Driftwood

I'm the sailor
that is a scholar
That no one wants to hire.

Such skies you see-
And the wind in my hair.
What a time this would be
to sail and explore!

So I walk on the sand
By the wave's endless roar;
I wave my hand.
I wait at the shore.

The ships come and go
Without coming ashore;
The days come and they go
From their endless store.

No one wants to hire
the sailor that is a scholar
So I keep building rafts
to send out on the water.
P.L.Rao
31st Dec. 2008

Bleeds

Take the knot
of twisted vines
That is my heart
a mix of flowers, pierced with thorns

Destroy this web
of tangled brush
And leave not a single
branch wilting, on the bush

But rather,
let it flower again
New and washed pure
by the falling rain.
жא☼Ж☼אж
-P.L.Rao
12th July 2007

Gregorian Chants

21 August 2005
While I was listening to the music I left the physical world and was in a world of dreams; Dreams which seemed more real than anything there was. This world seemed abstract and irrelevant completely. I was not a body but a soul. A clear mixture of thoughts, some looking like currents of water flowing though the air and some were sparks of colour flashing up and sinking again to the beats of the ringing bells. The deep voices were long strands of twanging vibrations, connecting each part of the dark blue, almost black universe, so rich of feeling. The beat of drums was solidness, lightly, but steadily shaking. The deep organs were like clouds hard as a rock to stand on, yet the softest beds of the universe. The clear twang of instruments seemed like threads of love wrapping around my arms, holding me from above. Everything was a swaying universe where we fall forever, slow as a snail yet never going anywhere. Never declining at all, like a universe underwater. There was no colour but brightness and darkness. There was no texture but solidness and softness. There was no sound but vibrations and beats. There was just o world of feelings . . .

You may think that I am just creative at making things up, but what if? What if I didn't make it? Just trust, believe . . .It is there. Let yourself feel it. It is everywhere, it is nowhere. It isn't time, it isn't shape, it isn't distance, it isn't anything yet it is.
IT IS.
By P.L. Rao

Crow's Nest

I met a man
who ran from home
its time for me
to find my own.

I see the ragged
weave of sand
grainy, across
the empty hand

And want to live
my life again
with purpose,
down the golden chain.

I see the sun
in its stony grave
I feel for heat
lost in liquid haze

I look out
at the stars away
see their light,
at constant play

The loneliness
is fearfully free . . .
No need to respond
calls back to me.

I have a heart
as large as being
Yet I feel nothing
Blind eyes are seeing.

Flowers blooming
black and blue
are morning’s blossoms,
as old as new.

So, see the ripples
of sparkle light
cold upon
the waves of night.

Wave a flag
way out at sea
Maybe that, perhaps,
Will matter to me.
P.L. Rao
27th December 2008

Routine Beauty

28th February 2006
Soft are the cushions I sit on
and cool is the summer air

How fresh are the trees around me
where grow flowers known to be rare

Warm is the sun on my face
and gold are the drops of dew

How fragrant are the flowers
near graceful peacocks, two

Safe is the place I am standing
between these many great mountains

How sweet is the water I drink
from dainty glowing fountains

Soft is the rustle of wind in the leaves
and deep is the waterfalls roar

But all its affect is wasted on me,
For I've heard a thousand times before.
P.L.Rao

Cries

8th May 2008
They all love me so much
somehow I know.
But when I do something
They all scream
and scream
and scream
I just don't understand
and they scream
and scream
and scream
Why must I only understand
when they scream?
And scream!
and scream.
That we could just talk
to eachother, I dream.

With each scream they somehow rip
every seam
after seam . . .
after seam.
They love me so much;
why must I see
them scream-
and scream! . . .
and scream
at me?