Loving Rascal

This poem explores the intense, transformative power of all-consuming love, detailing how a deep connection can completely overshadow the beauty of the everyday world. Driven by a haunting, melodic refrain, it follows a journey from deep worldly detachment to a final, passionate declaration of what true love really means.   I still wait for him to show Why her "Al Gult" along the way Captured my soul so completely, Captivating, taking me away.  Captivated me, Fascinated me, Mystified me, Along the way— All along the unsung way.  I only want to be close to you always, Yet you do not sense the need, Despite everything you did— The path where you carried me away.  The flowers blooming in the garden, The birds lightening my load with song, The dogs, the cats, the butterflies— They do not excite me anymore.  Captivated me, Fascinated me, Mystified me, Along the way— All along the unsung way.  The sunset, the sunrise, The moon I try to hold in my palm, Even the t...

This poem captures the emotional landscape of the past two weeks—a period marked by a painful awakening, the letting go of a one-sided connection, and a return to spiritual grounding. It explores the bitter realization of empty promises, framing the speaker not as a victim, but as a resilient figure—part poet, part soldier—who chooses to lock the doors to past disappointment and redirect his energy toward deep study, sacred duty, and self-worth.  Did you play me at the finish line? Perhaps you did, and I was blind, Wrapped in a love that could not see The changing shapes of you and me. Now I must pack this heavy grief, And seek in distance some relief, Letting a higher power trace The painful contours of this space.  What was meant to be, was not; What lies ahead is unbegot. I am sorry if I became the thorn, The quiet weight you might have borne, Sorrowed to learn, at bitter cost, Our hearts were singing chords we lost. I should have let the moment slide, Before the grievances...

Welcome back to Loving Rascal , a space where we strip away the noise of the world to explore the raw, beautiful paradoxes of life, love, and human connection. Today, we are sharing a deeply reflective piece born from a moment of quiet wonder. It is about those fleeting experiences that capture our attention and refuse to let go—the melody we can’t stop humming, the effortless beauty of a master stroke on the cricket field, or the quiet magic of watching butterflies with a child. It is an exploration of the Spirit, found not in the logic of the mind, but in the purity of the heart. We hope these words touch that silent, sacred space within you. A melody plays without a name, No pitch or rhythm that the mind can frame, Yet the music flows, and the fingers stay, Unable to pause or turn away.   A canvas hangs in a silent room, Its meaning hidden in light and gloom, Yet the eyes are held by an ancient tie, Unable to blink or pass it by.   Like a drive from Sachin that haunts the g...

History remembers conquerors by their crowns and philosophers by their logic, but Paul of Tarsus disrupted the ancient world with nothing more than holy mischief and a captive heart. This poem explores the beautiful irony of a man who possessed no worldly glamour, yet turned empires upside down through an unshakeable, scandalous love for a crucified King. Let's see the man! The Loving Trouble-maker: Unlikely Conman of Jesus the King He wasn’t a Brad, he wasn’t a Tom, not even an SRK No Roman god with a chiseled brawn. No six-pack abs beneath his vest, Just a regular guy at his absolute best. He wasn’t an Einstein, he wasn't that slick, Yet he pulled off history’s greatest trick: Making millions of minds, both young and old, Obsess over stories that he boldly told.  The silversmiths wept as their wallets went thin, While Paul changed the world with a mischievous grin. Seven sons tried to copy his demon-slay art, But got beaten to shreds right at the start! With a mere handkerchi...

Welcome back, fellow rascals, searchers, and beautifully broken souls. Every now and then, we cross paths with a piece of writing that refuses to fit neatly into a box. Today’s feature is exactly that—a raw, unfiltered transmission sent from a hostel room in Kothanur. It is part theological wrestling match, part Bollywood romance, and entirely human.  Our contributor today describes themselves as a *"Tainted Idiotic Scholar maddened by passion for God."* It’s a beautifully contradictory title that perfectly captures the spirit of this blog. Who else but a loving rascal could profoundly identify with the heavy, chained suffering (*thlipsis*) of the Apostle Paul, while simultaneously offering to woo you as the smooth anti-hero from *Don* or the hopeless romantic from *DDLJ*?  This poem is a cry for freedom and connection. It speaks to anyone who has ever felt isolated, misunderstood, or considered "good riddance" by the institutions around them. It is for those who we...

To study the sacred text deeply is to risk becoming a stranger to the very world it seeks to redeem. For the scholar of faith, the burden is doubly heavy: carrying the complex, polychromic dimensions of ancient metanarratives while standing in the grey, domestic reality of broken relationships and cultural isolation. This poem is a raw, ironic confession born at the intersection of deep Pauline theology and personal grief. It explores the painful friction between the clean, systematic structures we preach and the messy, human lives we actually live—where mothers regret the weight of the books they bought us, daughters dismiss our life’s work as a "crazy story," and the institutional church fiercely guards secrets to protect a fragile peace. Ultimately, it is a reminder to a weary soul named Manoj that when the heavy academic jargon fails to comfort, the core command remains simple and true: to undo malice, extend mercy, and wait for the ultimate restoration of the garden.  Po...