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4757Re: [rishiculture] THE HUMAN BEENS (1987)

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  • Sonia Allen-Wall
    Dec 19, 2013
      what a lovely poem ....the sentiment on “ the same page” as one of my own!
      yes, i have too been there in my thoughts !
      thank you for your  continued  sharing .and inspiration!
      sorry i am only on the computer once a month !! i will have to try more often in the new year.
      LOVE and LIGHT to you all !!
      HARI OM
      From: yognat
      Sent: Saturday, December 14, 2013 8:10 AM
      Subject: [rishiculture] THE HUMAN BEENS (1987)


      Divine Family – Namastey

      Monsoon season makes me nostalgic and that induces a desire to review the past events- of one’s life, doesn’t it! Going through a file of old poetry, I find it interesting to see the progressive development of the attitudes I have taken towards my life’s events! Though I am not one to “cling onto history” nevertheless, there sometimes is value in looking into the past. I have found another poem which I would like to share with the world family. I think our human lives are like  “bubbles blowing in the wind” in these treacherous times of Kali Yuga. The poor Earth Mother is struggling under the heavy burden of the seven billion (and growing) human bodies, each one with a voracious appetite ! Reading the daily newspaper, filled with unpreceded floods, cold waves, earthquakes, & tsunamis, cyclones, hurricanes ( not to mention vicious wars), we really wonder how long things can go on! The only consolation is the knowledge that we are more than earthlings!  We are cosmic beings! We live in a gigantic Universe of multitudes  of dimensions ! Even if an atomic bomb blasted us suddenly into smitherins and the planet along with us, perhaps we would wake up in a sweeter, softer, better place! (Sounds like heaven, doesn’t it!) Food for thought!

      Affectionately Yours in Yoga,





      THE HUMAN BEENS (1987)

      The skyscraper bit a square chunk out of the bright red perfect

                  Orb, outlined against the sea of grey … the sky of Delhi.


      The sun could have been just another neon sign on the

                  City’s horizon, except it followed the natural rhythm of

                  Constant, almost imperceptible change as it rose,

                  Making its daily passage.


      Man-made things stand still, till decay sets in, then

                  Collapse into ugliness and fifth.


      Unlike nature, which merely decomposes, returning to

                   Its source, completing its cycle and disappearing.


      Here, we mark the way we have come, not by footprints

                   In the sand , but by signboards proclaiming the virtues

                   of toilet paper, or the necessity of underarm deodorants.


      Where have all the beautiful trees gone, which used to

                   Cool our paths in childhood, which used to hold our

                   Dreams in their arms?


      There they are. Discarded wrappers of chocolate bars:

                   Tabloid newspapers, crumpled in the gutter, with

                    Bare-bosomed blondes tilting their weapons of war at

                    Any consumer with two rupees in his pocket.


      We have come a long way from the Mother.

                    A long way from home.


      The surrealistic plastics are in our blood and now, even

                    The sun, the moon, the stars seem insipid.


      We fear the wide silent spaces and crush ourselves into

                     Subways, apartment blocks, city streets,

                     Shopping centres.


      The hard concrete beneath our high-heeled,

                     metal-heeled shoes pleases us. We are lulled by the

                      sharp staccato of our egotistic walk through the mazes

                     of the city’s streets, seeking nothing more noble than

                     our own pleasure.


      Is there any good higher than self?

      Is there any religion higher then glorification of ego?

      The Earth, she is dead. We humans live on another planet.


      One of our own making. Slowly we replace even our own

                    Selves, with machines, with artificial hearts and lungs and brains.


      From the green of Earth, we have been led to the

                     Obscene of the modern city-scape.

      Our eyes are sucked out. Our ears are stuffed up. Our

                     Taste, touch, smell …dulled by a billion bombardments.

                     What can we call ourselves? Surely not human beings.


      Perhaps … “human beens”.



      Yogacharya Dr Ananda Balayogi Bhavanani
      Chairman: ICYER and Yoganjali Natyalayam
      25, II Cross, Iyyanar Nagar, Pondicherry, India
      Mobile: +91-98423-11433
      www.icyer.com and www.rishiculture.org

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