Diary of a Nakedman

The Naked Man

He arrived at the city gate With the smell of an ages old wine in his breath. He is mad someone shouted And I too agreed, for he was all naked. He reached above the market place And sat on the temple floor where our Gods abide. Gods said nothing save the angry priest Who ordered his assistants to throw him aside. Men came hurriedly, pulled his legs, Dragged him down and was beaten almost to death. I saw him bleeding from the nose, The swollen cheek and his blood stained face. He said nothing and remained there motionless As if he deserves what has been done to him... I watched from a distance like all cowards do And with my silence I beat him too. But there came the moment When my conscience was shaken His teary vision mirrored my hypocrisy

And from my ages long sleep Finally I was awakened. He then spoke the word I shouldnt have heard The word that the serpent whispered to Eve, The word that cost us the Garden of Eden, The word that made us grieve: Shame...Shame on you, How can a naked man say this to me? I wondered? And as if reading my thoughts, He said to me in a strenuous voice: The shame is beyond external nudity; Even a well dressed person could be nude in his character The last line he uttered. The serpent is dead but I have tasted the forbidden fruit How to hide my shame now? His words have undressed my conscience And now I too have become completely nude. I walked feeling ashamed lowering my head, Passed through the market place Towards the city gate But to my surprise no one seemed to notice my nakedness, Mistaken by the garment covering my body. No one noticed, even the high priest; My naked character and my mask of hypocrisy. The prophets knew this and pronounced them in public Hoping that their words might help people at large But they were betrayed, they were hanged,

Burnt to death and were mercilessly crucified. Curse the fact that I am aware of this nudity, I too now joined the victims side. Another Naked man has just been born For this wisdom of mine I cannot hide. They say the world has changed And theres no crucifixion or a Hemlock to drink But the history is repeated in its new way; The society always condemns men who think. I will be abused, I will be torn apart For I know this inner nudity. I am a naked man amidst the men in covers, A threat to the hypocrite society...

Immortals

Prologue:

And Shem, the eldest son of Noah Turned 400 years of age, His son and the sons of his sons They too have had their hair turned grey. And women have almost forgotten The art of weaving the wreath And prepare the incense sticks For years no eyes were moisten, As no mortal was taken to the caves For the eternal rest. This neglect of the Angel of death And the ever increasing number of their days Devalued the lives of men in multitude In the valley where once father Noah Built the ark that sailed

The sun rose and it set in silence No eyes rested upon them anymore. Stars glittered and faded quietly To them men no longer adore. Flowers bloomed and withered away Their fragrance provoked senses of no men.

I, one among these men and with them Lived this life of immortals Till the serpent appeared again

First day of the Moon:

A snake slithered through my perforated sheet As I slept one night on the meadow To beat the tormenting summer heat. My eyelids shook not because I had my sleep satisfied But the pain crawled through my veins When its fangs pierced into my skin to have its merciless bite. I care not my dream of the maiden I was dreaming that night Nor my heart bittered by not been able to kiss her again A virgin un-kissed lay in every mans heart So why mourn yet another dream of thousands of men? Ah, but this pain, an unbearable agony A stranger to me or I a stranger to this pain Quivered my legs and pulled me down As if thousands of crushed grapes injected into my vein.

You, move no more and cease there at once What this discomfort have you given me? I must know what weakens my strength

And why to myself my very legs no more carry? Leave not till you have me satisfied! (With a tight fist and gnashing teeth I cried)

Upon me the serpent rested its beastly eyes Hissing rather in a mournful voice:

When Men think their lives have no end I come to remind them of their mortality. I bite not to bring an end to their lives But they may start to live again. Know this the eternal truth Uttered long ago by the wisest of men: What is born will die, What has been gathered will be dispersed, What has been accumulated will be exhausted, What has been built up will collapse And what has been high will be brought low. Have I not told this to Adam and Eve? So do I tell you, I give you death so that you may live Go, and till the third day of the moon Shall you breathe

Combing the meadow into halves The serpent disappeared into the tall grass I lamenting the meager three days in hand Ran towards the village of immortals, For a while leaving the pain behind.

Second day of the Moon:

I must have had a nightmare I thought But my bloated foot confirmed it was not. Cried then I not by the pain but for fear, Fear of losing all that I possess, Fear of the promises I could not keep, Fear of the dreams I kept delaying, Fear of ending a life that went lived.

Hear me say this my brethren That which begins surely has an end What is born they say must die Even the mountains will be flattened And the seas once again kiss the sky. The Heaven one day bear no sun And the light forever ceases to be Darkness will rule all corners of the world And silence will echo till eternity.

I declared this among my men But they lend no ears to my words.

He must be in sleep (Shouted a farmer ploughing the field) We have crops and animals in abundance, You tell me one day it will be taken away?

For hundreds of years it has been ours And for hundreds of years will it stay. If hunger must have brought you here Then bite some bread and leave. If rest you need to come back to your senses Then spread some hay and have a good sleep. But utter no word of madness here We have only heard stories of death Our forefathers still dine with us, Death is a stranger here, its too weak, To us it can never possess.

Crack! The farmer whipped the Ox And moved his plough softening the earth Strange, enslaving these thoughtless animals How proud are these men of thought.

No words then trickled through my tongue As I watched the golden paddy field Gently sway in the fading light of the sun. A wisp of smoke that penciled the sky Slowly dissolved in the luminous haze. The sun cradled between the hills afar Casting long shadows of different shapes. Joy swallowed my weary heart, Happiness leapt through my soul Bewildered by the shades of the Nature,

The beauty unnoticed ever before.

Third day of the moon:

Dawn broke the silence of the night And a new day took its first breath Freshness in the air brought me back to life, At least for a while I conquered the death.

A river lay few paces away Between the village from where I stood A long forgotten friend it is to me now Who knows all my secrets of my childhood. Ah! How I used to swim in it Watching the trouts whirl along with me And the potters daughter Who came to fetch the water Whose sweetheart sadly I could not be. This river must have laughed at my face Thousand and a many times To see me grow in muscle and strength But the living heart of my boyhood demise. I though changed; the river looked the same, The same old fig trees lined up in its shore But the fallen leaves in its bed proclaimed That no one fished or swam in it anymore.

Its cold edge no more kissed a womans feet, And deserted lay the weir that used to roar.

The dampness that rose from the yearning river Made me nostalgic and sad Pulled as if by my hand I plunged into the cool water Trying to swim against the weak current. Never had the river felt so pure I sensed lost in its coolness What stopped me from coming here? I regretted thinking of my wasted days.

The dankness and the chill of the night came fast And along with it came the violent thunder showers Down the river, below the bridge, stood a dimly lit hut Where I guided my tired legs hoping to spend my last hours.

An earthen pot hanged on the stake In it boiled the rice with milk A man of much age smiled at me Whose calm expressions announced Him to be a man of spiritual insight. A staff leaned against the dark wall, And a straw mat spread on the floor Smilingly the old man let me in Placing in front of me a half filled bowl.

Tired you look son, are you then a journeyman? Here, drink this milk and gain some strength Dry your wet cloths and warm your cold bones You are a guest tonight to my humble abode.

If life is nothing but a journey Then yes I am a journeyman But this journey of mine remained incomplete For my life will soon come to an end A snake poisoned my pure blood In an hour or so I will be dead.

Son, death is the most beautiful creation of nature; How insignificant indeed sunset would have been If it would have lasted forever How worthless the flowers would have been If it would never wither Rainbow that garland the sky fade before the stars could shine The Dew that the Angels drink disappear at your wink Filled with life are only those that end with the passage of time. The realization of death is the beginning of life But men of little wisdom they know not They live the life of immortals And die with the unfinished song at heart. Our life without death would have been meaningless Blessed you are and the blessed the serpent be For you were given the time to live

Before you pass into nothingness

Midnight:

I feel a strange lassitude descending on me The unconscious mind, dying soul and the aching knee. Can see nothing, even a little of nothingness. Can see no light, only the vision of darkness. This sick room Ive known for so long In a moment it will no more belong. For death has hold on me by the hair And about to carry beyond the unknown fair. I qualm the deeds Ive left behind Is there a qualitative as a drop of water mingles in the sand? But who is there to quash my act of prime? Except the judge who has committed no crime. Who knocks at my rusty door? Must be the messenger of death I am sure. So farewell illusion, farewell fear The angel of death is so nearer, The angel of death is so nearer....

One song of many Buddhas

I have tried writing in the stones, I have tried writing in the clay(s) I have tried telling the story of this man In thousand different ways.

The birds sometimes did rest on my shoulder And sang along with my tune. Even the furious beast stopped by When I was telling his story to the moon. But no mortals I found whose ear drums rattled When the wind whispered his story to them. Pity, men slave to their senses Cannot see and hear beyond What their senses can apprehend.

And these senses what they are proud of They know not are just a parrot in a cage, They repeat nothing but others voice Like a canvas that possess nothing of its own All shapes and colours are but an Artists choice. Like the one looking at the deep well See nothing but his own reflection Voices echoed, though pleasing to the ears Are not of the well but of the one who utters.

The more you think you see The less unfolds the reality The more you believe it is The less it always be. Eyes are the enemy of your thoughts Thoughts are the enemy of your eyes. Judge not so that you may not miss Believe not and ignorance no more exists. This the unspoken truth I tell you now Knowing this, you remain the same Not knowing this, you remain the same But what is worth knowing is this I speak And it is the same that must be forgotten Once it is known

Confusion.

Long before the Right and Wrong were born, They say my grandfather used to stay all alone In a cave resting on the milky mountain Where the feathery clouds hide the sun. And down in the village lived the first breed of men From where they believe the civilization began.

I have in hand scanty evidence To know what exactly he did up there For thousand and seven years, Just the story of his brutal death In the hands of the so called civilizing men Is poured into my ears.

It happened thus one day This man, my grandfather After his long years of isolation Descended towards the village; His body covered with animal skin. The sight was unfamiliar and frightening Amongst the villagers, the naked men, For the idea of covering their body Never really occurred to them. Men stood perplexed and motionless,

Children ran towards their mothers and Mothers ran into their hut. The silence would have lasted for ages Had not one man picked up a stone And punctured my grandfathers head. One stone turned two, and two into three, My grandfather was put to death For this unpardonable crime, The crime to cover his naked body, The crime to be conscious of his nudity.

Two thousand years later, This time it was my father He was given a Hemlock to drink By the descendents of the first breed of men For he too committed an unpardonable crime. (Now they say he was the first man to Think And speak of things beyond the understanding Of the people of that time.)

Dressed in Egyptian silk, laden with pearl Spreading the fragrance of the Arabian perfumes, People moved on the streets of the civilized society Where my father walked with unshaved face, Long hair and tattered clothes.

One day they knew not why he came out

Wearing nothing but his usual childlike smile, Some laughed at him, some cursed; Called him a mad and many spat on his face. Men demanded him to be put to death For revealing his nakedness.

Five thousand years have passed now, And they say men have finally reached The utmost level of consciousness. But I am still waiting for the time to go out, For the world outside is crowded With people half naked and half dressed I know not how I walk out Dressed like my grandfather Or like my father should I run naked?

Love

O Love what stuff have you made up of? What shape you have, how sweet you smell? I see you not, cant even touch, Where can I find you? Where do you dwell?

Poets say you are in the heart of a rose. In the silent ocean, says a Philosopher. The lovers see you in each others eyes, On his masters face, a believer.

O Love how p oor you are? How rich you are? What device is there for you to measure? They say you dance with kings and nobles But also reside in the house of a beggar.

The Brahmins often speaks of you, So does the Kshatriyas and the Vaishyas. What religion, what cas te you belong to? For I have heard you dining even with the Shudras.

But O you Love go back home You have been vastly misunderstood here. Your paintings are too vague for us to understand And the voice of yours too soft to hear...

Blind says you are white in colour, A deaf man sings your melody. Priests say you are confined to temples.

A thief once sold your painting to me.

Go dear Love, go back home, We are the followers of a Roman decree. You too will be baptized with fire and water And forced to live a life of slavery.

But take this story along you, As a message to the one who created you; The story of a boy, a poet at heart Who fell in love with a Hindu girl And he was a Muslim by birth.

He dreamt of her all days and nights And composed songs of love and pain. He saw her shadows in the moonless sky And heard her voices in the fallen rain.

He bent his knees and stretched his arms, Nothing but to be loved in return. She dreamt a little with moisten eyes Only to realize that the boy she was waiting for years Though came to her finally, his bride she could never be. She looked towards the Heaven and uttered some words:

You have a mark my dear poet, Accepting your love is neglecting my duty. I know your love for me is as pure as the honey collected by the bee But my legs are chained by the promises of my parents And I am obliged to them till eternity.

What is this duty that separates the lovers? And makes one suffer and die in pain? What is this Religion, what is this duty That divides the whole humanity?

Dear Love, go back home Why you reveal our hypocrisy? We are Hindus, we are Muslims here, You are not welcome in our society...

The Drunkard They call me a drunkard! For I drink. All the villagers, both men and women, Grownups and all the kids. I am a drunkard for all, For my teachers, friends Ive helped, And how strange! Even for the man who taught us love and forgiveness, Our village high priest. But save my mother who still ho pes That someday Ill be home like the Prodigal son. Though she knows all my secrets And have seen me drunk from the dusk till the dawn.

Yes I am a drunkard! I am aware that I am, And in it lies my secret pride. But there are drunkards everywhere I se e, Its just they sip a different wine and did not swagger like me. Indeed I help them feel a bit proud, For seeing me swagger their drunkenness seems to hide. But O you drunkards, shame on you! You know not that your souls do swagger. Judge me not with yourself drunk How one beggar can be superior to another beggar?

I have seen you drunk

From the cup of passion, from the cup of lust And from all the ugly desires. Yes I have seen you drunk With the joy of ill will, boasted ego And from the jealousy of your neighbour.

I am a drunkard! And I will drink till death. And in my drunkenness I am happy too. For I drink from the crushed grapes, the mysterious potion. Not from the cup of envy, lust and passion like you.

But remind me this that I should not be p roud in my drunkenness, Not a single drunkard can have a peaceful rest. For I never returned the safety to my mother She gave me when I was sucking her breast...

The Last Letter from Sophia... Dear Mom and my dear Dad I dont want to, but surely this last letter of mine will make you sad. Since this is my last week as a cancer patient The long suffering of mine finally coming to an end. I must thank you for whatever you have given me The love, the care, and a wonderful family. Your lullabies my dear Mom inspired me to sing a song The way Daddy used to whistle every morning, Is the only reason why I started playing violin. The wonderful childhood spent in grandmas farmhouse The passion fruit juice and the jam made out of plum. Yellow marigold blooming in the backyard garden, A drop of dew on the rose glittering in the morning sun. You remember Daddy how you taught me to fly a kite? I ran with it all corners of our garden Finally it got tattered but never got a flight? Yes it was when I was Three. I remember I was completely free. Brida my kitten, Bony the rabbit and Ariel my Gold fish, They were my friends, I played with them When I was four, five and six. The bed time stories of you my Mom, Ah! The Beauty and the Beast It made me dream of a far away prince I too would someday kiss. Everything enriched my soul; The whole world seemed to be mine,

I started dreaming of distant land When I was seven, eight, nine. Then Freddy our neighbours son Appeared as the Beast and I his Beauty. I fell in love with him at once. His long eye lashes enchanted me. We watched for hours the Evening Star Twinkling far away in the fairy land. And promised to sail the entire ocean On a bamboo raft holding each others hands. We dreamt of building a house on a mountain top With the view of the snow covered Pine trees. I play my violin just for him Romance, the mother of all melodies. And hell read to me sitting by the fire All my favourite classic stories. But you objected my Dad for he was Eddy Nicholas son. What love has to do with it my dad? What if to a different race he belonged? You loved me Daddy but you never understood my love. You clipped the wings of a songbird. You imprisoned the dreamer Sophia forever in a dungeon When she was just Twelve.

I cried for Freddy all day and night And played my violin for hours beneath the same old chestnut tree. Your love too didnt help me my Mom

To wipe out his face from my memory. The songbird died inside the cage And I finally forgot to dream. Maybe Ill be buried next week my Dad But Sophia died when she was Nineteen. Life demanded nothing from me even when I turned twenty three. And as I turned twenty four I had already compromised with life And desired for nothing more. It was just to make you happy my Mom That I am married to Julian. Though he proved to be a great husband, The love of Freddy is compared to none. So it is the sincere request that I make, For I am leaving my little daughter Sarah with you. Please let her dream the impossible dreams. Let her do whatever she believes. Let her play the music of the river, Let her dance in the moonlit night. Let her paint the great Himalayas Let her learn by herself how to fly a kite. Let her sleep for hours on the cozy grass Let her sail the entire ocean on a bamboo raft Let her build the house on a mountain top And live with the man she truly loves. Please dont let her tender heart be poisoned By the rotten corpse of the songbird...

Song of the World

Old dreams New path New love Old heart Old scars New pain New clouds Old rain Old music New ears New eyes Old tears Old wisdom New fears New beliefs Old prayers Old demons New priests New God Old beast Old stories New faces New footsteps Old traces Old lullabies New Cradle New world Old people Old wings New sky New cocoon Old butterfly New cocoon Old Old butterfly

For Sophia I wish the journey was ages and ages long And the travellers were just you and I. I sing for you the melodies of love and pain Passing through the woods on a moonlit sky.

I still remember the day I met you Your beautiful smile, misty morning, The lake covered by the fig leaves, And the roses bathed in the morning dew. I fell in love with you at once. For I saw my muse in you.

But short were the days we walked hand in hand Like the bursting of a bubble, a flash of a comet. I waited for you till the sun went down, In the same place where we met, Near the old mill by the lake.

Long were the hours I waited for you, With an aching heart, in a state of trance, Till the silence of the forest was broken by a nightingales song The journey did remain and I must decide To walk ahead or turn my way back home. A drifter am I stood undecided with an achin heart Whistling in the woods the melodies of love and pain, All alone...

I am Learning I am learning to draw. I am learning to paint. I am learning to remember. I am learning to forget. I am learning to destroy. I am learning to create. I am learning to love. I am learning to hate. I am learning to swim. I am learning to fly. I am learning to smile. I am learning to cry. I am learning to caress. I am learning to hug. I am learning to kiss. I am learning to make love. I am learning to be honest. I am learning to betray. I am learning to abandon. I am learning to stay. I am learning to be content. I am learning to strive for more. I am learning to dream. I am learning to sail towards the unknown shore. I am learning to walk barefoot on the dewy grass. I am learning to chase the delicate butterfly. I am learning to mimic the sound of the flowing river. I am learning to walk alone beneath the moonlit sky. I am learning to whistle in the deep silent night. I am learning to dance in the rain. I am learning to listen to the stories of the wind. I am learning to sing the melodies of love and pain. It was when I renounced all the doctrines, faith and belief, Finally I learnt how to pray. Its because Ive Unlearned everything, I am learning everyday...I am learning everyday...

A Book of Empty Pages

Forward:

The fish trap exists because of the fish. Once you've gotten the fish you can forget the trap. The rabbit snare exists because of the rabbit. Once you've gotten the rabbit, you can forget the snare. Words exist because of meaning. Once you've gotten the meaning, you can forget the words. Zhuangzi

Come and read this book; A Book of Empty Pages, In it contains all you must know And all you need to forget. The reader is the writer And the writer is the reader too. It is the story told by none But you, to the man within you. Come and read this book; A Book of Empty Pages A book for the foolish, A book for the wise, A book for the sinner, And all otherwise. Come and read this book; A Book of Empty Pages Read and read till you start writing And not be tired

Even if it lasts for ages. Let no page be turned With the wink of your eye, If you find it poor and empty, In it the poverty of your soul lie. Read this book; The Book of Empty Pages And nothing is left to be read anymore. Cling to it, hide it, possess it, And you are yet to understand its meanings. Wise once read pass it to the other So that it may always find a new story, A new reader and a new writer. Come and read this book; A Book of Empty Pages A book for all, a book for none A book for those who left And for those yet to come

Acknowledgements: To all the Buddhas I killed on my way.

Dedication: To the man in the mirror who always laughs at me when I talk too much and try to sound wise.

Price: Your Beliefs, Judgments and all your Learning.