Shaleen Rakesh Website and Blog

Who on first glance would think you a place of shelter or someone's home you offer open access to everyone inviting everybody you are confident and humble you beckon and with each invitation you laugh out to yourself.

Built not to move built to be regarded built to see built to guide though the ruins of many centuries wash up against your feet no wave has ever succeeded at erosion.

Who might do a better job than me to define a surface neat and clean So I want you to come trace my edges and tell me what more I can say.

To get to where I need to go I find the best way Because I provide illumination inside dark corners I am given preference and I take up residence I reach home first no matter what.

If I'm really that upright why can't I get the voices at the other end out of my mind?

I have closed the pan which I honestly felt too open, too exposed for my taste but I do offer a safe home for a man's right to dream.

You remain nowhere- in here. you are. you are not. you disappear/ it's no trick is that your reality? distance. nil. weight. none. years go by but you remain till the last breath. they blow smoke rings that look like you rising nowhere disappearing finding their way.

You operate by yourself you arrive flourish entering and returning by your-self all the logic you you multiplied by another you divided by another remains you you are here now powerful you are not me I am not you

It was all black so we lit a candle we placed it on the table and sat by it quietly for the wonderful joy of watching the flame.

In the middle of the orange there was yellow In the middle of the yellow there was white a white so pure that it stands out and it stands up in a way that you can't strike it like you do a man with your fist.

There were flowers with which you loved me flowers that you said grew by chance in the forest your flowers wanted to take me to that land where the secret of your red is hidden.

It seems the trees and the fruits keep a secret, and by touching them and eating them they reveal stories and anecdotes things we never knew things you never shared, like how you feel about yourself.

You must be something of the nature of God your daunting height your power without hands, or grip generosity without a purpose beauty that time won't destroy.

Before you started cutting paper into kites I remember you often returning to your notes your homage to the future shaking in the wind.

It's somewhat easy to enter your space and be near you you don't resist you smile and accept it but it's to scratch your surface you remain lost to me I am so near you now almost touching your void.

Rain do you recognise it from your past? as your melted glacier? your swollen sea? coming down from her exile up in the heavens removed from her history coming down at once now to strike you and soothe your body.

All you have to cover yourself is an orange burst in the sky some clouds of white froth shuffling in the wind when you dream of much more you dream more seriously.

There are moments when you are so intensely there close to me within me even in your absence that I drift into dreams and fall asleep happily with your soft voice and your body nearby enveloping me.

You are inside to escape your own noises and hold in your depth as much silence as the earth you give enough time to study the sky enough time to watch it fade away and then you don't wish to go beyond what you don't know what isn't there what doesn't exist.

My apartment of silence Is shaped like a circle I stay on the periphery and never at its centre it's a place where I am free to travel along the edges of home where nothing is boxed and everything comes around and everyone reaches me.

I am ready to embrace to immerse and it doesn't matter into what or how I would realise and finally merge with you the source of what I am and whatever it is that I have always needed.

I entered with closed eyes and thinning light into silence for silence the silence I created within myself I travelled far expanding space Into the land of nothing but a single tree which revealed to me something of itself.

I searched for a stream with a soft voice and broad shoulders I drank from her shores I dived right in I rejoiced dreaming, full Ecstatic I went down that stream and found myself

You're the tree I planted as a child, I wonder what if you don't recognise me anymore that I mean nothing I am nothing to you? What if you don't remember the plant I watered or the fruits I nourished with you? What if you gave me a vacant look when I rest my back in your shade? I think we would still be related in so many ways and much more than others.

I've long admired the forest been in awe Charmed It knows everything It's seen the darkest hour it doesn't have an address it's got no heirs and no bills to pay It has no fear.

When I called out to the forest it only sent back a hollow sound and some sleep Incoherence with the next day's sun there was green green everywhere and I thought of you only you The green was a sign that you're near you are coming that I am awake.

Highways that grow into the city's grand design are a living symbol of enterprise and ambition presentations, meetings structure, plans emails, jpeg images make the highway But it's also something else it takes shape with the man who handles the concrete fixes the pillars piles out the dust that man is inside and the highway still remembers his face.

I am immersed in sound the volume goes on rising like a climax reaching higher I know the next will be louder when it resumes to conquer to reign, and Finally to lead back to what is silent.

The sky threw me a kite flaming red with no apparent claimant It will be a long time before I'm finished with this kite which refuses to tell me anything.

Do you have anything in common with the future? Is it like a fairy tale which turns into a land of magic? or does it seem like a heavy door which refuses to open up? Does it take up more space than necessary? Would you rather be left alone and see yourself somewhere else?

He is a friend who keeps calling keeps you in sight offers you comfort and tells you stories of a time when your body loosens up he summons you in the morning makes you move he keeps an eye on you.

In time, there is nothing but you the sea nothing but waves flaring up in blue crashing into rocks nothing but the fact of your openness, your presence your call that life is, as ever alive and kicking that life is a song to be shared, and for some time to be lived.

The morning is like thirst a huge empty sea and time to dig up earth time to act to dig up the sea to dream with the sea to drink empty spaces

What we couldn't carve into stone and stamp on paper what doesn't move on grass or wall, or in trees that which is unsure and forever changing always fighting and trembling That then, must be in us.

When we searched for clear sky on the fringes of town we came upon a night so clear that the world was a galaxy of many stars and it was hard to point out the few among us that were plagued.

They live alone in his head it's hard for them they have to carry on their shoulders what he went through and compress the long journey of several decades into minutes they amuse themselves with stories long forgotten they get angry at incidents now pointless they live in circles in circuits of dead autumn leaves and growing decay.

In wheat stalks that rise to the sky and in lakes that float into sleep I live in pebbles that study the ocean and flowers that dream of rain I live in prayers that speak of you.

I see on the surface what forms inside me While within my inside reflects the surface image the joy of a temple chant announces my arrival lingering between me and the god I behold Emptiness not like space but like a web I will usually avoid all that burns or freezes under I am used to a moderation unlike my own I hesitate to climb into things that move quickly I prefer the easy pace of slow summer days try as you may you won't make me leave except I like to leave, sometimes if leaving is what it will take.

Constancy was always possible specially in our heads what was tough was how to translate it for today into trees and people into kindness but nourishing it for ourselves we were good at.

They are silent, attentive they listen to every sound and absorb inside them the loudest note they keep nothing except their size and take in their stride the harshness of suns the impatience of tides the earth is of them, of their dust and their lucid madness.

The limits of darkness the circles of darkness till the farthest point The Fringes near the faraway light so far, so remote so far fetched that I cannot imagine thinking clearly there.

I wanted to see you so I turned without thinking, vacantly to the deep end of the horizon Southwards ever since I have watched, in awe your infinite grace and ecstatic light.

The television is innocent It's made of polished steel It survives on borrowed voice forgetting its metal it's rancour is without power It wants nothing more It owes nothing more It contains its own madness self-sufficient and harmless

I'm not like the letter O perfectly formed but I enjoy being angular quirky and unpredictable I usually stay aloof and when incited I attack with my sharp edge later when I calm down I again shut up and become elusive carefully guarding the end always open to the world outside.

I sometimes wonder how straight lines feel bumping into themselves at the bottom of every curve? and if that's not enough they continues to swing again after being so rudely put off.

I get tired walking all the way up my two small summits and it's scary to slide all the way down my two hollow valleys give me the small hope of stopping and the illusion of repose

You've got the good fortune to hold depth on your surface a fullness that's based on a single line where no escape is possible into another form your motionless back and forth nourishes you at each of your points the depth of your body is peaceful, almost soulful, and you can keep safely everyone's secret.

Sometimes I wonder how it might feel to be glued together like you than living life in broken straight lines I don't even remember who cut me up Sometimes I wish for want of being an integrated whole to pull my pieces together and feel like you feel stuck together.

I feel deep remorse for the land of an endless river The small bursts of rain swelling up into pools on the pavement there I see you perfectly still like the slum there I see you stagnate like squatters

When can I talk to you If only for an hour or a few stolen minutes Friends Without you having the face of being so busy elsewhere?