Jataka

I May Be Small


I May Be Small


I may be small, but I fill big shoes—
When I walk as Shiva, with nothing to lose.
Painted in blue, with cobra and flame,
Yet under it all, I’m still just a name.


No matter what happens, I don’t say a word,
For silence is power, and truth is heard.
I play the god with ash on my brow,
But I’m just a child in the here and now.


Spare a change, not for pity or fame—
But so I can change, and play the next game.
Beyond these colours, this cloth, this disguise,
Lives a dreamer with stardust in his eyes.


My father says this is how gods are born—
Through acts of faith, even tattered and worn.
So don’t worry, dear friend, about that dime,
Just bless the play—it’s eternal, sublime.
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Where the Sky Listens

She leans from sky to fragile thread,
Not to be seen, but to keep them fed.
No hymns are sung, now vows are said –
Yet time bows low where her wings tread.

In a cradle of breath, on bamboo sway,
She brings the dawn in her own way.
Not with thunder, not with flame,
But with a hush that has no name.

Who says the sacred lies in stone?
Here, in silence, love has flown.
And if you pause, the wind might say—
She’s held the world in beak and clay.

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Hridaya Guru

“Guruṁ vinā na margah,” they said—
But mine spoke not, just smiled instead.
Antarātmani, a voice did bloom,
Soft as chandana, in twilight’s room.

Dig not the dust, seek not the skies,
The path is carved where silence lies.
Is hridaya nāda too faint to hear?
Or drowned in māyā, cloaked in fear?

This Guru Purnimā, I bend and bow,
Not outward, but to the ātma now.
To his pāda, unseen, I cling—
And simply bhava, in everything.

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