Of Corporate Social Responsibilities

Triketora, in the gilded monuments
Of our choices to do good in this world
How shall a Pinterest princess live
For utility, or craft, or boards that dance alive

Like as to make the appetite of
Our New world more keen
And to frame the justice that sparkles
Where women might be the equal of men

Triketora, there monikers make me swallow slowly
These policies of fate, that bind us to a course
In being loyal to a brand, are we so Millennial?
I am astonished to thee, and precarious

To trace thy fame, or know thy cause and course
As one affable with an all too familiar ghost
I must lack more than the mandarin tongue
To live in the strength of others, and find

Thee at the office of my Muse, short hence,
Where I neglect my duties to attain to thee
Greeted by the silence of your mind.

White Nights of Beijing

China, do you hear whispers of the people?
I’ve written down the words
That a country doesn’t dare to speak
But the firewalls are large and heavy

And Hong Kong remains lethargic too
The umbrella revolution didn’t get far
Can students change the world?

Let the leaves rustle and the economy slow
The horn cries and the people do not move
It’s back to the drawing room, I hear
The factories are becoming robotized

You travel an entire day to bring
Your Mother a bouquet of flowers
She has never received one before like this

You came to Canada in idleness and prosperity
But now you realize the years pass silently
In the homeland, while you think of yourself
The people suffer, more miserable than you

I’ve not lit the candles but I know
Which way the wax runs, in times of
Masks worn in dark corners of Beijing

The air is no longer pure, sunsets gloom
With the light of the drunk sounds of
Brainwashing and patriotic outcries
This is not North Korea, but this is control

I speak those words, today, that come
Born of the spirit of history, I know
How the decades go, preserving tradition

Enhancing glory, bright bouquets that press
The people into the streets, without answers
A clavichord of feudalism staining
The times with guilt, that some make it

While the sea of people must go without
I will not belong to a world of inequality
I will not thrive until we can share it.

P.S. A world of nations and patriotism is not a free world. One world, one future.

Notes from the Future Underground

(Love letters to Asia)

I snow dive into you
Like the air of Autumn beating
Against your chest, the yearning

Of youth that is no longer young
Trapped in an aging body
My face knows no mercy!
I am the dove of white stitching
With a heart for a stranger’s smile

I’m an open lake of enigmas and
Surreal plaything of golden leaves
If you wish to, look into my eyes

There is nothing but guarded purity there
An endless array of ideals before sunset
I’ve cherished things and people
I will never meet, never see
But simply by knowing they exist

I am made more noble, more caring
About a world that shows only
It’s rough underbelly, it’s trials and stupidities

A civilization so vulnerable that believes
Capitalism will last forever
But I see the cracks in the system
The memory of corruption bare
And I will not agree to disagree, I will fight

For a revolution if need be, while I am young
Chilled and numb, I will not take
My place among the profiteers

Who joyless create a dead world
I drink to my soul, with the straws of eternity
And have distance foundations in my view
I strategize with machine learning paradigms
For more than flowers of written down words

I strive for an Autumn of convergence
That won’t be attainable until many years from now.

P.S. Instagram is blocked in China.

The Womb of Everything

Eun Ji, life on the planet is born a woman
I’m not ignorant to the fact
In their wombs the magic is held
In their bosom sweet like fresh gossip
And the roots of familiar chimes

The moment of change is like a woman
Changing fairly well I assume!
Adapting and socially connecting
Though a thinking woman sleeps with monsters
We false name the beast we loved

In order to call him a Man we admired
It’s exhilarating to be alive near a good woman
You feel in her the idea that
The planet is awakening though
I sometimes wonder what a mother’s battles are for

Her child with sickness, poverty, lack of education
Waged in love and with the passion
For survival, how many women must be sacrificed?
And art whose honesty must labor through artifice
That cannot change the place of a woman

In such a barbaric society, as this?
Let them rule the world, I’d say
If they had the time, birth rates are declining
So what’s with the glass ceilings, friends
It’s their bodies, it’s the destinies of women

That have to change, to change the world
The world won’t change without them
False histories are made up of
The power, money, politics & war games of men.

#TheStruggleIsReal

Eun Ji, do you remember me?
I was the one that heard thunder
When you most wanted storms
We’ve always been about burning stars

Our letters were unearthly and radiant
And we took all our cowardice
And wrote it down for all the women
Who never dared to speak their minds

We were, feminists before poets
And for the festival of the dead
We rot their sacrifice in our rituals
And if all is looted, betrayed, sold again

Our words will flash with the wings
Of black deaths, brief plagues
And all that was once glorious
Will be glorious again, aloof with

The smell of honey, I’ll be the one
Walking you to reincarnation
I know you know this, that when
The dust of freedom settles

We’ll be the gold smell of the
Mouth of sunlight, when the
Future ripens suddenly, in a terrible
Festival of dead leaves and brief realizations
We were made for this #TheStruggleIsReal

I Loved the Illusion

The only legend I have ever
Truly and sincerely loved
For the span of my lifetime
Is the future, like the story
My metaphoric daughter would grow

Up to see, I would prepare
An environment for her of strange consonants
And hope the world delivered her
To some kind of star-lit narrative
Worth living, empowering, fully alive

And the best thing about the legend is
Is I can practice it anywhere, at any time
Hope is for a better future, where and when
Time does not own us and profit is not mandatory
And we are not slaves to an outdated system

But whitebeams, creative and free
In the glowing night, waiting for the stars
To show themselves after winter
And, I’ve waited all these years
I will say nothing significant until then

Poetry begins where language communes
With the shadows and rare software that
Can encapsulate the meaning of a person’s life
We who have sleepwalked this world
Long enough, know our place

Our brief conviction of desire were hardly
Stepping stones for others, though
I loved the illusion and the sense
That legends mattered and stories were personal.

I Pass Death with the Dying

I Pass Death with the Dying

Has anyone supposed they are
Lucky to be born?
In this corner of the Universe
With this kind of a spark?

I watch the nature of my generation
Go extinct, the species
Have their last autumn
While the corporations thrive

And I have to wonder
Where is the gratitude
One of a dominant species
While we spend billions

On military to protect ourselves
From the threat of each other
How shall these worlds
Protect themselves from us?

Has anyone supposed
We disgrace the Earth
In a self-centered kind of dream
Where to profit and have families

Exceeds all other cause?
Has anyone supposed we are
Luck to be born?
And that living is about learning

To give back, I suppose not
We are pragmatic opportunists
More interested in sex, comfort
The survival of our genes

While our institutions like democracy
Have become so corrupt
Half of all people refuse to vote
Has anyone supposed why it is
There are no revolutions anymore?

Begetters of children are busy surviving
Consumers are tricked into buying
For me lips that have smiled
But not for ignorant cities

Built on the destruction of nature
Has anyone supposed
We are lucky to have been born?
In a time of so much change

That machines and supercomputers
Might turn us upon a more righteous path.

The Future Happened while you were Working

The Future Happened while you were Working

Stop all the clocks, the future is now
Silence the sceptics, global warming is real
Species are dying, oceans are wanting
I thought love in a human form

Would last forever, maybe not?
Stop all the clocks, democracy is broken
Silence the masses, your vote means nothing any more
The myth of your freedom

Was conscripted a long time ago
Before you were born, stop all the clocks
You’ve been deceived, false advertising all around
The news is distraction, the elite are hoarding

While the poor grow poorer every day
Stop all the clocks, the stars are not wanted now
Put every state back into the Dream, it’s a heist
Of the takers on the taken, it’s a heist

On the slaves for the masters
Stop all the clocks, no one cares about revolution
We have been conditioned to be good consumers
Bring out the coffins, for a mourning generation

It’s going to be genocide, barking dogs, no juicy bones
Only hollow patriotism, white-washed pockets.

S l a v e r y to a Fake Future Reality #amwriting #revolution #policestate #matrix

S l a v e r y to a Fake Future Reality

What of the study of realism
In a world becoming simulative
How can we tempt the children
With reality, when they are lost
In augmented virtuality?

An angel’s lips to kiss, we think,
But not a girl by their side
No flower-bells to haunt

Only designer babies I am afraid
Who are the masters of machines
More intelligent than them
What of the future, when
Revolution will be improbable, impossible

For the elite will be the state
And democracy will all-trodden blink
For men who as youth know they

Will never own a job or be possessed
By the kind of value their grandparents
Took for granted, is this real then?
This economy where a few profit
For the sacrifice of the many

Where every nation is in debt
And every house is over-priced
What of the study of realism

It has become a lost art
And loveliest of art and poetry
Goes unseen, unheard and unread.

Let us look to the bend of the road

Pictured, the talented and gorgeous Tina Chang, Poet Laureate of NY.

Let us look to the bend of the road

Last night I found my face spilled
With the water of palms older and lines wilder
It seems they changed a little over night
The dawn is sometimes mischievous

Her light is a wounded pink as if,
Not truly ready for morning or new breath
For this world can be ugly, her children
Brash and unruly, fighters in their own right

Like a short woman of Asian descent who must
Fight for everything she has gotten
Taking gender studies classes has a majesty of bite
In her words, like a daughter who marries late

And berates others for mispronouncing her (Bengali) name
Identity is birthright, part destiny
And waking life is sometimes more burden then cheer
Some of us fake the drama and others seek it out

To feel alive drive home the muse
But the water doesn’t always turn to wine
And the frustrated authors don’t always turn out right
A silver blur across the skyline and you hit 30

The idea of revolution wasn’t holy
It was a necessary invitation to danger
To change the world, you have to risk everything
Loveless one, Sani, divine-child

We live on timetables that summon nothing
Tired of waiting and wanting, the clocks
They will run out, and we’ll be tired
It’s all nothing but a passage, lovely minutes only
When we start writing again.

Wrinkles on our dreams

Wrinkles on our dreams

I woke with marble in my hands
What does it mean?
I am descendent of centuries
Not independent, not autonomous

I am a falling into dreams
Of generations and pupils of elders
It would be very difficult
To think of myself as separate

I inherit euro-centric bias
And I take part unwittingly in patriarchy
I live in an economic simulation
What does this mean?

It means reality is not culture
Social conditions is only a layer
Of existence, my hands disappear
In my dreams, for I know my ancestors

Committed murder, waged false wars
So a few could profit
And the many would remain slaves
Feudalism never died, it only

Masked itself in a homogenous
Globalization of pretend liberties
I wake up with dreams of my own
That I’ve likely been programmed for

My desires are the software
And I am the obedient application
I labour, I do what I am told
How can I innovate in a world

In a world where strangers
Are competitors and scarcity
Is a growing concern of failing economies
I haven’t seen myself in the mirror
Where has my soul gone to visit?

Too poor for activism

Too poor for activism

Pretty words are not enough
They were never enough
Sometimes, they were just
All we had, without actions
————————————

Like cowards, we wrote
We tripped on beauty
Lyrical, sweet, like pretty
Necklaces of lace lit

By the lanterns of our moons
We cherished our pretty nothings
Calling them precious, we
Stood in our own myths

Self-aware of ourselves only
As the center in our own game
We crafted what we could
On Earth, like a soul on a mission

Pretty words are never enough
Revolutions are rare and bloody
For the majority of people
Have no courage, no true inspiration

To fight or stand up
For what they believe in
We are all watered down
Moderates, shy to go against the norms

Where women are raped in India
Where women are hit in Mexico
And women are killed for family honour
In many places where marriages are arranged

And here, where the internet
Is being monitored and our privacy
Is evaporating in regulations
Of the firm resolve of a police-state
That likes to call itself a democracy.

The Lost Sunstones

I’ve swallowed
Glances buried deep
In the heart of soul
Between strangers

Who will never speak
Again with their eyes
My mind transfixed with sunstones
I’ve loved the nuances

Of a life that passes
Too quickly, all of the names
Are gone, all those doors
To my soul are gone

I’ve read books that
Knelt at the feet of dreams
While time folds my brain
Into a quantum piece

Of energy, what I was
Is going, ripening towards
The future that
Does not belong to me

It belongs to you
I’ve swallowed visions
Of a world not governed
By blood-thirsty schedules

Of minds not conditioned
To be slaves, to feed the profit
Of the few, and to lead dull lives
How much of the routine
Can you survive when
Your inner being is
In a quiet state of famine?

BEING HUMAN

I having loved ever since I was a child
A few things, the treasured taste of words
The affections of philosophy
And the aesthetics of the future

I, having shyness of poverty
Studied the mystics perennial
I allied myself to ideals that never die
Like progress, revolution, art

The empowerment of minorities
No matter what party is in power
Corporations or Artificial intelligence
I, having loved ever since I was a child

A few things, being human without enhancements
The affections of spirituality
Decline to merge with the machine
Or the great system of control
That is all inevitable for others coming after.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/18-87998490

NO WASTED TIME

Dear youth, you cannot know
Your true potential, until you are Old!
Your Future lies ahead of you

So grip self-compassion like
A crusade of your secret revelations
The world can only Change by

Your touch, your ideas, your victories
For we do not all have your energy
Dear youth, you do know right that

We have tried to build a World of peace
That you might prosper, grow up good
But our life is brief, faster than you think

Our time is short to do Good acts
Thoughts do not keep abreast
Experience is the wisest teacher…

Dear youth, with curiosity free from fear
Be ever social, create the paradox anew
Do not be perplexed by the old instincts

Sex, beauty, knowledge, power
Their time will pass too, but plan
To share a loving cup, and never hold a grudge

To find one’s place in life, can take
An entire lifetime, don’t you know?
You were made to be pioneers

To give Evolution her lasting gifts
Of revolution, and a proper place
To those who have no fair champions

Waste all the time you require to become
Who you were meant to be, Dear Youth:
Learn first-hand your chosen goal’s special charm.

Treatise on Revolution (Kabir)

When the bride is one with her lover
Who cares about the wedding party?
When the divine is what you hunger for
What can’t you not stand in this world?

Throw away all religions, all corporations
And trust in a love of humanity and all life –
For history troubles us with her scriptures
And systems simply trap us in their ruin

Admire the diamond that can bear
The hits of the hammers of time
Plunge into the truth, find out who the
Inner Teacher is, enough of false authorities

Hang the body and the mind between
The arms of the Beloved, in the ecstasy
Revolution, where the world can be reborn
Into something less like a stubborn master
Into a world where there are no slaves.

Brave American Planned Holocaust

The night the world was going to end
American news portrayed fake terrorists
A propaganda machine to delude
The light of one candle, one corrupt

Dream; the puppet-masters colluded
With undisclosed profit from War
To orchestrate an End-times to reset the rat-race
We put on high boots to be ready

We stocked our basements with supplies
Because we wanted to survive
The night the world was going to end
American agencies had fractal algorithms

To control and manipulate the hearts of men
The betrayers of the New World Order
Arthur C. Clarke wasn’t too far off
The conspiracy theorists speculated for years

On the hierarchy of the warped economics
America was the heart of darkness
The origin of the greatest pangs of capitalism
The playground’s edge of World War III

In the modern day Game of Thrones
Our whole families slept when it all began
The bankers had plans to be followed
The revolutionary protestors were too late

The New World order would rise
After the great fall, some cataclysm
On the eve of anarchy, some treachery
Of false Presidents, false worship of money.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-birth-of-galaxies-377871216

Sighs for Autumn Rain like Armageddon

When Autumn comes, the grasses
Will rot and die, like memories of haunted love
Gone wrong, like so many things in history
The past remains a dead closet of dreams
The stems of feathers too must die
Like the enchanted glowing of our hearts

That once were, now countless flowers bloom
Letting go to the colors at their cores
Their nectar and sap will not be studied
By scholars, only lovers in the present
The cold wind will moan on your white hairs

And I will breathe in that damp fragrance
Warming you with a kiss, if we still remain together
Ceaseless is the melody that distinguishes our lives
When Autumn comes, China’s silken quilt will be torn
America will stand in the rubble of its own demise

The standing grain, maybe it won’t sprout as always
We will go to the market like an impoverished farmer
But happiness will be locked behind iron gates
Our wallets will be seized by corporate thieves
We will not think of revolution then, that is for the young

We will attempt to live in harmony with the times
The rustling rain will hasten the early cold
When Autumn comes, maybe we will stand alone again
While children blithely rush through wind and rain
While geese fly hard and high with their wet wings
Will you still come to me in the lantern-lit night?

Photography Credits: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/The-Four-Seasons-Spring-73886187

Graffiti Before Apocalypse

It’s a final exam to believe
In cosmic consciousness, it’s difficult
To believe that a new world is waiting/

When the budget tells you
Quantum physics doesn’t matter
Ghost in the machine, the crocked/

World keeps getting faster
The overall emptiness of matter
Better exploited, transistors more atomic/

The world keeps getting smaller
But then why do you still feel so damn far!
It’s a universe language, to want/

To be loved, to care about the state of things
But it’s a diffusion of responsibility
When the old boys club keeps/

Giving you the chills, at how
Patriarchy and military spending
Still rule the world, it’s hard to trust/

Humanity, when you realize
It’s still the bankers who own you.

Maybe I Loved You in Another Time

To the one offering the most
I’ll throw you with fervor
The intimacy channel
As if I were twenty again!
I’ll whisper to you my blond text

Barricade myself in poetry for you
Like a seasoned artist
In love with love, making beauty
For beauty’s sake, this
Petty song of my same-old revolution

I’ll call you the last revelation
Of my creation, mounting syllables
To suit your needs, to tailor your curves
In the alphabet of your most intimate voice
Like a blade of knowledge, I’ll cut you

Yes, like a young soldier dying
From neglect and love-wounds
I’ll tell you how I’m the lone survivor
Of too much will to love
I know it’s not really a news-flash

Simply, the price of delicate boredom
Strung out in a treasure vault
Of living in words, secluded form experience
To the one offering the most
I’ll give you this, melodies predicted

For the same reasons that makes your body
A womb I cannot intoxicate myself in
A period of mining your feminine sun
I have not the Venus laments left
To trick you into defiance of your self-defenses

So instead, I’ll wait for snow to cry
In April’s unrelenting gloom.