A Home Built on Quicksand

In the dim halo around Babushka’s rocking chair, a man pleads for a single nod that will never come. His monologue drifts between heartbreak and the deeper terror of becoming irrelevant in a universe that refuses to speak. What unfolds is not a search for comfort but a confrontation with silence itself—the kind that swallows every question and leaves a man facing the truth that meaning is never given, only begged for, and rarely received. … More A Home Built on Quicksand

The Dance of Names

Everything and everyone is here; the names make them seem far away What’s gone, too, is here; we just call it “gone” and think it “gone.” What’s to come, has always been; we just call it “not yet” and think its name. Near and far, here and there, now and then: these are Its names, … More The Dance of Names

My Eroma

This veil! It is transparent, and the beloved in plain sight. But I am blinded by what I’ve taken to be seeing. There’s a seeing that shows and a seeing that hides. She is near and far, here and there, a yes and a no. She is my Mona Lisa. She is my Eroma. I … More My Eroma

It Is Full of Empty

It gives Itself in one form or another. Now as boring, now as exciting; often as dreadful, and sometimes as sweet and cozy. These are the many faces of infinity, and who knows why It gives Itself as It does! I have played in vain with the control knobs of this spaceship called human. What … More It Is Full of Empty

Flooded by Light

When the sun comes up, the earth is flooded with its light; it illumines and uncovers the ugly and the beautiful alike; this is not a fault of light; neither is light defiled by illumining the defiled. It’s the nature of sun to shine and to show all things without discrimination. However, I, this changing … More Flooded by Light