The unseen trophy

Higher and higher the mounts we scale

To breathe freedom, striving to unchain ourselves

From the shackles of toil, discomfort and stress

Perceiving it as our lot in a dense material world.

Yearning for freedom from the slightest movement

That this heavy body has to execute

Freedom offered by machines, gadgets and switches

Freedom from the need to lift a tiny finger.

Yet what is this thing we pine for?

To fill the vacuum filling our entire beings?

The vacuum that sucks out the meaning from our tiniest actions?

From the breath we take to the empire we build?

Chained by a life that poses unclear threats

Of these invisible bricks falling apart

When a fraction of change is introduced

When the slightest movement of stiff limb is desired.

Rarely is the milky fragrance of the moon inhaled

For, a few seconds spent in contemplation

Can cause a few of those invisible bricks of life

To tumble down, weakening the materialistic fort

So proudly erected over time.

Running and panting, we see but a figure

Running ahead, trying to covet the invisible prize

Faster we run, never realizing

Time meets us headlong from the opposite end.

Along the way the scent of the blooms

The poems recited by the wind

The fresh beauty of a maiden

Alive and vibrant, sparkling with youth

All is lost, in the pursuit of an unseen trophy.

For man possesses this intense urge to create

And recreate a universe and take pride in it

But alas! A parallel evil created alongside

Is the Ego taking mammoth proportions……

Copyright ©2019angelbeamsblog

Indian Painting by Venu Gopal Artcollective

The Missed Moment

As I look back, taking stock of each moment

Linked one to the next, to form a chain called Time

A sack we choose to fill with baubles and beads

Like children, we forage the woods of life

Gather tiny stones, believing them to be precious

Call them memories, souvenirs

Collected while travelling, from birth to death.

One such pebble, I have often tried to throw

Again and again into the river of Time flowing ahead

Somehow the pebble finds its way back into my heart

And nestles among the tiny rocks in my sack

This time I take a closer look

At the tiny pebble which refuses to leave

I see a face, your face lit up with love

Love for this little bud that I was

Love so powerful, to awaken the woman in me

Slowly I transformed into the passionate rose.

For days I waited, for the honeyed kiss

The dewdrops from your lips

I longed for them to be planted on my petals

I shook and I shivered

When the winds of your love

Swept me off my stem, my roots.

Alas, it never came, the kiss

Which would have made my fragrance sweeter

Which would have made my petals

A deeper, richer crimson

The kiss intoxicating everything around me

It never came, I blame my own thorns.

The pebble comes back, will never sink

Into the profound deep of Time river

It comes back, not choosing to become oblivion

But rather a reminder of sweet moments

Of lips quivering with passion and desire

Of the innocent first kiss, that never came to be……

Copyright ©2019angelbeamsblog

Painting by Michael Cranford Beach stones in shape of heart, Fine art america


The day dawns near when you come home

Come home to your dwelling place

Somewhere within me, a space so pure

A sacred space where clear waters flow gently

Calmly, eternally, washing away scars and wounds

Gathered along the voyage of life.

A voyage we undertook, each choosing our own way

Still we could see the way of the other

Through the looking glass, that thin wall of separation

Oftentimes I see and feel

What you yourself fail to realize

I perceive your heaviness, the fruits often bitter

As you sow the seeds of the same weeds

Sown by countless men chain-bound

Who struggle to bind even tighter those around.

Could you see me through the looking glass?

As I naively allowed a hundred loves

Into my altar, sacred, reserved for you

But the clear waters of the spring within

Scorched them all, reaching boiling point

On touching the tainted mockery pretending to be love.

We try not to hear the hidden plea for love

In the words we hurl at each other

We try not to see the love in our eyes

Hidden behind the veil of indifference

I desperately try to breathe in your essence

From your presence behind the looking glass

I can see the road stretching ahead of you

I see it, converging eventually with mine, to my doorstep.

Copyright ©2019angelbeamsblog

Picture : Aline at the gate. Pierre Auguste Renoir paintings reproduction

My Aladdin’s Cave

Deep inside the jungle of emotions
Spread as a multi-hued layer over my heart
Sprung up slowly over a life-time
Vines tangled and twisted with florid memories
Of stories going far back, maybe into previous lives.

Hidden within the entwined creepers of my feelings
A secret cave, much like Aladdin’s
Known to none, closed to all
Guarding souvenirs and tokens of secret love.

The cave opens to one word, only one
The syllables of your name, ringing eternally
Wispy traces of sweet nothings etched in my veins
A whisper, enough to send frissons of emotions
Unlike any found in the dark jungle.

Your name, the magic word opening my Aladdin’s Cave
Set in the deep recesses of my soul
Filled with an eternal love so pure
Not to be poisoned by the ivy creeping each day
Making my sentient jungle denser and heavier.

The secret cave will not be opened
The secret love will never pour out
When the poison ivy of pain and despair
Strangle and torture, as is their nature
I recede into my Aladdin’s Cave
To take solace from my treasured love.

Locked away, but still abundant and alive
In this womb, safely nourished
By an umbilical cord leading from my head
Carrying the sweetness of fond remembrances
Maybe a fleeting gaze, an untouched caress.

Till when is it destined to gestate
In my Aladdin’s Cave? A cave so ancient
As my soul itself, pulsating through lifetimes
I wait patiently, for it can sense the throb
Of a similar one, cached in my twin soul.

Copyright ©2019angelbeamsblog

Picture Pinterest artist Lou Jordan


forgiveness 2


Accusing eyes, chiding voices all around

Bravely I put on my mask of nonchalance

Which I keep handy, when fingers point at me.

But behind the mask a new wave of emotion

Surges with force, shattering my soul to fragments.


Each passing year etches another line on my face

Another silver streak painted in my curtain of hair

Memories, memories bringing joy or pain

As each petal of my heart slowly unfolds

A day I wish to relive, or one I wish to erase


I seem to have ripened, as I no longer cry

When a sparrow flies away or a butterfly flits by

I no longer ache when blooming flowers fade

For I know that tomorrow holds more of the same

Lives change, yes, but new life emerges, as always.


Yes, I seem to have ripened, I easily forgive

A taunt, a snide remark, a little venomous lie

I’ve ceased to complain when the fruits of my labour

Are taken for granted, dismissed as mundane

Like air, water, sunshine. They never complain.


But have I really ripened? I wonder

For I cower in fear, crouch in shame

Suddenly I feel raw, vulnerable, unsure

This little child in me, still the same

Refusing to grow, mature, and wizen.


Denying time and again that life is my school

That each dawning day is just another lesson

Learnt by making mistakes, slipping once in a while

But no, the child herself becomes the Master

Strict and unforgiving, bringing down the cane.


Punishing master, tormented pupil

Both housed in the same body

The body, the temple of the soul they say

With the constant schism between stern master and fearful child

What becomes of the soul? And of the temple?


Anguished pleas for forgiveness, of no avail

Master Guilt strikes hard with his iron rod

Accusing eyes, chiding voices all around

But no, they are within me, in my private world

Guilt assuming mountainous form, crushing my heart.


“God” I cry, “Do you not see this helpless child?”

“Yes”, He says “I see you, for I am within and without.”

“Tis you who do not see me, for you house monsters like this”

“Who go by the name of Guilt, Shame and Unworthiness

Feeding upon your soul, fat and ugly parasites.”


“Forgive, forgive yourself, see the beauty within”

“For I have planted little jewels in every one of you”

“With each crack of your heart these jewels can shine through”

“But tis your own will to dig up these gems”

“Clean and polish them as to let their sparkle out.”


“The monsters within are nothing but darkness”

“Lack of light to which you yourself add shape”

“You see them within, you see them without”

“Choose now to dissolve them with your own light”

For seen through forgiving eyes, the whole world becomes bright.”


Copyright ©2018angelbeamsblog

Painting: The Dance of the Soul by Galina Grygoruk (Saatchi Art)

Tales of woe of the Crescent Moon

Crescent moon

The earth laid out the new carpet she had woven

Beckoning me to seat myself on the silky grass

Cool and soft, freshly scented

Caressing my tired limbs, tickling my aching feet.

The firefly with her tiny torch flame

Signaled to me that somebody special

Waited for me behind the palm fronds

Patiently, since twilight, like a love-lorn lover.

Just then a slice of the milky moon

Wedged between the great palm leaves

Peeped out shyly, with her beaming smile

Not sure if I would care enough to notice her.

Wonder-struck at her simple elegance

I gazed, at the sharp tilted edges of her lips

Mesmerized I asked her why she always preferred obscurity

When she should be dancing across the sky.

“Well it’s my full-bodied sister who gets the lime-light

When she makes her appearance, everyone goes wide-eyed

Queen of the skies, she wins over every heart

Poets rave about her brimming beauty

Lovers get drunk as she pours out her glow

When she arises majestically from the horizon

She can cast a spell and weave magic the whole night

Me, I am just her poor homely sibling

With not even half her talent and beauty.”

I suddenly became aware of my own short-comings

For never acknowledging this simple, modest child

Who timidly tries to shine nevertheless

Sending across her pale moonbeams

As far possible as her frail body can.

“You’re a poet, I wondered if…..” she hesitated

“I wondered if you could put in a word for me.”

A feeling of shame crept up on me

How many crescent moons do we ignore?

A society applauding rich megalomaniacs

Where simplicity and authenticity get side-lined

I vowed I would attend to the lesser ones

Who too crave for a kind loving word

Who would thrive and shine in their own light

Given a place and a space to nourish their art.

Copyright ©angelbeams2018

Picture courtesy Pinterest