Hi, I'm Mahesh Ramakrishnan 👋

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Incarnate

Poem

Of my forms there has been and is no end,
How wilt thou of human mind comprehend?

The bright bloom of prideful rose,
The hand that rends it to muddy close.

The Sage’s wisdom on burdened brow
And thundering twang of warrior’s bow.

The sweet blush of a surprised child,
The coy glance of a hero’s bride.

The errant Rakshasa’s wrathful might
And too the root of his ruinous pride.

The cycles endless that fall and rise,
With close and open of Brahma’s eyes.

The high lotus on which he is seated
And the navel upon which it is rooted.

The icy seat on peaks of cold Kailāsh
Beyond all time and storm’s whiplash.

The august face, musing, silent,
He who heeds the fallen’s lament.

The musing poet of vacillating mood,
And Muse who dishes inspiration’s food.

The stone’s adamance, silent and crude,
This gentle canvas for a chisel to brood.

Fortune’s wind for prepared sails,
The bellowing storm that wakes all wails.

Seasons are my moods Nature feels,
Harsh summer, indifferent winter, spring that heals.

Am the Sage’s silence and the Seer’s vision,
And their words that proclaim my mission.

I am the scale ordering beats of Time,
Measures of space and all that is sublime.

I am above what is incarnate within Me,
In all is the seed of My divinity.

How this I become and that becomes Me,
Is all thou needest know of My mystery.

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Mission

Poem — An Invocation to The Mother #13

“Who art thou casting whispers to wind,
Seeding strange gestures in each hour,
Who seekest in upward gaze as a flower,
What augurs doth brew in thy mind?”

“I am a tiller in time come to plough earth,
Each mortal moment and hour I mould
To a charter’s purpose that can’t be told,
In this is aim and end of my human birth.”

“Who wields reins of thy haphazard ways,
Who governs thy daily fruitless toil
Upon these barren wastes of earthly soil
That cluelessly turns like an exitless maze?”

“Of my thoughts and acts am I not author,
I but move by an occult impulsion’s wave.
Like a missioned arrow I have no care
Both path and end are by hands of the Maker.”

“What ideal’s sun holds thy daily orbit,
Who schedules thy seasons’ march,
What subtle boundaries thy musings reach,
What knowledge’s lamp doth thy mind light?”

“O Twin Suns my daily orbit do keep,
My thoughts like planets around Them revolve,
My being by Their illumination does evolve,
A hundred mighty rays hold me in grip.”

“In each moment I light a tapas’ flame
And poise myself atop the flame’s peak,
There to a listening Silence I speak
Of my daily trails numbingly the same.”

“O Parents of the world and me,
Where are mirth and wonder and bliss?
All that is noble and true on earth amiss,
Thus the report I place before Thee.”

“O Thou, silent and shaped as my Sire,
Release now to earth Thy omnipotent will
To unshackle arms of Her our debility to kill.
Mission to us victory by our mighty Mother.”