The State of the World Address

First draft under further revisions
To be posted when ready for delivery

A Veiled Woman

No matter who she is,
How pretty is her face,
Or how gentle is her grace

It's perhaps better for her
To remain veiled, to keep
Her identity and her morality

Than to take her veil off
To show off her body and face –
In the world she has a place

She exists behind
The darkness of her veil
Not to hide their sins

It is their will
To keep the life she lives.
Her morality is perhaps

Better than your morality.
Her morality is not their sin,
Nor their sin is her morality.

Morality! what after all is morality?
Existence! what after all is existence?
And what is pious and what is sin?

On Love, War And Peace

Moms are protective
Moms need protection
Dads are aggressive
Dads need aggression

Mom are afraid
They are like sissies
They love love and peace


Dads are angry
They are very brave
They love war and women

Now we know
Who is afraid
Who is angry

Doctors know it
Psychologists know it
Even Ayuru docs know it

So here is the solution:
Make the moms angry
Make the dads sissies

We need balance in moms
We need balance in dads
We need to change their prakurti - nature

There will be no fear
There will be no war
There will be love and peace

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Rama Rama Harey Harey
Shalom. Amen.

A Blog on Blogs

Last night I went to the pub
Celebrating happy hours with my friend
I had a jug of cold Colorado Coors
While my friend gulped Budweiser beers

We talked of our jobs, we talked of our kids
We talked of people moving in our neighborhoods
It was getting rowdy with roaring laughter
And the pub was getting smoke filled

When a group of lads walked in like buddies
And began celebrating some bloke's stag party.
We got back to our homes in different parts of the town
I, where the Mexican have moved in with their lawn mowers

And he, where the Chinese have moved in serving
Chow-mien and noodle soups in their flies festered restaurants
I slept early and got up early with a bladder-full of pee
I could not go back to sleep and came to blogs for a peep

Same old stories beating the bush were there to read:
Chase Coke and Pepsi out of India, the companies polluting India
Google is now getting amoral, no pictures of Tienanmen square
On their new google dot cn engine launched in China yesterday

Indian sport of guli-danda and kabbadi flourishing in Indian streets
An old women reporting patients rotting in hospitals beds in India
A movie star asking something stupid of God and jumping up and down in glee
Another woman with boring thoughts talking to God on minds and souls

And the guru of all telling you how to be happy in love and peace
How to make money reading the rules of eternal success
Or connecting the roaming souls of devils and saints thorough
Quantum fields of consciousness in this universe of rottenness

I wondered what connections of the world are these
Reading some one got a mistress to live with,
Reading some one is going comic selling his comics,
Reading someone has fun with her two lovely daughters

Reading someone is making a movie on Elizabeth and Sir Walters
Then reading comments festering with their foolish remarks
Such as: thank you Cho, thank you Shay, thank you Gow, thank you Mo
Holy thoughts, soul thoughts, Vedas thoughts, goo and gober Ganesh

I read and read this garbage stuff written sometimes in gibberish English
And wonder what is here so wonderful I log on and on to read this stuff
I do no know why but I do get a kick writing on their foolishness
But now I am getting tired of this, I am leaving, it has been enough of this.

Vocabulary and notes: goo is crap, gober is bull-shit, kabaddi is wrestling and guli-danda is an Indian sport played with a two or three feet long wooden rod hitting at the end of a pencilled small piece of rod and then hitting again the jumping small piece with the long rod to throw it away far off. If you miss the hit, then it is your opponent's turn to hit. The player with the maximum number of hits is a winner.

Who am I? Why am I here?

When someone asks you:
“Why are we here
What’s the purpose of life?”

Snap back at him:
You damn fool.
Do not include me in your ‘we’,
Speak for yourself only.

Tell him:
You are here because you are here,
You cannot be there and here
At the same time.
And your purpose is to live your life
As you please.

Tell him this thing too:
He is here because her mom and dad
One night made a stupid mistake.
They got so passionate that night
They did something in haste
That they now regret everyday of life --
How that passion ended up in waste
Of bringing some idiot into this world
Who does not know how to live
And keeps on asking stupid questions
Such as these: “Who am I?
Why am I here?” repeatedly.

You have now become God

I am special and religious
Very religious, indeed

My mind did not know
What was love

So I asked my mind
To ask God

See, I am so religious, everything
I know has to come from God

My mind loves love
And loves in giving and gaining love

But it does not know
What is true, true love!

And God tells my mind:
He did not believe how stupid it was

That it could not tell what was true
And what love was untrue

Though it’s simple for any dumb-head:
What is true is true
And what is untrue is not true

Dumbfounded I was
To find out how true it was!

God went on further to say this:
“Don’t move even you have to piss

Selflessness is true love
Devotion is true love

It is all permanent
It loves the state of ideal-ness

It creates feeling deep inside
Deep deep down in your heart

If you don’t need love
You’re happy. Don’t care for love

As love is only for happiness
For no nonsense, no crapi-ness

Whether you are sick or health
True love lives in you

Love can hurt, love can love
So find the right house of love

It can go right, it can go wrong
Don’t in anger throw your thongs

To have money, fame or love
You have certain things to do

You cannot live just thinking of love
You have to do things to get love

So that you can do things with love
And your love can do things with you

But first you do spiritual things
Without spirit in the world there’s not a thing

You spirit will connect you deep within
As it lives even deeper than you think

What you are is only a brain
Nothing more, simply a brain

When the spirit thing goes from heart to brain
And Ah! You lighten up like a running train.”

And then you find the eternal truth:
That God is truth and the truth is God

And God is you and you are God
You and him are one, both stupid, O Lord!

Oh God, how wonderful!
You have now become God

Oh God, I pray to you God
Holy, mighty eternal God

Leave me alone in peace or war
I don’t want to be stupid as you are

Don’ tell me what love is
(true, romantic, platonic or any type)
I myself will find what it is.

As when it comes to love
You are no smarter than I am

I can love many women at a time
You love only Jesus, so confined

Disclaimer: The use of personal pronoun 'I' does not imply I endorse all the thoughts put forth in the above write-up. The thoughts are composite of ideas expressed by other writers on the internet.

God Never Tells To Screw Your Mind

God never tells
to screw your mind

whether your mind comes
from your father's screwed up mind

or you love screwing your own mind
and then go on screwing other minds

talking of spirits and souls
talking of love and peace

while hiding hate in the guise of love
and discriminating for sake of peace

poor peace lovers!
poor preachers of love!

I pity your minds
I wish I had some pills

to instill in your heads
to cure your minds

of the ills of your illusions
of the ills of your delusions

for the connectedness of your souls
through the consciousness-quantum-fields

God Asks Mind

I

God asks my mind:
“Hey mind, do you mind
To tell me what’s on your mind?”

My mind does mind
And says to God:
“O God, how stupid you are!

If you are God,
You know what’s on my mind
And if I mind what I mind

Why should you mind?
Leave me alone
And go mind your mind.”


II

My mind is a beautiful mind.
I love my mind free of God.
Free to think, free to reason
Free to fly in the skies.

Your mind is a dumb mind,
An eternal prisoner of God.
It cannot think, it cannot reason
Held captive by Bible and Koran.


III

My mind invents
All things in the world,
To make you live in love and peace.

Your mind makes war and hatred --
Letting Allah fight Moses
Moses fight Allah

Letting Allah fight Rama
Rama fight Allah.


IV

Your mind lives for God
Your God does not live
For your mind.

My mind lives for me.
I do not let God enter my mind,
I live for myself and my mind.

You live in fear.
I live in freedom.
You keep on searching

That does not exist.
I search the world where I exist.
You exist because I exist,
Not because your God exists.

Without me you’ll be living
Chasing your naked snakes
In the gardens of Edens.

Not sitting at your PC,
Reading what I write
And singing praises of God:

Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
Fooling yourself eternally.

For more I tell you
God does not exist,
More praises of God you sing.

You build castles in the air
For your souls to live there,
Living life on Earth in despair

Spreading hatred, fighting wars
Not raising your minds’ bars,
Loving your God in despair.

PS: Inspired by reading three words, Mind Asks God, posted in some godly writing on the internet. I expect further inspirations from God after going through the godly discourse. Since my mind is free, I will post them here later whether God minds or God does not mind.

Seize wife to get husband

The caption seemed so funny.
Seize wife to get a husband?
As if there were dearth of men
Or she was ugly, unwanted by any one of them
Or she fell in love with some wife’s husband.

Wanting desperately a husband,
She seized the wife of a husband,
Kept her captive somewhere in a dungeon.
And for herself got a husband as her husband!
Got it right with ‘a husband as her husband’?

Never mind if you don't get it right.
Some women are so devious,
They’ll do anything to get a husband.
They’ll even seize a husband’ wife
To get for them a husband.

Lord Krishna On What Body Type Likes What Food

Succulent, satisfying, soft foods
Enhancing life, health, strength, and happiness
Are the foods that satvic – the pure – people like.

Bitter, hot, pungent, dry, sour and salty foods
Giving grief, pain and disease
Are the foods that rajasic – the passionate – people like.

Tasteless, stale, putrid, impure and rotten foods
Are the foods that tamasic – the foul- people like.

~Bhagavad Gita 17: 8-10

PS: Original in Sanskrit. This is my translation. More to come on body types and their attributes as in Bhagavad Gita, the holy text of Hindus supposed to be enunciated by Lord Krishna.

My friend of old

My friend of old
Has now turned cold

As he has a friend who
Does not see me eye to eye

Long ago I had heard:
'A friend of your enemy is not your friend'

His friend is not my enemy
So my friend of old is still my friend

Still an old dear friend
Though he no more sees me eye to eye

Like his friend.
He lavishes praises on his friend

Like someone from heaven did descend
To show him the way there to ascend

I send this message to my old friend:
We have no contentions to mend

You were my friend
You are still my friend

I will spare you
At every road's bend

Don't be afraid of me
You may, but I'll never pretend

I only want to tell you this:
Your friendship I will miss

Praising some fool
You won't look cool

You will talk like a fool
You will look like a fool

You will act like a fool
And become a real fool

But if your friend does not know he's a fool
That would then be something very cool!

So my friend, use your head
Don't act like a fool instead

When I give my word
I swear by my blood

So dont' be afraid, my friend
I won't bite. Call me sometime

Protect Yourself Kit. Have the Right Mind Set

I

Military strength does bring security
Indians, you think of your country
You kept meditating under banyan trees,
You did not put to use your neighbor’s
Fun powder to the gun powder,
You worshipped cows ignoring horses
You lost your country to those riding
Horses or sailing the seas.
They had fun using gun powder.
You lost freedom for a thousand years
Reading Vedas, worshipping sun and cows.

Now you have nuclear arsenal,
You have boats you have bombs,
You have missiles and satellites
Now you can fight, you have might
In every mind you put fright.
You are now secure.
So listen not to some deluded mind:
Peace in strength you do not find.


II

Killing evil people in other countries
Is good for us: we protect our country
From people after our country.
It is good for them: if we do not kill them,
They will go on killing innocent people,
As they are really evil people.


III

Weapons are not for death.
They are for peace, for our protection.
Only dropping bombs on Hiroshima
Peace finally was achieved.

More the progress we make,
More the precise weapons we make.
We then don’t kill the innocent,
We kill only our enemy.


IV

Yes, killing enemies with high tech-weapons
Is better than killing them with an army of knights
We want to kill them, we do not want our knights to be killed.


V
Mistakes are always made.
It is the price you pay,
Whether you go and make war
Or you for fun to make love to someone.


VI

Progress cannot be stopped.
We have to look forward to future,
Not go back to live in sanyasi ashrams.
You have to be ahead of others.
Survival is the fittest game.


VII

We do need army in peace times.
You cannot raise it in one day.
Like your bank-rolls in you banks,
We need men to run tanks.


VIII

When someone attacks us,
We know it is not right,
They are evil down right.
We go to wars to kill them
Before they come to kills us.


IX

We have brains, we have might
We are superior to those
Who pee in pants in fright.
We want the world to know:
If you fight, we will fight
And keep you in your country tight.


X

We don’t show superiority by making wars.
We show it spreading love and peace.
If they have no brains to come to peace
We go to wars to bring peace.
We give millions in aid to poor people,
Starving or dying with aids.
We are kind, peace loving people,
We don't mind killing evil people.

For peace, for peace
For your and my peace,
For world peace.

PS: I will come back to the former Soviet Union some time later to open your eyes to the reality there. Don't be deluded by the arm chair thinkers and philosophers.

Know Your and Your Son's Body Type

I

You have heart burns
Orange juice does not suit you
You have an ‘acid body type’
You take Mylanta and Tums

Your Aryu doc takes for himself
But he does not tell you
As it is not an Aryu med

You are found dead
Of an heart attack
Lying in your bed
Taking some Aryu med



II

Coffee makes you irritable
It gives you nausea, you throw up
It keeps you awake all night
Your body type: ‘not caffeine loving type’


III

You are young and healthy
Every young lady passing by arouses you
You want any woman ugly or beautiful
Your body type: ‘ you are horny type’


IV

You lost your job
The kids are in school
The montage is due
No money in the bank
Your wife is bitchy
You are depressed
Your body type: ‘the worrying type’
You need some mystical yoga to do


V

You are getting old
You wife is a bitch
She looks like a witch
You go to other women
You cannot perform
Viagra does not help you
Your body type: ‘sleepy ding-dong type’


VI

Your kid misses school
He hates beautiful girls
He loves macho boys
He drinks, he smokes
Sometime marijuana
Sometime sniffes a snort of cocaine
Causes and his body type:
Number 1: he’s a sissy
Number 2: he’s a homo
Number 3: he’s not the son of his mother
Number 4: he’s the son of a bitch or a sow
Number 5: he’s a dumb shit
Number 6 : he’s a lazy son of a gun
Number 7: he’s a shame to his father’s name
Number 8: his prakruti - body mind constitution – is the druggy girlie type


VII

You go to Bangkok
You get bird flu
You sneeze, you cough
You cannot breath, you don’t eat
You get weak, you lie in bed to die
Your Aryu doc sees you
He never heard of bugs or bacteria
He never heard of vicious viruses
But he is an expert on clean and dirty airs
He is expert on spicy and salty foods
He is an expert on all body types
Your body type: ‘ not liking foul-air type’
Your diagnosis: ‘ you inhaled some shit in the air’
Your treatment: ‘ go for a walk in the fresh air’
Your prognosis: ‘ your will get better in a week’
What really happens: ‘ you die next day lying in bed’
Taking fully your Aryu doc med.


PS: There are many many body types, as many as there are people on the earth. For example in India, the motherland of Aryuvedic medicine, there are more than one billion body types, each unique to the body-type carrying soul. Because of some mysterious reasons, some docs from India trained in the Western medicine are turning back to Indian Aryu medicine – perhaps it is their body types. When they were in India, their body type was :'USA loving type'. When they became citizens of USA, their body type changed to: ' 'India loving type'. So be carfeul. Your body type might change, with the passage of time, depending what is best for yout prakurti - your body-mind constitution, that may depend on pride, money and many other complex factors. Have a pleasant visit to your Aryu doc who does not know what a stethoscope is!

Manu Smriti 2.215

A man must not see
A woman,
Her sister,
Her daughter,
Or even her mother,
In a place of solitude.

For his desires for them
Might get so aroused
As to betray him,
Even he is a Brahman.

~Manu Smriti 2.215

PS: Original in Sanskrit. Rendering from a literal English translation.

Indigenous East Indians

India is a fundamental country of many fundamentals coming together
So are many Indians except few with hypothetical fundamental minds
Kudos to them
They always look into very fundamentals
And become very fundamentalists
Sometimes frantic fundamental fundamentalists
Simply because their mental states are so fundamental in their minds.

They are so fundamental
They argue they are indigenous, not Aryans
Pure, pristine, unblemished, unadulterated, preserved from ancient times
Their forefathers were not Aryans. They were originally originated Indians!
I wonder in India too there was some sort of Garden of Eden
Where God appeared under a holy banyan tree to create the Indian Adam and Eve
And then rapidly they multiplied to become one billion in modern times!

If not Aryans and if not made from the mud and not inserted souls in them
By God, from the beginning of the times – a Veda claims the opposite
Where from did they come from? I many times ask them
They keep on saying they are indigenous, very indigenous
They repeat it saying many times indigenous, indigenous
I admire them. They have their pride to be unique. But descendents of Aryans?
Descendents of non-Aryans? No way. Never. They are indigenous Indians!

And that is collective foolishness

It is a pity
Intelligence does not come
From gathering facts and figures
And using them for making a living

Be it the software engineering
Be it the dirt drainage engineering
Be it the practice of Ayurveda
Or the peace and love preaching

Intelligence comes from an open mind
Assimilating facts and figures
Accepting what makes sense
And throwing the rest to the winds

That is intelligence

But rushing to Vedas, Koran and Bible
For every thing in this world
And accepting them as words of God
Is foolishness, is foolishness

When blind faith enters your head
It totally shuts your mind
You may appear with intelligence
But you're a fool of the first kind

And you live in your foolishness

Don’t be disheartened, my friend
You are not the only fool
Some famous fools attract
Many fools like you

Birds of the same feather
Always flock together.
Find solace in the foolishness
Of a family of friends

And enjoy that collective foolishness

Are we all alone in this universe?

are we all alone in this universe?
could there be somewhere
other fools like us

restless, always looking for the opposite?
when it is autumn, we want spring,
when spring comes, we want autumn.

the rich would give up money for love,
the poor would give up love for money,
we can't love money, we can't love love.

the egoless burst with egos.
the holy are most unholy.
the lovers of peace fight
their own demons unruly.

the pretentious ones
seeking peace through love,
seeking love through peace,
are nothing but phoney.

for they do not know love
nor do they know peace.
if there's life somewhere in this universe,
i pray they not be like us.

Beauty in Nakedness

Apna chagga chukkiye
Tey aap naangay hoiehey

~An Old Punjabi saying

That is:

Taking off our clothes
We show our nakedness

***
A veil can’t hide the truth
Nor clothes, the ugliness

Still there is beauty
In all nakedness

Hot Headed Cool Thoughts

I have not been reading all these long winded arguments
On who were Aryans and who were not
And whether they were carnivorous or they were not
And whether they ate goats, pigs, cows, camels or grass.
But seeing the experts scattered all over the globe on this hot talk
I begin to think the folks here are not cool headed. The blood in them boils hot.

Some want to tell others they are not what others think they are
And others want to tell others they do not know what they are
Still some others who are just by standers, become experts
In everything on earth whether they know anything or not.
I wish I had time to read at length what all this hot talk is about
But now I want to read some poetry leaving them out of my thoughts.

" It's all bull, you bull-head," she said

Did ancient Indians eat beef?
Did they in their houses pee?
When the enemy came, did they flee?
I'll tell you all this without a fee.

Eating mother cow,
Her beau, the bull
Her kids, a heifer and a calf,
Juicy steak, so mouthfull!

Wait my dear, I'm not a Hindu
Let me ask my better-half.
Hey better-half, hey better half,
Be better for something, half or full.

Tell me if Indians ate the calf
And what about the mother cow
And her beau, the bull.
"It's all bull, you bull-head, she said

Leave me alone, or I will cut you in half."
She went on to say with dirty looks.
And I learned a lesson so much I lacked:
Never ask a better-half on someone's behalf.

Did Ancient Indians Eat Mother Cow, Calves and Bulls?

How dare you tell us
who we were and who we are
don't start with your big bang
and come down to Christianity

everything what was
what is and what will be
is in our holy Vedas
now shut up and listen:

In the beginning was God
who created the universe
and enjoyed watching bodies
in heavens go around and around

it was no more fun for him. He started
getting dizzy watching them go around
So moon struck was he, he thought of he and she
and lo! as the story goes, too long to tell here all this
I will tell it to please you, if you really want to know

So first tell me if you want to hear
How God first created Yugas - time
How God created man in India
How God gave wisdom to him

The wisdom worked till men from the North-West
And some Angrezi land came to holy land to claim it....

(to be continued on collectiveness of critcal-mass interest)

Is Ayurvedic Medicine For You?

Our bodies work the same ways,
Taking oxygen through air ways,
Or absorbing water or nutrients
Through alimentary ways.

We do not oppose these ways.
We do not hold breath to suffocate.
(except perhaps some Ayurvedic medics)
We do not tell guts not to absorb
(except bulimics of slim-wave ways
or Ayurvedic ways of bowl-clearing ways)

Over the natural flow of energy,
Living with nature in harmony,
Stress free, easily, comfortably,
Ayurveda has no monopoly.

Ayurvedic medic treats by body types.
But does not tell what are the types.
His only tool of diagnosis are:
Pulse and the color of your skin and eyes.

He does not even have a thermometer,
Forget about syphygmomanometer.
No blood tests, no x-rays,
No MRIs, no CAT scans.

He knows the names of organs
That is all the anatomy he knows
Rest is all Chakras and Kundalinis.
And all holy, holy souls!

His medicines may contain
Pigeon droppings dissolved
In holy urine of mother cow,
Or some crude extracts

Of plants and herbs
That we already know.
Their side effects might kill you,
That you should never try to know!

Prevention of disease is not an invention
Of Ayurvedic medics , you know
Nor are they the only ones adjusting
Meds to kids, adults and olds, you know.

Talking of body types, body types,
Making you unique to their meds
Is all cacophony, you must know.
As they only use their hands and eyes

To touch you, to see you
And then to tell you, your body types.
All this Ayurvedic medicine, alas!
Is glorified in shameless hypes.

The proof of the pudding is:
When Ayurvedic medics get sick,
They forgets their medicines
And to Allopathic medics run, quick.

Do not talk of any surgery,
As they only know how body works
But know nothing what makes what work.
All Chakras and Kundalinis!

Are We Connected by Subtle Bodies - Souls?

The subtle body,
Short of calling it a soul,
The field of consciousness,
Like the quantum field

Interacting souls like
Interacting photons and quarks,
Are nothing but quirks
Of some nerd's thoughts.

The evidence is anything but evidence.
Quantum healing is a placebo healing.
ESP, only a fantasy.
Talking to dead, when your mind is dead.

Outer events, reflection of inner events –
You see what you want to see.
Everything happens for a reason –
Yes, if I gun you down, you’ll die.

Destiny is only a delusion.
Collective consciousness is
Nothing, but collective illusion of fools.
Nature is intelligent and organized!

Yes, nature gives tornadoes and tsunamis,
Earth quakes and havocs and kills
Millions with its intelligence.
Higher states of consciousness!

What a farce! where are
The lower states of consciousness?
(what is consciousness’s intelligence?)
Prayers are only answered in dreams.

Wishes without efforts come true only in dreams.
A critical mass – fancy words – for the majority,
Can move mountains in a democracy.
But not crazy minds in their collectiveness.

A Poem of Patty Hoo in Prayers

I am a single woman
send me a man
whose money I can spend
and he says,"don't worry honey
spend, spend my money
I have lot of it."

send me a man
who loves to make love
for day and night I'm horny
there's is, never, never, anywhere
enough of it for me

send me a man
who loves my body
loves my boobs, loves my behind
everything he owns, of course, will be mine
that man, that man, I will love that man

send that man to me.

~Patty Hoo

O the loo! ditto, go down -- Dedicated to Ted Kooser

These days I have been reading Ted Kooser’s The Poetry Home Repair Manuel. He says write poetry for the readers, not for yourself. Keep it simple. Get connected with them. Make them aware of the beauty around them. Let them see the world through your eyes. Do not write difficult verses that no one, except you, knows what they are about. Yet do write difficult, hard to understand poetry for those who love reading such poetry.

Ted does not tell us what we should do when simple poetry in some simpleton's terms does not make any sense, and you think it is all crap. Perhaps, we should try to make it hard, very hard, so that even the veteran poets across the globe have hard time understanding it. A challenge to their genius. No?

I found a recent poem on the Internet to throw some light on this issue. I will only post the first stanza – the original, and then my rendering of it. I would like it up to you to figure out which version makes most sense to you. And which version Ted would like to read.

The original:

I woke up one morning, I had a plan
I told it to god He laughed out loud
Hurt & shocked I looked around
At myself & then up & down

~Suchitra Krishnamoorthi

Now my version of the original:

Iwo ke upo nem o ning, ihadap lan
Itol ditto go dhela ughedo utalo ud
Hu rtand shoc kedi loo kedar ound
Atmys elfand the nu pand down

PS: Incidentally I did spell check on my version. It had only six English words in it that I have rearranged for you:

O, the loo! Ditto, go down.

And surprisingly this makes two lines of a unique verse as below:

O, the loo!
Ditto, go down.

garbage - for god's sake drop all this crap about words

oh no: we are not alone in language: we may
be alone in words, at least, almost alone in

speaking them, not alone (Koko) in understnding
them, at least reacting to them: we are nearly

alone in words: but the words do for us what other
languages do for others - they warn, inform,

reassure, compare, present: we may be alone in
words but we are not singualr in language:

have some respect for other speakers of being and
for god's sake drop all this crap about words,

singularity, and dominion: it is so boring
when I hear it a hook of anger in my guts tears

the lining: the world was the beginning
of the world; words are a way of fendig in the

world: whole languages, like species, can
disappear without dropping a gram of earth's

weight, and symbolic systems to fare you well
can be added without filling a ditch or thimble:

~A.R. Ammons
from 'garbage'

He had to leave

He had to leave.
She stood at the door.
Still, in silence.

Their fate had
Brought them together,
For a few days.

They knew they would
Never meet again -
Dead end. Closure.

They hugged. He stepped back.
Her gaze was to the ground.
Their throats choked with words.

He placed his right
Hand on her left shoulder,
She raised her head.

Tears tricked down her eyes.

The cabby was calling.
He was getting late.
Running downstairs

He couldn't hold his tears.
He had to leave.
His fate was calling.

Nina's Room

He cannot forget how Nina looked,
Standing in the top floor window,
Her chin resting on her hand.

When she appeared there
He’d rush upstairs to meet her.
She would greet him at the top of stairs

And lead him to her room.
Neat, clean, an extension of herself.
Two mattresses on the bed side by side.

White linen sheets with floral patterns,
Pink and blue in hues.
A lamp on the table beside her bed.

Poetry books of Bashir Badr, of Kaifi Azmi
Covered with recyclable paper and petals
Of dry flowers earmarking some pages

Or some verses underscored in pencil.
A plastic chair in one corner.
A small book rack in another.

Heaps of neatly stacked papers.
Lots of sharpened pencils in a jar
And a bag that had a white Khadi shirt for him.

A pair of rubber slippers indented with her
Two-and-a-half toes lay at the foot of her bed.

--after Rahul Pandita

I Will Tell You Later - A Spanish Poem of Patricia Boneo

I Will Tell You Later
To my husband Martín Alberto Boneo 1975

I will tell you later
why the time hurts me so much
and why there is no turning back
to pay for my life.

And I do not know
Why the days pile up
And wait in a row.

Why do I want
To get out of me?
Tell me, my compañero

I call you
And I call you!
Without any response.
And everyone wants to convince me
that I have gone crazy.
As you are dead
and your name remains
for everyone in memory.
Yes, only in memory.

But I have memory.
I am not crazy.
And I know what I have
And what have I lost.
Yes, I meet you in my loneliness.
But you do not understand
That I know it so well,
You are not with me
and are always with me.

Because when we lived
It was like living
Carrying our love
To the pain of burning fires!

That happened to blend our blood
when suddenly it was cold
and hardened in order to set
the bones in sites.
And to forget that I cried
even though you did not know it.

Later I will tell you
how are our children
and why I grumble all day long,
serving you a cup of coffee
reaching to your chair
and not understanding
why it is empty.

One morning I was sad
and I did not know why.

And I was happy
to the point of being pretty.
And up to my waist exceeded
the hands, the flowers
the perfume, the warmth
the agility and the engagements…

Still the darkness lasted
longer than the laughter,
and it cost me fulfilling my hopes….

Yes, I can still contemplate the sun
through your tears to mine.
You see, we shared the pain.

I urge you to listen to me,
though at a distant,
I wish you to know
who I am.

I do not regret that God suspects
I stole the key to what I have lost.

That I guarded this love!

And that a distracted angel,
By your death,
Unaccountably gave it to me.

The key to your alive image.
As he knew
The time was deceived.

And I dream like yesterday
What I am today.
That’s why it’s hard
For you to respond to me.
Of that I myself am not sure.

My voice will reach you, my friend.
You will listen me very closely.
I am going towards…
You and I will be together.

(Dora de Boneo)

***

Original

¡Después te cuento!

A mi esposo Martín Alberto Boneo 1975



Después te cuento

porque me duele

el tiempo

y nunca tengo

un vuelto

para pagar

mi vida.



Y no sabemos

por qué

los días se amontonan

y

me esperan en fila.



Porque me quiero fuera

de mi misma

¿Por qué compañero?



Yo te llamo

y te llamo!

sin que responda nadie

y todos

quieren convencerme

que estoy equivocada

y tu haz muerto

y que tu nombre

les pertenece,

a todos

en el recuerdo

si!



Yo tengo memoria

no estoy loca

Sí!

yo sé lo que tengo

y lo perdido, sí

y me encuentro

contigo a solas.

Y no me entiendes

que comprendo todo

que no estas y

que estás

siempre conmigo.



Porque cuando se vive

lo que se ha vivido

llevamos al amor

hacia el dolor del fuego

por haberlo encendido!



Eso sucede

por medir

la sangre

cuando se heló

de pronto endurecida

hasta ordenar los huesos

en un sitio y

olvidar que he llorado

aunque tu no lo sabías.



Después te cuento

como están los chicos,

porque rezongo todo el día

y te sirvo un café

y te alcanzo una silla

que no entiendo

por qué esta vacía.



Es que me puse triste

una mañana,

y no sé por qué?



Yo era alegre

y hasta bonita

y a mi cintura le sobraban

manos

flores, perfumes, tibieza,

agilidad y citas...



Y sin embargo ahora

dura más la tiniebla

que la risa.

Y me cuesta

llenarme de

esperanzas...



Sí puedo todavía

contemplar el sol

a través de tus lágrimas

en mis lágrimas

ya ves

nos compartimos en

el dolor.



Anímate a escucharme

desde lejos sí aún

tienes ganas

de saber quién soy.



No me arrepiento

de que Dios sospeche

que me robe la llave

de lo que había perdido.



Que me guardé el amor!



Que un ángel distraído

por tu muerte

sin darse cuenta

me la dió.



La llave de tu imagen viva

porque sabías

que me engañaba el tiempo.



Y sueño igual que ayer

lo que soy hoy.

Por eso es tan difícil que respondas

aunque no estoy segura.



Te alcanzará mi voz,

Amigo mío;

La escuchas muy cerca...



Ya voy...



Somos tu y yo.

Dora de Boneo

Writer's block?

Writer’s block?
lacking inspiration to write?
give a little time
give a little space

a bubble will rise
up through the mud of your mind,
crackling before it subsides
flooding your mind

with memories hidden in its cords,
your pen will run amok sliding.
Kafka says something like this:
don’t even leave your room

listen sitting before your PC.
don’t’ listen even, simply wait
don’t wait even, be still and solitary
words will come from memory

unasked, unexpected, no choice
rolling at your feet in ecstasy.

PS: Inspired by Ted Kooser's writings.

Spiritual Quantum Gurus

As I wonder and come to an internet site to see if there is something new
The mystic Indian mind has to say adding to our real knowledge of the world,
I find nothing new. The same old beating of drums, the same old blowing of trumpets
Of the greatness of God spreading his souls to all of us
And thus connecting us all together in super consciousness.
All theorizing, all hypothesizing, all talking, all concepts, nothing adding
To the evidence or anything concrete.

Unable to prove anything, they resort to the physics of quantum,
Quoting pseudo scientists and charlatans, linking their super consciousness to effects of quantum,
Proclaiming: Ah! They found the link of science to their gods,
They talk of all warped, garbled, confused concepts of space and time
They talk of action at distance, non-locality and non linearity of space-time,
Knowing not an iota of science, professing themselves to be the gurus of this new age
Of science and consciousness.

What are they after to? Many times I wonder. Is their ego at stake? Or is it they too want to grab the money bags and not want to be left behind,
Where money is God and the truth of their connectivity of super-consciousness is all dust thrown into the eyes.

What are they after to, I ask again? Or perhaps they have developed views of the universe,
Every bit spiritual, but enjoy the fruits of material things bestowed by science on them.
Money grabber hypocrites? Cowboys without horses, challenging science to prove wrong the spiritual theories they ride on.

Science does not need them, it can live without them.
They cannot and demand the science to prove them wrong.
Science searches the truth, they impose on science their godly truths.
No thanks. Do not meddle with science. Meddle with your spirits and gods.
Let scientists discover the world and you stagnate in spiritual thoughts.

Red T-Shirt

I look back at those days
And wonder how did I survive.
A penniless, homeless, aspiring
Movie star aimlessly wandering

Among crowds or riding trains
From Bandra to Churchgate
From Churchgate to Bandra
In Bombay Bollywood.

I could act.
But a fist of a bulge on my forehead,
My body like a stick,
My receding hair line,
My patches of hair falling on temples,
Every movie producer would detract.

One day in a train I sat
Next to a white clad man wearing
Dark glasses looking out of window.
He was humming some old movie song.

Suddenly he asked why was I fidgeting.
How do you know I replied.
“Your body language, and listen,
Put on some colorful clothes.”

I looked at my beige stained T-shirt,
I looked at his snow white kurta and pajama,
And asked why was he in whites.
“Because in me is serenity,” he replied.

At Dadar station he proceeded to the door.
Getting off the train he stepped
On someone’s feet who blurted:
“Can’t you see, you’re crushing my feet?”

“Sorry, sir, I am blind, I cannot see.”
And then off the train he went.
Since that day, when I am down
I put on a T-shirt that’s red

Not beige, not black, not brown.
And keeping my head high I walk around.
It works, my friends, it works. Try sometime.
It cheers me up. No low downs.

(after Anupam Kher’s post at Intentblog)

Story of Uncle Donny

I was first.
But she drove a BMW.
She fast opened her door hitting my Camry.
She fought for my parking place
slamming her car door in my face.
She was pretty. I let her go.

But moments later I thought
the bitch thought I was an ass.

I took my car keys
and keyed her car deep.
Screech. Screech.
From front to the rear bender.
She better think who I was.
She better think I wasn't an ass.

All that crap, all that bull shit

This morning I was reading a thread
of a blog on the internet:

a lady in Sweden whose children's
hamster was sick had received a Reiki
from a yoga teacher in Minnesota
for the hamster's fast recovery

suddenly their talk turned to me
as I had told them earlier
it was all bull shit, all that Reiki

and some comments later,
a lady from the North-West
was resonating
with a man in the South-East

half way across the world
talking about the soul's oneness
finally merging into the consciousness

and suddenly their talk turned to me
as I had told them earlier
their oneness-consciousness belief
was all crap to me

they had become my enemies

do I not tell I don't agree?
do I not be myself?
why do I agree to some bull shit
for them to be friendly?

Kashmiri Love Verses

Original in Kashmiri:

Rozu bozu, bozu myaien zaar madno
daadi chaane' chhas ha baimaar madno

Nazre chaane' syeet baimaar balaey' kyeet
myaani vize' ha loguth baimaar madno

Listen, listen my beloved, listen to the travails of my heart
I suffer from your love, my beloved

Your one look eases the suffering of so many
But when it came to me, you feigned illness, my beloved

~Rahul Pandita

***

Final Version:

Listen, my beloved, listen
Listen to the affairs of my heart
I am suffering, my beloved
I am suffering from your love

Your one look allays
The sufferings of so many;
But for me you feign illness, my love

(subject to further revision)

Aye, aye of Seema

Original in Hindi with some English

Jab koi kahani sunata hai na
to sunne wala bus hu, hu kerta rahta hai
sunane wale ko bhi pata chalta hai
ki some one is listening

~Seema


When someone tells a story
The listener says: aye, aye
That the story teller knows
Someone is listening to him

My bosom still rolls in your embrace

Original in Urdu

Teri chaukhat se eik pul guzarta hai
uspar mera wajood sarakta hai
Teri aagosh mein ab tak lipta hai yeh seena
warna yeh kambakht dil kahan dhadakta hai

~Rahul Pandita


A bridge passes through
The threshold of your door,
For myself to crawl over it.
My bosom still rolls in your embrace,
How else could my cursed heart
Beat despite all of it!

Home

Orginal in Hindi

Jal gaya ghar baccha kya hai
Bacch gaye tum, Jala kya hai

~Rahul Pandita
***

My home went up in flames
Nothing was saved
You survived
Nothing went up in flames

Or

The home went up in flames
What did remain?
You were saved
What burning! What flames!

After Khayyam

Original in Hindi

I

Thhaka aaya hun
saara din kaam kartey kartey
Bhar dey ab sharab ka pyala
Baith jaa mere pass
Aur kar kuch pyaar ke baten
kabhi phir se sunna dena
Parosion ke ladaee kee baten

I’ve come home all tired
Working hard all day long.
Give me a glassful of wine
And come, sit here beside me.
Save neighbors’ fights for another day,
Let us talk of some love today.


II

Chhala jaa raha hoon
Nadia ke kinare
Pepul ki chhaon main
Parhnay ghalib ki gazlain
Le aana palak kaa saag
Aur makhan se bhari
Makki roti ki chapatain
Aur bhoolna nahin
Wo do sharab ki botlain.

I am going to the river banks
To read ghazals of Ghalib under the tree,
Bring for me some cooked spinach
With buttered bread of maize.
And listen, do not forget to bring
Those two bottles of wine.


III

Kyon preshan se lagtey ho yaar
Bhool gayey aaj hai shukarwar
Chhalo ab madushala chhalain
Pee lain gain do char Sharab key pyalay
Aur Karen gay kuch gup-shup ki batain

Why you look so worried , yaar
You forgot! it’s Friday today,
Let’s go to the tavern now
For glassfuls of a drink or two
And for some gossip around.


IV

Jo log kabhai kabhi
Dil lagi se peetain hain,
Wo kushi se jeetain hain.
Arey yaar, kabhi kabhi tum bhi
Dil ka dard nikalno ko,
Sharab ka ek do pyaala
Pee leea karo

Those who sometime for fun
Take a drink or two,
Live a happy life.
Friend, you too to let
Out the sorrows of heart,
Take a drink or two sometime.

Some Verses from Madushala of Harivanshrai Bachchan

Originals in Hindi

Sun, kalkal, chhalchhal, madhu-
ghat se girti, pyaalon mein haalaa,
Sun runjhun, runjhun, chal
Vitaran karti madhu saakibaalaa;
Bas aa pohonche, door nahin kuch,
Chaar kadam ab chalna hai;
Chehek rahe, sun, peene waale,
Mehak rahi, le, madhushala.

Listen to the bubbles crackling,
The goblets are being filled with drinks.
Listen to the sounds of tinkling bells
Tied around the barmaid’s feet.
We are now near, not far,
Only four steps away.
Lisen to the laughter of the drunkards,
See, how fragrant the tavern smells!

Dharm granth sab jalaa chuki hai
Jiske antar ki jwalaa,
Mandir, masjid, girje -- sab ko
Tod chuka jo matwaalaa,
Pandit, momin, paadriyon ke
Phandon ko jo kaat chuka,
Kar sakti hai aaj ussi ka
Swaagat meri madhushala.

He whose inner flames
Have burnt down all holy texts,
He who in desertion has tore down
All temples, churches and mosques,
He who has gotten loose
Of pundit’s, mullah’s and priest’s bonds,
My tavern today would welcome only him.

Ek baras mein ek baar hi
Jalti holi ki jwaalaa,
Ek bar hi lagti baazi,
Jagti deepon ki maalaa;
Duniya waalo, kintu, kisi din
Aa madiraalay mein dekho,
Din ko holi, raat diwali,
Roz manati madhushala.

Only once in a year,
The fires of Holi go up in flames
And the garlands of lit
Lamps are displayed like chains.
But folks, come to the tavern any day,
To see Holi celebrations all day
And Diwali jubilations all night.

Do din hi madhu mujhe pilaa kar
Oob uthi saaqi baalaa,
Bhar kar ab khiska deti hai
Voh mere aage pyaalaa,
Naaz, adaa, andaazon se ab,
Hai, pilaanaa door hua,
Ab to kar deti hai keval
Farz-adaayee madhushala.

Serving me drinks for just two days,
The bar maid has grown sullen of me,
After filling the goblet now
She slides it in front of me.
All that toying, charm and dalliance
In serving me, alas! all has gone.
Now she only fulfills
Her duties while serving me.

Pranpriye, gar shrradh kro to,
Tum mera eysa karna,
Pinewalon to bulwa kar,
Khulwa dena Madhushala.

O dear! if you are kind,
Would you do this for me:
Invite all the lovers of liquors
And open to them the tavern for me.

It is frigging cold in the heaven

A poetess wonders about a mountaineer
Climbing high up on Mount Vinson
In the freaking colds of Antarctica.

She is a religious poetess.
Often she talks of spirits,
Son of God and God.

So she wonders
When he reaches the summit,
How can he not miss God!

Her God is up in the heaven
Up, up in the skies
And her hell is down,
Down, below the ground.

Mount Vinson stands
Sixteen thousand feet high.
Does her heaven begin there?

If it is frigging cold in the heaven
And pits of fires in the Milton’s hell,
I would rather stay on Earth here.

A Homage to Rahul Pandita

Reading your stories and poems,
We start living in your world.
We want to fly to places you visit,
To write our stories and poems.
We feel like flapping our arms
To fly away on wings.
(But our jackets weigh heavy on shoulders)

We smell the scent of the Narcissus
In the meadows of the valleys of Kashmir.
We can see the trees standing
In the streets and bazaars,
We can feel the sting of chill breeze
On our cheeks on cold wintery days.

The twinkle of your burning cigarette in the dark,
The twinkle of stars in the skies of Kashmir,
We see all those even on a cloudy day.
You make us flow with your feelings,
You make us move when you move.
So absorbed do we get
We feel we are always with you.

Your writings are gift to us,
We are all grateful to you.

(Using words and phrases of Heather)

Ghazals of Ghalib - I

Originals in Urdu

Who could stop the maddening love of Laila?
The house of wandering Majnun in the desert had no doors.

maana((-e va;hshat-;xaraamiihaa-e lail;aa kaun hai
;xaanah-e majnuun-e .sa;hraa-gard be-darvaazah thaa

~Ghalib

***

How little is the world of crushed ones!
Even an ant’s egg appears to be a sky.

kyaa tang ham sitam-zadagaa;N kaa jahaan hai
jis me;N kih ek bai.zah-e mor aasmaan hai

~Ghalib

***

Though we reveled in crushing stone idols,
On our way there still stands another heavy stone.

har-chand subuk-dast hu))e but-shikanii me;N
ham hai;N to abhii raah me;N hai sang-e giraa;N aur

~Ghalib

***

They say people go on living on hope,
But I have no hope even of living.

kahte hai;N jiite hai;N ummiid pah log
ham ko jiine kii bhii ummiid nahii;N

~Ghalib

PS: The translations are mine.

My Lover Discovers Things - Isabel Fraire

My Lover Discovers Things

My lover discovers things.
Silken butterflies
Are hidden in his finger tips.

His words
Sprinkle me with stars.
Under the fingers of my lover
The night shines like lightening.

My lover discovers worlds
Where serpents shining in diamonds live.
Worlds in which the music is the world.
Worlds in which the houses open eyes
To contemplate the dawn.

My lover is a mad sunflower, that in silence,
Forgets the fragments of the sun.


***

Original in Spanish:

Mi Amor Descubre Objetos

mi amor descubre objetos
sedosas mariposas
se ocultan en sus dedos
sus palabras
me salpican de estrellas
bajo los dedos de mi amor la noche
brilla como relámpago
mi amor inventa mundos en que habitan
serpientes cuajadas de brillantes
mundos en que la música es el mundo
mundos en que las casas con los ojos abiertos
contemplan el amanecer
mi amor es un loco girasol que olvida
pedazos de sol en el silencio.

Isabel Fraire (1934- )
Mexico

Sex and Spirituality

What sex has to do with
Talking of spirituality,
Astronomy, poetry or astrology?

Is physics different for sexes
Understanding the theory
Of Einstein’s relativity?

Why then he wants to know first
Who is who, and who is what?
Is he stuck somewhere in a rut

His mind refuses to work?
Remains shut, before he knows
Who is who and who is what?

Did not Lord Krishna say
Somewhere in Bhagavad Gita:
Woman is not equal to man!

Or lower than man in intelligence!
Is he a follower of Krishna
And his holy Bhagavad Gita?

A Poem of Avtaar Singh Pash

Original in Punjabi

I seek farewell
My beloved, I seek farewell
I had wanted to write a poem
Which you could have read till you lived

In that poem, there would have been mention of -
The fragrance of corriander
The rustle of sugarcane
also, of the dew seeping from the trees
and the froth of milk in the bucket
And everyhting else-
That I saw in your body, would have found a mention

In that poem-
The stiffness of my hands had to smile
The fish plates of my thighs had to swim
And the soft shawl of my chest hair
would have reeked of love
In that poem for you
for me
and for life's every relation
There would have been a lot

But it is too tasteless-
to struggle with the contours of thw world map
And even If I wrote that poem, full of good omen
It would have died,
Leaving me and you wailing over its chest

My love, the poem has become very immaterial
As the weapons continue growing their nails
And before every poem
It has become necessary
to fight with these weapons

In a war
Everything is easily understood
as easily as the enemy's and one's own name
and in this situation -
Comparing the roundness of my lips, ready to kiss
With the roundness of Earth
Or comapring the bend in your back
to the breath of Ocean
would have felt like like a joke
And that is why I did not...

I could not make it possible - keeping in one line
Your desire to feed my child in our courtyard
and the totality of war

And now i seek farewell
and now I seek farewell

(And now the last stanza)...

You will have to forhet everyhting, my love
Except this, that I had an unsatiating desire to live
That I wanted to drown, till my neck, in life
You live my part of life as well, my love
You live my part of life as well

Submitted by Rahul Pandita in the final form.
No editing attempted.

The characterless string by Rahul Pandita

Original in Hindi

This characterless string
Is clinging to a stumped pole,
Going around it three times,
In the vendors’ street.

Many lovers she has.
But this one,
This pole is special,
For the characterless string.

Should someone touch the pole,
She uncoils fast like a snake
And snaps back sharply at him.
This characterless string.

When she sees
Two lovers together,
She acts as if drenched in shame.
This characterless string.

She spends her evenings at the pub.
Look there she is,
Walking out all drunk.
This characterless string.

Though in the middle of vendors’ street,
She cooks her hotchpotch in a pot,
Placed in a hearth away from street.
This characterless string.

In the War Zone

Cook the dinner
Till it is day light.
Burn no fire in the dark.
The enemy planes will throw bombs on us
And burn our houses to ashes.

We sit huddled
Around the coal fire.
Burning in a small coal oven.
It is December and bitter cold already
The water is frozen in puddles.

Hush, hush.
Stop the baby to cry.
They will and shower us with bullets.
To silence her.
All windows are tight shut.
The curtains are drawn.
Silence of a graveyard,
Darkness of hell prevails
Everywhere outside.

We had not much for the super tonight.
Some crumbs and left overs since yesterday.
Old apples we fed our goats and donkeys,
We sliced and squeezed
Into the mouth of the baby
Crying in my mother’s lap.

It’s curfew from midnight till eight in the morning.
A stray dog in the street could even be shot.
Hush, hush.
What’s this now we hear – sirens low, then loud.
Is it them again? To throw some more dynamite?
Is it not enough? Not enough already?
They want to burn our donkeys
And goats in the fields!

We hold hands. My mother hugs my sister
And me while trying to stop the baby cry.
My dad is sitting in silence on the cot.
Praying or cursing.
What’s this moment in his head. I will never know.
My mother says, “If the bomb falls over our heads.
And we die. I want you to know, I love you all."

And then she cries. Tears over her cheeks.
My sister cries. I cry. Tears over our cheeks.
Hush, hush. Don’t make sounds when you cry.
They will hear through sealed windows outside.

We cannot even cry.

A couplet of Rahul Pandita

Original in Hindi

Kaise mahaul mein jiye hum log,
aap hote to khudkushi karte

If you knew how I survived
You'd have committed suicide

Basaveshwara, 12th A.D.

Original in Kannada

Let your words be like a strand of pearls
Let your words be like a lamp of gems
Let your words be like a crystal weapon
At your words may God say, “yes, yes”
Should your deeds not match your words
No favors from Kudala Sangama Deva would come

~ Basaveshwara, 12th A.D.
Submitted by Geeta Jayaram with literal translation in English.
The final version here is mine.

A Poem of Rahul Pandita

Original in Hindi

Time does not hang
On trees for me,
It passes like a rope passes
Through a bull’s nose
Binding me

Even if I am still
Marching past my pulse
It still passes on

Carrying its subconscious
In a sack on its back,
To savor the sweetness of future
It still passes on

Once I ran fast after it,
Asking it to stop and stay
Under the trees of memories

Blinking its eyes it marched ahead,
Saying if it did stop,
My pen too would stop,
And only when it moved
‘Now’ became ‘yesterday’
Making my memories thundering in the skies
And passing them on into my pen

Time moved on
I turned back

Reaching far back,
I heard the skies thunder
And my pen moved on

Ghazals of Lakshmi Khanna 'Suman'

Originals in Hindi

I

Come, sit down here beside me
Let’s talk about our sorrows ‘n happiness

I too have been longing for long
Gentle winds of the village for coolness


II

Anywhere someone shows love or hate
Or fire and water in spate

I go on blending myself
There in their wake


III

Listening to their bloated words
I kept on wondering what to say


IV

For some sin that I committed
Even my God is now angry with me


V

Life is memories, realties and dreams
Life is love, and too hardship screams


VI

Those who went looting the world yesterday
Are begging others for their bails today


VII

I’m slowly losing all that simplicity
Being affected now by the airs of city


VII

The wind is now blowing so Westward
Even at home they treat me as homeless

--from Is Bharay Bazaar Main
Minerva Press, New Delhi

Bhai Veer Singh and Shiv Batalavi

Two Punjabi Verses

You came to me in dreams,
I leapt to embrace you.
But you were pure light,
I could not hold you.
My arms kept trembling.

~Bhai Veer Singh

***

I will die young
I will pass away full of life
He who dies young
Becomes a flower or a star

~Shiv Batalavi

Truth

A roller coaster
Up and down,
Is up for
Moments of fun,
But down
Finally down,
On the ground.

Planes flying
On false wings!
Are there really
Such things?

Truth cannot be
Hidden in trash,
Finally it comes out,
It comes out.

Annoyance

What annoys me most,
Is my loss of freedom
To annoy you utmost.

Aliases or no aliases,
I will annoy you,
Taking you down.

Down, down
I will bury you,
Under the ground.

An Urdu Couplet

Dil jala hai to zaalim, zara ghar bhi jala kar dekh;
Duniya ko kuchh to pata chale ke kahin aag lagi hai!


Original in Urdu:

If your heart is on fire
Let your house burn down in flames

Let everyone know then
What's going up in flames

A Kannada Poem by Prathibha Nandakumar

A strange thing happened this morning,
The mirror stared at me,
Telling me to go and pack everything.
Ignoring it I went to the kitchen
Where on the gas-stove oil was boiling,
A mouse trap and roach killer
Were there among other things.
Look, learn from Hoshiang they retorted.
But that’s all I do, nothing new
Nothing else is there that makes sense.
So scolding them back I finished
All the work I had to do.
Coming out it so happened
I knocked down the mirror.
It shattered.
I could not see my face.

~Prathibha Nandakumar
(Literal translation by Geeta Jayaram)

Final free verse version by myself.