The Last Hope

-

 


And yet-

Somewhere,

A stranger still helps another stranger.

A mother still sings over a sleeping child.

A tired hand still plants a tree

Whose shade it may never live to see.

.

Somewhere,

A soul still chooses kindness

When cruelty would be easier.

.

Perhaps that is how humanity survives:

Not through power,

Nor through conquest,

But through small acts of light

Refusing surrender to the dark.

.

So let us not become

Machines wrapped in flesh,

Or crowds without conscience,

Or minds without mercy.

.

Let us remain human.

Let us question loudly,

Love deeply,

And stand guard over truth

Even when truth stands alone.

.

For if meaning dies completely,

The world will continue turning-

But humanity will already be gone.

.

And history will remember us

Not as monsters,

Not as gods,

But as a civilization

That had everything

Except wisdom.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Solitary Road

-
Image
  The Solitary Road ****************** I have never walked this winding path before, Nor known what secrets wait on either shore. Before my eyes, the dusty road extends, Into the mist where sight and distance ends. *** Upon the clay, deep footprints mark the ground, Where time keeps watch in silence all around. Before my time, through shadows and through light, Unknown spirits walked into the night. *** Through steep ascents and rocks that bruise the feet, Past rusted iron spikes and blinding heat, I wander slow, with parched and burning lips, As sweat like drink from weary fingers drips. *** So many narrow lanes and shortcuts hide, Yet not a single sign to act as guide. But a weathered stone, worn down by wind and rain, Whispers to me amidst the steady pain: *** "The feet that climbed the mountain's highest peak, Will never fear the valleys, low and bleak." Some paths were paved with glitter, wealth, and praise, Some promised love to brighten weary days. *** Some left th...
Read more

Kingdom

-
Image
She was never a kingdom, yet they called her one. Not because she wore a crown, but because they dreamed of conquest. They traced invisible borders across the landscape of her body, counting her silence as surrender, mistaking her kindness for an open gate. To some, she was fertile land, a field where they hoped to plant their names, their pride, their legacy, believing love was another form of ownership. They built castles out of promises, raised flags stitched with desire, and wrote laws that praised devotion while quietly demanding obedience. They admired her beauty as kings admire a distant country- not for its songs, its rivers, or its people, but for the glory of possessing it. Yet beneath their maps flowed rivers they could not chart, and beneath their footsteps lay mountains that refused to bow. She learned that a heart is not a throne to be occupied, nor a soul a province to be taxed by another's will. So she gathered the names they had carved upon her, washed them away wi...
Read more

The Divine Spectacles – A Vision from Babaji

-
Image
Inspired by the Teachings of Mahavatar Babaji “Truth is simple. It is we who make it complex.” – Mahavatar Babaji Oh soul, awaken — the time is near, To see this world not in doubt or fear. Put on the lens of purest light, And walk with wisdom through the night. Everyone must wear the inner sight, To pierce through shadows, to know the right. Not eyes alone, but heart must see— The world as Truth, eternally free.  “Be the witness of the world, not its slave.” – Mahavatar Babaji You tire of forms, of colors that fade, You seek the Truth beneath the shade. No more illusion, no more disguise, See with the Self beyond the eyes. Cleanse your vision, sharpen your gaze, Through yoga, silence, sacred ways. What you see is not always real— Truth lies deeper, still and still.  “With right vision comes right action.” – Mahavatar Babaji See injustice not with anger’s flame, But with love that calls each soul by name. Poverty, hunger, walls of hate— Are cries of karma we must f...
Read more

Empty-Handed

-
Image
They came with hope, with dreams in hand, But life had drawn a harsher plan. One illness tore their world apart, One diagnosis broke the heart. In sterile halls where silence screams, They clung to fading, fractured dreams. A child asleep in beeping light— A parent lost in endless night. The debt grew high like rising seas, While prayers dissolved on wounded knees. And still the forms, the fees, the scans, Each signature with trembling hands. At night, the thoughts, they start to crawl— "Is this my fault? Am I too small?" Shame whispers in the mirror’s glass, “You failed. You fall. You will not pass.” Anxiety’s a constant tide, Depression waits just by their side. They smile so no one sees the war Inside their soul, behind the door. Their dreams, their future, turned to dust, A final destiny, a broken trust. They came to life with open palm, To grasp at hope, to find some balm. But all slipped through, like grains of sand, The grave's cold grip, an unseen hand...
Read more

Dragonflies in the Rain

-
Image
 The first monsoon drop, a whisper on my pane, Calls back Yamuna—her cool, dark breath of rain. Her essence fills the humid Vrindavan air, A primal rhythm stirring old despair. She came like storm, a wild and fierce desire, That taught my heart to ache with burning fire. Her voice, unspoken, in the drumming sound, A melody of pain on hallowed ground. Then softens rain to gentle, persistent grey, And Radha blooms—the light of waking day. Her quiet strength, a prayer in finest silk, A steady gaze, like sweet and calming milk. With Yamuna, passion’s consuming art, With Radha, profound peace embraced my heart. My soul, a dancer, poised on fragile thread, Between the moonless night and dawn’s soft bed. One yearned for wild, untamed and deeply vast, The other sought the certainty to last. In fleeting moments, caught in their distinct gaze, I felt entirely whole in love’s sweet maze. Yet mist-like, both, in their own ways, took flight, And vanished softly into endless night. When the rain...
Read more

I Speak in the Shadows ( for Arising Star Girls)

-
Image
  I shape my thoughts in quiet corners, Polish my words until they are ready to fly. Each idea I hold is a fragile bridge From my mind to the world, trembling with risk. Today, even I hesitate to speak the truth, For every word, every sketch, every stroke Can ignite storms that chase me into silence. I remember those who dared before me- Virginia Woolf, Simone de Beauvoir, Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou- Their visions clashed with rage and fear, Yet they lived on in words, in courage, in ink. I paint, I write, I craft my voice, Even when threats roar and shadows stretch long. Expression is not just art to me; It is my breath, my heartbeat, my defiance. Communities watch me, judge me, condemn me, Moral police in shadows, measuring every gesture. Even a smile, a gentle touch, a shared thought Becomes for me an act of courage, a quiet revolt. Some of my sparks burn and fade, Yet I continue where conscience refuses to bow. Even in fear’s cold grip, I rise, holding my pen, my brush, my voi...
Read more

The Salt

-
Image
Before the gleam of gold was sought, Before the rise of kingdoms wrought, Before the silken threads unfurled, There was salt, the wealth of the world. On sun-baked shores, where brine did sting, Sweat-soaked hands, their burdens bring. In dark mines deep, where shadows creep, A silent toll, the workers weep. A trace of sweat, a miner's plight, Drawn from the earth, in dim lamplight. Across the deserts, windswept, bare, Borne on backs with weary care. Through crashing waves, on ships it sailed, A precious cargo, never failed To shape our lives, our hungry need, A vital essence, sown like seed. White gold it gleamed in ages past, On ancient roads, its worth amassed. For salt, great empires rose and fell, A silent story it could tell. Salt of the Earth, where toil resides, In every crystal, labour hides. Not just to flavour, sharp and bright, But earned through struggle, day and night. Like life itself, a winding track, Salt bears the strain upon its back. For hungry mouth...
Read more

My Ocean's Echo, My Soul's Own Home

-
Image
  Across the azure spread, my childhood ocean lay, To shores of spice, where ancient memories sway. A gentle voyage, from a world once bright, My Cochin home, now a distant, fading light. In sunlit streets, where history softly slept, My heritage forged, the quiet vows we kept. A Cochin daughter, with grace in every line, I found my peace, a light that felt divine. From ancient days, though fires burned afar, No malice touched us, no lasting, cruel scar. Anti-Semitism's venomous, bitter art, Could never pierce my sheltered, beating heart. Yet in my essence, a shimmering, tender gleam, A living truth, a fragile, vibrant dream. With unwavering faith, my solitary star, I rose, not broken, from scars I knew afar. In shadows deep, where quiet sorrows held their sway, My spirit's might, made every broken piece whole one day. My inventive mind, a quiet, inner flame, Shaping my path, whispering my family's name. The whispered Kaddish, a solace, soft and low, For lives remembered, r...
Read more

The Hail That Fell at Dusk

-
Image
  Come sit with me, my little one, And hear the tale of what was done. While you were safe, curled warm in bed, The sky grew strange and softly bled. The hills of green, our Kanthalloor, Turned silent as a closing door. No birds in flight, no wind that played— Just heavy clouds, all bruised and grayed. Then came the roar, a hollow beat, Like footsteps made by icy feet. The sky let fall its frozen rain, A hailstorm born of grief and strain. Like shattered glass, the hailstones flew, And danced where cardamom once grew. Your father's plants, your garden rows, Lay crushed beneath those crystal blows. Large stones of ice, so hard and round, Bounced wildly on the muddy ground. They struck the roof, they split the leaves, They tore the calm from quiet eaves. I watched it all, and oh, my dear, I felt both wonder... and a fear. The beauty of that frozen light, So sharp, so bright, so full of might. You’d think it magical, perhaps, The gems that fell in sudden gaps. They sparkled in the mor...
Read more

Of Petals and Lineage

-
Image
  In the garden of my memories, three generations bloom- my mother, a pink magnolia at dusk, her hands soft as twilight, her roots deep in ancient soil. She moved through rooms like prayer, her hands blessing everything they touched, her silence teaching me how to listen to the world's quiet music. My sister, a sunflower in full blaze, turning always toward the light, her laughter spilling gold across our childhood kitchen. When she stepped from her bath, water droplets clinging to her skin like jewels, I saw our mother's grace reborn- the same curve of neck, the same dream-filled eyes holding whole galaxies within their depths. And now my daughters- wild lilies just unfolding, their small feet pattering like spring rain on wooden floors. When I kiss their tiny toes, I taste the future on my lips, sweet with possibility. Their hair, still fine as Cinderella  wishes, carries the scent of new beginnings. I am the soil that holds them all, the dark, rich earth between seasons, th...
Read more