Notes To The Beloved


notes to the beloved

by Arif K

the softness of friendship

melts into relationship

with the divine who beholds the inside

of a rose, spiraling through your eyes

& the silence which proceeds your beholding

gives plasticity to objects, to hate;

makes judgment melt in true friendship;

makes the knot in the heart unravel

& i wish to sense with the organ

of your art.

what does it mean to gaze in the mirror

of the true friend? to hold ones own

inmost gaze in the fire of mutual longing

for the divine. to rise

in seizing the kinetic God

& be stilled as possibilities

are felt in the vibrancy between

words which is the vibrancy of the heart

forged in a common


to yield to the beloved

who is near;

to be restored

to the heart’s law

is to expose the broken

fragments of the self as they sift

together in a common purpose

without devising a means to say

this or that is common, but common

ground unfolds as the fragments of a life

are scattered on an empty road

is where lightning strikes the final sense

of knowing where we are

going, if only to build a roof with tiles

of these fragments, each with a word that says

you are all this; i don’t know you

as  you could be, or as i would like you to be

a roof is being

built from the aftermath

this over and over again building, a foundation

that caves in, the moment it is erected, & the clacking

branches scrape the roof & we are a tree upside down

bending backwards as though to reach each other before

we apprehend what we are reaching, the swallows forked

in thirds by the pond

& who will ever know what is meant in darkness

when roots are stopped by this kinetic response of air,

the air a tressel, which leaves a sense of knowing. we can at last

say we know the form of silence, that silence doesn’t brood

is not a premonition as it is a lisping of a name,

the name we lost in fear when we over & over built

a graveyard for yearning, with steel brackets. this foundation

moves like air & you are not far from letting these bricks fall

because you loved & let the structure fall.

in you, the eye, cleared of confusion

the eye, clarified in the heart

in you, deception dispelled

in you, morality, a stepping stone.

zeal has become clarified

& value is seized.

by you blessed, this eye

from which fish emerge on a pier

a star merged with a full moon &

a tower was illumined;

we fell into water & reemerged when the sky

darkened again; i climbed up the steps of my ancestry

& now this heartbeat in stone,

waiting to be touched by your hourglass.

when the heart is opened by the beloved, or when the fingers trace the heart;

there are lives within lives opening like russian dolls. occasionally, one catches

the fragrance of a distant rose, spiraled inward,

was the kernel Ramakrishna.

i found this way as stillness, inter

penetrating the physical, the physical

interpenetrating stillness.

the body infinitely stilled as it attempted to move

stillness, moving, as it remained free

in the light

of her devotion

whatever happens.

is the opening to read what has be encrypted in this body,


a message in a djinnless bottle.

that we held & feared.

to read. because we were numb.

with the sense of a life past.

& the wound of love will not heal.

& the heel is split by Achilles’ arrow.

& longing is an arrow splicing the air.

& the soul will rain down on our heels.

we read what is always being lost

is gained by the heart which forgives.

there is no falling.

heat will not make this hour.

the flowers skinned alive, petal by petal

fall on etched glass, where pain is malleable

and moving. the spinning center of your body,

still like a humming bird,

as the hourglass spins and this red festival

of fire falls, shorn from a distant memory. You do not

spin, and you have not spun; you are spinning

& i walk through

stillness like a knife.

I can be absent, neither do I spin, nor have I spun;

the arm curved up like a bow bend

with palm down turned to the earth & we are weaving

each other’s gravity.

when the beloved gazes though the lover’s eyes

what is blue and brown, but the symmetry of her hour

where colors melt in eyes touching, and invisible hands made

visible in muteness. i walk a spiral in your heart

and two moons are fused in one, a crescent and a pearl.

i am a fisherman and you are blue. i have no

thing to offer you, but this touch, where i disappear.

you gaze though me at yourself.

you are always only blue. i am brown like the earth

swathed in your sky blue utterance.


               you are cosmos whirling wide

sea breezes on the turf of the tide rise up

like innumerable hands. Breezes bust the waves

and the space between your lips open and

      the cedars rowed in the air,

your soul hovered above the glen, a gleaning

of who you once were,

and shall become when time is set in motion again.

      you are above the bed post hovering

like angels above a cardinal’s bed of soot and sear, pristine,

i want to surrender to your silence which peels me.

– Arif K

(These are poems I wrote to the eternal beloved: heart-Chinmoy, Chinmoy-heart)