Epiphany

In order to convince you,
I believe I could change you.
For me to be convinced,
Needs validation of my belief.

Knowing is a feeling.
Undeniable. Irrefutable.
The irony is, you can’t convince
Anyone you know.

Finally, you begin to understand,
The gift of knowing, is an understanding.
The conflict dissipates.
The feeling reinvigorates.

Acceptance, at last, satiates.
Freedom felt in all its glory.
The kindling of the flame;
The noblest human story.

The ultimate shaping
And allowing such growth.
The transition from
Belief, knowing, understanding.

Gratitude, the glue
Allowing appreciation for the process.
What can ever express the feeling
When your match, lit the candle within?

Atul Ranchod

A GARDEN DIVINE

If, I were only richer.
If, I were only younger.
If, I were only smarter.

Would it really matter?
What would it change?
Wouldn’t life just rearrange?

Caterpillar, cocoon, flying at high noon.
Miracles abound, from sun to moon.
What to recognize before gone too soon?

Where is this transformation
Occurring daily?
In our inner sanctuary.

Fashioned by the Divine.
Untouched by time.
A garden, one of a kind.

Breath revealing,
In our gardening,
What a miracle it is, in simply being.

Then like a monarch,
We can reclaim our royal blood.
At ease, in the palace of winds.

Unearthing the treasures
Bequeathed by the gods.
Consciousness and thirst,

The driving force.
To quench and fulfill,
The deepest volition, of course.

Reclaiming our respective thrones,
To what the Master has shown.
Seer and sight known.

This is no mere midway station.
In the midst of the endless black,
With speckled diamonds, no less.

Heralding life,
Upon the highest creation,
A crown, unlike any other manifestation.

Human being granted time,
To know deep down, the full scope
Of what fashioned, even hope.

We are the emissaries
Of the divine.
Treasures within a unique mine.

Decorating each day,
With such a bounty at play.
What a marvelous way,

To celebrate the metamorphosis
Of dirt and clay.
Brought to life, each priceless day.

Poem and photograph
Atul Ranchod

It Did Not Know


Atul Ranchod

It did not know of yesterday.
It had no idea its doom is imminent.
It didn’t care about anything.

It was impervious to any wish or desire.
It was consumed
In the fire of the beloved.

The perfect distance
To foster this exact moment.
Beaming, beauty, becoming.

What thread do we see?
How deeply have we looked
At this thing called beauty?

What will become of us
If we took lessons from
This silent sentient beacon

Of how to behold the beloved?
What would transform our barren land
Into the most priceless garden?

There aren’t any words
To describe such a feeling.
Nor will there ever be.

This thing called existence
Which gives birth to beauty
Is what is blooming

Each second of each moment.
The trance of time once broken,
Can reawaken the vision

To behold the beauty unspoken.
Such is the reflection I feel,
In this exact moment.

Atul Ranchod