Human Contract

Those who know you
Those who hold you
Those who will have the real conversation with you

They do not need to follow your feed
To understand your hour of need

We ebb
We flow
We crash
We grow

We live

And sigh
And fly
We love
and leave


Stay still

And still


Set free

come home

Come home
To you
To me.


Flown with the wind vladimir kush
Picture courtesy Vladimir Kush Art



Change and the Redbud tree

I know Spring is on its way when the Redbud tree that stands right in front of my living room window starts giving out beautiful pink buds.  It is hard to express adequately the miracle of a tree so bare all through winter, suddenly go from stark brown to magenta.  Is magenta even the right color, I don’t know.

But there she is again, emerging from her own winter of storms, freeze, winds, drought and still standing, still surviving, still blooming, still giving.  Nature accepts the inevitability of change and forges a graceful rhythm instead of standing up in arms.

My Redbud tree is not an exotic tree.  She is fairly common in Austin and pretty low maintenance.  Which is why I love her so and why she represents all what is precious, yet taken for granted on earth.

“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. ~ Lao Tzu

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Hearts for Future Generations
Hearts for Future Generations

Where would your heart end and mine begin?

Is it in the valley of long lost friends
Or at the peak of treasured moments

How does the thought of loss figure in?

When each day grinds into the next
Shredding the minutes into an inevitable past

When I look up and say “remember when”
And you look at me, eyes far away, slightly damp

Thinking of the day before yesterday
A younger time

When you wore courage like a worthy cape
And I held hope like an impenetrable shield

When our worlds first collided
When we believed that heaven could be summoned
And time could be held forever in a bottle

With three little words.

–Shaku Selvakumar Feb 2016


Back in a different time
This house built on top of a steep and winding hill.
Where the green mountain God pays homage

to his emerald river Goddess.
Coconut trees arch against blue soft cotton skies
Lush terraced paddy fields bask in the sunlight.
Jackfruits grow from the trunk of trees.
Prickly rambutans need a skilled hand.

The myna flits and flies around.
Somewhere in the distance, the monks are chanting.
Uniformly. Earnestly.



The River

One day when you finally stop running
You realize so many have been holding
And passing batons along the way
You recall faces you hold dear
Some are far and some are near
Lives that intersect in different ways
Sometimes for a brief moment
Sometimes for a little longer
Some still present others departed
But what is presence other than
A collection of wisp like memories
A recalled fragrance, an essential
Brought back years later like the retrieval
Of long lost treasure
That could have happened
In the midst of the mundane
One morning at the breakfast table
Or one evening when the moon was full
When time lagged and the urgent
Took a backseat to the important
This river of souls
That runs through us
In turns, placid, turbulent
Raging through time
No longer held back
By landlocked boundaries
We are a collection of stories
Where nothing is…

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