping things here in the train,

Thought the mind,

And the man started chopping onions and boiled potatoes,

How fast and skilled he chopped

Finely dressed and finely chopped

What a skill!

Had a concentrated look in his eyes

Some contentment in his heart

Yet sometimes his mind wandered off

Should I be doing something else?

But chopping he continued

Is he going to take these vegetables home and cook?

Soon he finished his skillful job.


What is this man doing?

And he pulled out his muri (puffed rice) snack kit,

Dangerous kit this was,

A big metal box with lots of muri,

And different small containers of spices and condiments like

Boiled chickpeas, coconut strips and bujia (crispy fried snack with masala)

Everything danced around like it was Holi—the festival of colors

Customers saw this,

Desire arose,

And the maestro started his symphony,

His little spoon worked like a baton stick

Conducting a synaesthetic symphony of

Sounds, colors, smells, flavors and textures.

What a masterpiece!

He was not just a muri wallah (person associated with a specific job or service)

As many people would think.

He was a man selling completeness in life

(Althought he had his short mind wanderings and doubts with it,)

He was able to experience the ecstatic joy of concentration and sense of purpose in life.

He was a teacher,

Spreading the message that

No job is too small and no job is too big.

As long as you are mindful while performing it and pour Love into it,

Doing it as selfless service to others,

You become closer to God and to find fullness in life.

Just like a farmer who plows and works on his field,

You will soon reap the benefits from it.

Let Love spring forth from your Heart when you perform your job

Or else go find a new one that allows you to do so.

Life is short

Like a play

You find your role and perform it.

In the end,

All there is or isn’t

It’s just a child’s play…

Where Are You O Little Bird?

Where is it?

The treasure I search.

The light.

The bird that sings with a sweet voice.


I searched for you everywhere,

Here and there,

Up in the mountains,

Down in the valleys,

Into dark forests,

And along mythical rivers.

Where are you o little bird?


A long time ago we met

But I forgot and neglected you.

I got busy with worldly concerns.

‘Grown up’ things like

Bodily comfort,

Sensory pleasures,

Material wealth,

And craving for respect and power.

How foolish I am!


I forgot about you

So I started blindly searching

For something,

Anything that could refill my broken jug of heart.

For it was slowly leaking,

Emptying itself of Life.


I searched for you everywhere,

Here and there,

Up in the mountains,

Down in the valleys,

Into dark forests,

And along mythical rivers.

Where are you o little bird?



I rested my hand into my pocket,

And there I found you.

A sick and neglected

Blue patched golden canary.

I gently held you in my hand,

Fed you,

Cleaned you,

Took care of you,

And gave you all my Love.


Soon you became filled with Life

As my Heart became filled with Love.

You started flapping your wings,

Flying around things.

I tried to catch you,

Put you in a little cage.

But I realized that it was impossible to catch your free spirit.

What a worthless task I got myself into!

I let you free o bird!

You come visit me wherever you want.


Then you perched,

And started singing your Heart out.

Your sweet voice echoed through the world.

First five people came as audience,

Then ten,

Soon a multitude of people gathered around you.

You sang sweet songs of Love

In different styles and languages.

Bringing people together

To celebrate the inner Divine

That resides within!


Allow me to accompany you o little bird!

Let me taste thy Freedom.

Let’s roam the world,

Land wherever our Hearts guide us to,

And sing sweet songs of Love!

Let me liberate myself from worldly chains,

And live free just like You!









The River Cuts Through All The (Bull)Shit

The river cuts through All

The shit floating in its water surface.

Human shit,

Pig shit,

Uncategorized shit,

But mostly bullshit

All discharged without treatment,


By untamed minds.


Silently and with a gentle smile,

The river takes it All.

Not complaining,

Not holding grudges,

Not breaking down.

It continues its dance of Infinite Joy.


One might ask,

“How can one take so much shit without returning some shit?”

Confused folks start hypothesizing:

A) The river is stupid (so they try to take advantage of the river).

B) The river is weak (so they try to manipulate and dam the river).

C) The river has hidden intentions (so they stay cautious and avoid the river).

Nonetheless even after much brainstorming,

They still can’t arrive at a satisfactory answer.

“What a weird river!” folks say.

Perhaps it’s because the river has realized its divine duty in life.

Its purpose being to serve All.

Hence even though the river is surrounded by all types of shit,

It will not become like it.

Only the surrounding shit disintegrates and becomes part of the deep river.


Oh! The deep river flows with such a mystical divine Beauty.

Even after being dumped with so much shit and pollution…

What a Beauty!

Artists have tried to paint

The contrasting harmony of the orange sun setting in the dark blue Ganga waters,

The heavy colored ghats1 filled with people performing pujas2.

Poets have tried to recount

The galloping water charging in like Alexander’s mighty cavalry,

The sunlight reflected on the water like an eternal waltz between Mr. Sun and Lady Ganga.

Composers have tried to capture

The undulating sound of waves caressing the ghat,

That crispy tune of fisherman boats gliding through the water.

Dancers have to tried to express

The inner flow of the river in their body movements,

The melting of their solid bodies into rhythmic flowing water.

Singers have tried to convey in their songs

The mood of a meditative boat journey down the river,

The explosive energy of pushing a fishing boat up the river,

And the overflowing Love that pilgrims and worshippers have for this River.


Devoted pilgrims have travelled to the shrines up in the Himalayas to worship the Mother Ganga,

Who descended upon the Earth through Shiva’s hair.

Dividing itself into seven streams,

Three to the east,

Three to the west,

And one following sage Bhagiratha,

Who dedicated his life to worship and austerities,

The one who was destined to liberate the souls of his ancestors,

The sixty thousand sons of King Sagara.

All of them torched to ashes by sage Kapila’s yogic fire

After wrongly accusing him of stealing King Sagara’s horse and attacking him.

After a long journey following sage Bhagiratha,

The Ganga finally flowed through their leap of ashes,

Cleansing and freeing their lost souls.


After listening to the story of Ganga’s descent to Earth,

An upper caste man claims with pride,

“Ganga-jal (water) is never dirty.”

Yet right in front of his face

A big piece of shit floats by the water.

“It’s Ok,” he says.

But then he walks to the farther and ‘cleaner’ side of the ghat and takes a ‘holy’ dip into the water.

‘Purifying himself.’


One might ask,

From what?

Is it from the so called ‘unclean’ things?

How ‘clean’ are you?

Is it from those ‘unclean’, low caste things?

Those ‘unclean’, low caste, poor, jealous, darker-skinned, violent, uneducated things?

Drop it!

These things that you ignore and try to clean out from your conscience

Are your fellow brothers and sisters

Who work as your maidservants, rickshaw drivers and garbage collectors.

Who you have talked down on and thrown money at,

Who you have denied their right to exist as respected human beings.

Using manipulative schemes and distorted economic rationality,

A hidden system of oppression has been cast upon the common people,

That confines the poor into slums,

Denies their right to education,

Limits access to clean water and sanitation,

While pumping in messages that people from these slums are

Worthless, stupid and lazy.

Sadly, young people start to believe in these messages.

Slowly they embody these negative expectations.

Soon a cycle of mutual destruction starts,

Rape, murder, robbery, drug dealing.

Everything happens,

By the riverside.


The flowing river sees it All,

And cuts through all the (bull)shit.

Just like Goddess Durga equipped with the divine Sword,

Chopping through the armies of the King Buffalo Demon Mahisha.

For nine nights this bloody battle lasted,

Until she finally meets the charging Buffalo Demon,`

And she chops off his head.

While Mahisha was in mid transformation back to his human form,

Durga slays him with Shiva’s trident,

Earning her the title of Mahishasura Mardini,

Also known as The Slayer of Buffalo Demon Mahisha.

On the tenth day,

Durga stood victorious,

Restoring the cosmic order of the Universe.

This victorious battle is now celebrated during Durga puja,

Also called Navratri – The Festival of Nine Nights.

This is one of Hindus biggest and most important festivals.

This is a time for setting up pandals3 to be immersed into the Ganga

Accompanied by music, mantras, dance and social gatherings.

Perhaps a time for releasing the wild side within.


Hopefully one day,

Following Goddess Durga’s example,

People will delve within and slay their own inner bull demons,

Tame their minds,

And open their Lotus Hearts.

Only then can they realize the bit of Truth in the saying that

The Ganga is never dirty,

Not in the physical sense,

But Spiritually.

Remember this teaching my friend,

No shit can make you dirty if your Heart is pure.


1  Series of steps that lead into the river.

2  An act of worship.

3  Large temporary structures erected during Hindu acts of worship, in this case the worship of Durga’s victory over Mahisha.



Monsoon on Hooghly

The Hooghly River Tide runs high.

Its currents dance through

The Ghats

Where the common people bathe, wash, clean their clothes;

Where Brahmin priests perform sacred rituals and offerings;

Where dogs, pigs and crows scavenge for food amidst the trash.


The River is the Eternal witness.

It observes and observes.

It has seen human depravity at its peak.

Ships carrying people’s own brothers and sisters in chains to be sold as ‘commodities’.

The dumping of battered women’s bodies after monstrous rape crimes.

Bloody political and religious riots with brothers and sisters killing each other.

But the River has also seen the best within the human heart.

Unknown people jumping into the water to save a drowning child.

Ferrymen selflessly working day and night carrying people across the river.

Kind souls praying in Its margins for humanity to Awaken

And realize its current path towards self-destruction.


The River has seen it All.

Unaffected by anything,

Its currents dance

Up and down,

Left and Right.

Ever free.

Freely dancing.

Attached to nothing,

Only absorbed in the Eternal Flow of Infinite Joy and Beauty.


One night the River Tide was dancing,

Rocking the wooden fishermen cribs to sleep

At the tune of a Bhatiyali* folk song.

The River Tide loved the fishermen;

It brought them fish and sustenance.

The fishermen would reciprocate Its Love;

They cared for the River and worshipped it through songs.

That night,

When the fishermen feel asleep in their undulating cribs,

The River Tide decided to look up into the sky;

And saw a Beautiful Moon dancing amidst the clouds.

Being non-dual in nature, the River had both male and female characteristics

Yet the River fell prey to the Passions.

Gradually It started to lose its female energy and only retained its male characteristics.

It shifted to become the male Tidal energy.

Every night the Tide would stare at the Moon.

The Tide would imagine that the Moon’s reflection in its waters would be

The real Moon resting on his lap.

How He longed for that to happen.

The Moon noticed how the Tide stared at Her every night

With eyes full of desire and passion;

She decided to play with his thief like senses.

The lady Moon dressed herself in the finest white silk

And with a soft voice,

She sensually called the Tide to come closer to Her,

The excited and charmed Tide blindly followed her orders.

As the tide tried to reach closer,

The Moon would slowly take off her white silken dress.

Assaulted by desire,

The Tide bubbled in ecstasy.

He tried harder and harder to reach her yet she was too far away.

The same process repeated itself for several nights.

Until one night while leaking a smile of mockery,

The Moon completely vanished like a mirage.

In reality, the Moon had no interest for the Tide.

Her heart longed for the Sun

Yet destiny had them separated.

Rarely meeting.

Performing their God given duties at different times of the day.


The poor Tide seeing the Moon vanish before His eyes,

Finally faced the harsh reality of Desire and Passion.

They will soon and suddenly vanish one day;

Only leaving a trail of hopeless longing and suffering.

Sad, angry and depressed,

The Tide caused chaos everywhere it flowed through:

Sunken boats,

Drowned people,

Flooded banks.

The Tide selfishly flowed its way towards the Sea.

The Heavenly Cloud seeing all this suffering on Earth

Shed tears,

Tiny tear droplets gently embraced the heart broken Tide.

Calming It,

Healing It,

Restoring It.

The Cloud also asked its Thunder child to soar loud in the skies.

It summoned Its Wind friends from all directions.

All together they comforted the Tide saying,

You are not alone,

We see your suffering.

Awaken my friend! Awaken!

Realize Impermanence in your desires and passions!

Remember your long lost non-duality!

And strive for Liberation!

Then you shall lose your fear for the fast approaching Sea!

One day you will Ascend into the Clouds with us and become One with All!

Flow on, my friend! Flow on!

Monsoon has arrived!


*Bhatiyali – Traditional folk songs sung by boatmen in the rivers of Bengal while navigating the river. These songs worship Nature and have a mystic component in them.