Golden Days of Love..

I speak to you the glory of those golden days
When the sun rose and nobody bowed down
The heavens rained and nobody bowed down
And gods were yet to be made of clay

When beauty itself was god
And ‘seeing’ the highest form of worship
When we saw the rising sun
Not with devoted hearts but with lustful eyes
When hunger for beauty was not condemned as lust
Lust , That most passionate friend of man
When men did not speak of ‘love’
That cold ash remains of fire of lust
Only when men lose lust for truth
Do they talk of such petty thing as love
Love that degenerated form of lust
When senses were hungry for beauty
And beauty was the only truth
I speak to you glory of those days
Be lustful thus I preach to you
The religion of the past thus I preach to you
Let your hearts burn in passion for beauty
And let no ashes remain of you
The prophets of doom have preached long enough
Their false gods and folly
They have stabbed Aphrodite in her heart
Such evil men they are
I speak to you glory of those days
Wisdom says old is gold
But I say to you love the oldest
For old is too filthy to be gold
Let your eyes burn in lust so you may look at the sun
And drink it like a love potion
And then your throat will burn in truth
And like a dragon you shall conquer the whole sky
Let the butterfly further metamorphose into a dragon now
May your senses go wild and consummate with the lovely bride
And then shall the religion of life dawn again on earth
Life is a noble woman who welcomes the noblest
Only those who are mad for truth lure her into their bed
She moans with sheer pleasure when the truth dawns
Thus I speak to you glory of those days
When life was enough and there was no purpose
When ‘to Live’ was the eternal purpose
When existence was sober It desired only to live
Only when it got drunk it sought a purpose
Let’s go back to those golden days
Oh, my hungry lustful dragon
And burn all their sheep and their prophetic shepherds
I sing to you and thus I remind you of those golden days..


What the poem says

Poet was walking down a street yesterday when this poem came to him. She descended from the sky as rays of 9 am sun touched his cheeks. She was triggered by a long distant memory of the poet. Poet remembered his past in a brief moment. He used to worship many gods. He used to chant many mantras, hymns. Some of those gods were the dearest of him , one of them was sun god. But as he later understood he loved the word ‘god’ more than the ‘sun’ because he fantasized them. He wanted to become one of them. He had the idea of sun in a human form, concepts and scriptures lead him to all kinds of stupidity.


One fine morning some time ago, he looked at the sun from his little window. And he was chanting a hymn so sincerely looking directly into the eyes of the sun god. He believed that the activity of chanting would bring him great virtue, and also as the hymn promised he believed that the sun god would take him to his celestial abode after his death. Once again greed seduced him into a virtue. But practising virtue with a greedy mind leads to only sin, but he did not know it then. He used to do it every day like a routine. He had the great yogis of India who acquired great supernatural powers in mind when he did that. But slowly what was on the first day such a joyful activity turned into a boring ritual. Discipline ultimately leads to boredom, he did not even know this then.


But if one is sincere in one’s quest even of the lowest kind, one meets somebody to guide him. Universe responds to a sincere quest with an equally befitting reply. One good morning, he was sitting beside ‘a man who knew’. He was remarkable man who trod this path and knew where it ultimately leads. He looked at the poet for a brief moment poet and then looked at the sun. the poets ears became alert in an instant. He knew the words ‘the man who knew’ would speak are going to be for him. And thus spoke the wise one, one does not need a mantra to worship the divine. The divine grace falls upon one who has learned how to look. Looking at the sun, the sheer beauty of it, is its own reward. Why does one need a hymn. Such were the words of the wise one, and he went silent. The poet got confused , well he was not a poet then. He was ‘greedy one’ then. One’s greed for heaven does not make him pious than one who is greedy for money. Greed makes men too earthly and heavy.


This event occurred like many of them, it was special. He did not understand completely what the wise one said. It had its effect for a while, and the poet stopped chanting a mantra and simply looked at the naked sun. but it soon it disappeared into memory. And then yesterday as the sunrays touched his face, while he was walking, The sun thus spoke to him this poem. And said to him to look at him with lustful eyes. He reminded the poet of those good old days. When man was primitive, he had no conception of god. When he used to eat fruits from trees, live in caves, lighted fire in night. When he looked at the sun, moon, and the stars with utter amazement. What was it that shines so bright everyday? He thought. What was it that looks over me like a father the whole day, and hands over the job to the moon mother in the night, He wondered . he had lust in his eyes. Lust to know what this magnificent thing is that rises every morning. He did not even have a name for it. That’s why it was so pure. Lust is so pure, its sole existential purpose is a desire to know. Lust is curiosity who built her lovely nest in human eyes.


But man soon found a name for the thing that shines. They called it ‘sun’ and the corruption began. And that was not enough, soon they made a god of sun. they idolized it , wrote hymns, formed rituals, composed mantras, and established religion. That was the beginning of decay of human perception. When they named him, they stopped looking at him. And When they lost their relation with the sun and its rays, they became sinful. Now the sun speaks to the poet ,and said thus to go back to those beautiful days, to look at him with lust. When man loves he is often frugal, but but when he is lustful he pours his heart out. Thus he asks the poet to look at him and not let name come in the way. That is life. When man forgets how to live, he needs religion. But all the contemporary religions have lost their true form. They have become vehicles of oppression and lies. We must forget them, erase them from our memory. We should cease to even acknowledge their existence, their gods. So the sun asks the poet to metamorphose further from a butterfly to a dragon by looking at sun and drinking the truth of him and burn the old religions and their prophets to ground. He calls the sheep and their shepherds. And thus he speaks the glories of the good old days.

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