The time of fire

The time of fire

This is the time of extinction
Not meteor or greenhouse
But human-made, ecosystems

Irreversibly dying, that which
Takes millions of years to evolve
This is the time of mammalian selfishness

Who hoard without regard
For other forms of life
They rage with children, billions

The world is young, many countries
Have a swarm of young people
Evidently certain to mimic western nations
And exploit and prosper
The News does not tell us this

That our planet is experiencing
A great drop and loss of biodiversity
In the lightning’s blitz of society’s
Celebration, creatures left their habitats
Unable to cope with the pillaging

The deforestation, the ocean-pollution
The urban sprawl, the short-term rape
This is the time of fire, oil, commodities
For men who would engineer their corn
To be poisonous, so that drug industries

Might profit, weep for the Earth
The Earth who made a bed of love
For our genes from 3.5 billion years ago
All has been passed down
The Earth made a brutal destroyer
Never imagine humanity as civilized.

For Michael Brown and Fergusson

Beneath a black moon
I bled for the mountainside
And for the homeless
In the city of the valley
Where night spurs

In black flanks
Piercing the stars
With the cold whisper
In my throat, life had been
The scent of a flower on a knife

Survival had not come easy
Far away and alone
The black moon did not know
How to shriek for bonfires
The voice that did not know songs

What do you carry, oh
Black youth, beaten by police?
Mixed with your blood
But the true roots of Africa?
Beneath a black moon

The white man, the young race
Is still privileged, but these
Salt tears are not for them
Not for men in suits
Born of privilege and an easy life

I bled for strangers
Killed in a chase-down
Slaves to poverty and ghettos
Where children carry guns.

Treatise on Solace

God wanted you
To go to Him untouched
But what did you do?
You know!
You went to him
With the final love

That comes from too much suffering
You went to God as a human being
Tired of being good
Tired of the sensation of hope
You felt the breath in you
Was increasing in hesitation
And sleeplessness, so you went

To God, To love you sleeplessly
And it worked!
Like an unfinished Dream of god
You stood, half-perfect
With thoughts that were
An unending Reality of God

You woke up, struck then by
The God-Hour of your species
You took the last step, with
A heart of gratitude
Smooth solace for the chaos

Mistaking earth for Heaven
You loved the world with new eyes.

Treatise on Sri Chinmoy

Be universal in your love
For we all come from its being
You will see the universe

To be the picture of your own being
If we call ourselves children
Of God, what is the place

In exploiting each other?
Approach each as a Beloved
For complete and total acceptances

From when we have expertise in empathy
Love being the only wealth
That man absolutely needs

That can heal man absolutely
Love is the only wealth
That God precisely is, since
We all require mercy and poor mysticism!

In underestimating the place of simplicity
In the end of our suffering
Be universal in your love
For it is only in the highest altruism

You are capable, that you attain
Your intended perfection
Try to approach God

With your crying heart, try
To feel the crying heart in others
That you might all approach
The same spiritual consciousness.

“Morning” Means Living Without Expectation

Delayed, till the rest of my life –
My goodness cannot wait
To be spent on the bliss

Of the slow pace of a simple life
Who knows this but
A surrendered face, trusting

The Universe with all that matters
In this imperial route of non-attachment
Like a Buddhist I will strive

To give without asking in return
I have no native town, no home-people
I am but a soul in a form on Earth

A Wonderful rotation of artistic seasons
My “last poems” ended where the silver perished
On my tongue that spoke less and less

The flute of an Autumn morning
It’s all I have to bring today
Delayed, till the rest of my life –

My heart beside the field of all hearts
I throw myself into the river
The river that forgets everything.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Long-Live-Independence-I-413323382

Maybe, Perhaps, O’ Alright

We will use the subtle color “maybe”
we will write magic like before “perhaps”
finally they, who said
‘We will be haunted by the greatest glory’

remembered, the fruits of their labor
under a blinding light of alphabets
the dreamers choose another reality
we will stay drilling our chorus

a neverland of birds, open palms, psalms
the clear water of fresh thoughts
that chime from the future-grafts
space-time collides with the landscape

of the heart, that spells a figurative unity
across our palette, template, painter’s reference
always a wider frame-of-reference
We will throw divine colors into the mix “maybe”

And love all those who cross our paths “perhaps”
it’s all we can do, they said
‘We will live as if, wildly haunted
By the greatest glory and miracles.

Art Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Rocamadour-Watercolor-For-sale-original-413027068

In These Times You Have to be Terribly Careful

As a result of being confirmed
As unable to breathe or think
Confined in the dark, my friends
That is how I know I am dead –
Only occasionally is my heart now moved
By the plight of mortals and

The weight, of their mischievous mortality
They can’t reconcile themselves
To their condition, since their
lives are so full of change
They raise their heads clumsily
Like infants, only to live with a limp

Fearing the inevitable, I was once
Like light, adjusting myself
In the crypt of empty space
As a result of being, after the symphony
As unable to hear the empty music
Confined in the light, my friends

That is how I know I am yet alive –
I will take every occasion thus
To let my heart be moved
By the awkward wonders here,
And the stems of silence like levels
Of the hotel of flesh, where the carpet
Of my biology is somehow too soft.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Petrova-3-412362390

Such Anniversary as Language

Many a phrase, I will never say again
How fruitful are the crickets
In the evening, the darkness itself

Speaks a Billion Suns
How lovely, is the Thunder’s tongue
That cannot spell lightning

But forgives the fact
For many choirs of the winds
That dance along the Tide’s tail

Breaking in bright mornings
Along the sleeping shores
Many a phrase, I will never push

With joy, out from my humble mouth
With a hush of English so deep
Romance is fiction, poetry does recall –

How fruitful the silence of the sun
That warms not by sound, but by waves
To spell slower glory would be to die.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Flowers-in-December-VII-412112014

Debt to Language

Words are a blameless hum
Language is insufficient ultimately
Flowers of through that float
With petals of fluff and wings of air

The thread, that has no needle
Laughter, that has no conclusion
Words are the mischief of myth
A whistle that imitates a bird

Knots of identity that do not fit quite right
Words zigzag and often hurt
And dream of something perhaps unreal
An expedition with no end

Only stories to relate us to the wild
Words defy topography, mask intent
There are no end-time mnemonics for alphabets
They cling to our duality and separate

You from me, us from the universe –
I pity the poets who can only taste
Their own subtle liquor in one language
I for one, am a poor translator of the human soul.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Unikorn-412093929

As Can No Other Mouth

The Worthiness of Suffering
Is ascertained by tasting –
As can no other Mouth, but ours
That grief would be our Savior?

We banquet as if it meant
The meaning of our lives
The Worthiness of Death
Is ascertained by inevitability –

As can no other Body, but ours
That health would be our mate
Across such lonesome years
We banquet on ill-health as if

Affliction makes us feel palpable
Better to feel something, than nothing
The Worthiness of Depression
Is ascertained by our unique subjectivity

As our soul is used by nature
On islands of Earth, until even us
We are struck by what we felt
Were the burdens of others, remote.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/L-enfant-des-trois-chenes-411750522

Don’t Hope for Things Elsewhere

Hasty and awkward were those
Human moments, lived like
An interruption of the Gods
Fate always intervenes in the

Pauses, between free-will & circumstance
We are all symbols of the times
We live in, we’ve wasted our
Human potential, while others

Maybe out-did us, we will always
End up not finding the new country
This city will always pursue you
We will walk the same streets

Know the same old friends
There is no ship for you
No road to take you elsewhere
Hasty and awkward you will

Find yourself a countryman
Of the family, country, era
In which you were born
On a particular planet among

Millions, hush up now:
The black ruins are perfectly normal.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/city-tears-73516396

Children from Africa

Radiant like yellow rock
Beneath the clear skies of four-square purity
I wait, by the coasts emptying
Myself of summer, the karma

Passing from me like a world
Of bright flickers and whispers
I want freshness, the love that separates
Sun from night, time from self

To build an Eden from green leaves
The foliage of belonging that reaches
Past all temporary acts, perceived turmoil
I search for rhythms of the forest

Through light, burning on the water
My ears trance-like and open to
The liquid wings of silence and words
On both sides.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Coast-of-Wonders-58617903

God Permits Industrious Angels

Time, too much, too little
I do not want to live forever
Forever, composed of recurrent nows

There is no exception
To this simulation
Time changes everything

Except for Infiniteness
Those latitudes of home
That we can imagine past biology

Removes the dates, duality
Of mind, faulty perception
There are dimension beyond time

These months dissolve
Into further months, the years
Give way to an exhaling them

And the seconds pound like
Heart-beats of forever now
I do not want to live forever

And I won’t, though miss these weeks
Maybe, without internal debate
Or external pause, life is what it is

Celebrated days among the tragedies
No different from the stuff
The years themselves are made of

Time, too much, too little
You have executed memory
And composed a crystallization of “I”

Though I know it’s not real
There is no exception
To this simulation.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/no-time-48613390

By Night, I Love language

In Night travel I go back to verse
The poesy behind sleep
at the root of subconscious origins
the purest motion of evolution
some constancy of sharing

That beats in my chest
when I was just a fish –
In Night travel I go back to the word
The poesy behind rapture
at the root of superconscient bliss
with starry questions as a single key

To sunlight infinity, there I will beg
The one voice to spread through
all creatures until I feel her eyes

staring back at me from all sides
that sleep might answer, all the sky’s
lovely shadows and queries:
By Night I travel back to the dawn.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/night-165133165

In the regime of hunger

No more of this poetry.
Bring on the hard, harsh real life instead;
Let the jingle of verse disappear
Bury the lyrics of my youth

Like precious Ivory of another time
When the creatures of the Earth were free
No more of this poetry.
No more need for the serenity of a poem

For the empty invisible sense of victory
Poetry, I give you a break today
In the regime of hunger, the Earth
Found more useful things, like family;

The full moon burns like a loaf of
Bread in my mouth, my wife
Waiting for me to overcome idleness.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sophia-and-the-Pilgrim-406349902

We are one Flesh

We say we are one flesh:
Two bodies in one heart
Sharing the cries of star to star
Species united, countries melted

On a girl’s throat from the
Tunic of Earth, with a rose of breasts
And longing that is a mouth
That never has enough food

To couple and not stay single
We say we are one flesh:
With two minds of one faith
Sharing the circle and space

That divides our respective births
Future united, and boundaries melted
On a boy’s muscle from the
Gardens of Earth, with a surplus of desire

And consuming fire
That can never be possessed
Love is the way that lovers never know
The shortest way to find love

That never turns aside and never goes
But which reminds us that
We are one flesh.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Only-a-Way-into-the-Sun-404677679

from The Happy Marriage

Days I remember of
Now in my heart
Days in the nude
Of the fondness of new love

Throbbing with the peace
Of ecstasy of windy grass
September days that shook
With the health of

Death that never was
Or Life that can only be
Days I remember of
An Eternity of the heart –

Waiting impatiently for victory
Of a life that stands still
Or moves sure at last of all things
As the things seen by moon or sun.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Marriage-Wedding-145300777

Alive We are But Vessels

So, I will bend down with my soul
So, I will lay my face in the dust
So, I will find humility after brilliant failures
The songs of living will go on muffled

In my deviant will, my devious heart
I’ve had twenty-thousand desires
To err like this, to say that only few
Things matter, to say that the majority of moments

Will go forgotten, laughed upon, utterly accepted
So, I will bend my will to the nature in me
So, I will love what I was meant & made to love
So, I will find listening in times of bareness

And my life’s precious hours will disappear
Like all hours have fled before me
So, this is it and I am just one
So, the street-dogs will repeat what I have said.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Autumnal-Waters-404640689

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Force for Union

With the pulse of night
I will enact in us, the first movement –
We will slip and flood and
Perhaps embrace, an act of union

To-night, a bit like all nights
With the necessity of being passionate
Culminating in our inexorable care
I am still imperially strong & male

With a colony of youth still bursting within
And senses to witness your body
Even if I have grown older, my brain
Carries with it a legacy of evolution

An act that sprouts so unilaterally free
The rendering of procreation
In a process of beating at your borders
Fluid across your waters, with treaties of peace
Ready to build colonies through caresses of skin.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/milos-island-a-different-world-404266901

to the sweet countrymen of subjectivity

I’ve renounced life for art
as I once renounced love
for spirit, expecting a presence
of universal love to redeem me

art has no rewards but Just Sunrise
seeing beauty in atoms
with a larger function of gratitude

I’ve renounced expectation
for freedom, finding music in silence
friendship in history, truth in words

that seemed as common as
bulbs of silver lit up in evening
scantily dressed with another day’s death

I’ve renounced faith for hope
a scarlet experiment of hunting
the future instead of living in the past

this is my letter to the world
the simple news that is never old
I’ve renounced pleasure for a life-goal

since tender majesty cannot be too selfish
and long-term pleasures carry a destiny
of spirit, working for a presence
of universal love that exists without me.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Golden-Gate-unchained-404119060

It is your choice

Embrace mystery, relish in the unknown
rejoice in the experience of knowing less
and loving more, the infinite depth

of oneness in multiplicity, unity in diversity
The Universe is mysteriously great
rejoice in the metaphors of large and small

and loving more, creation is boundless
once you have started appreciating miracles
the mundane seems slow and unremarkable

once you have started seeing beauty everywhere
the beloved in everyone, bliss in every touch
ugliness and disharmony disappear –

Embrace creation, relish in the event of witnessing
if you start looking at life with a formidable joy
how much of your sad existence would disappear?

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Age-of-Aquarius-167732452

Meditation exists at the frontiers of experience

You are not your mind
You do not belong to your body
Move in freedom and do that
Which brings you total freedom

Each moment give in to the new
Drop the past, the anxiety
That accumulate with restriction
Unlearn the past, so that you may

Learn to die in living a bit further
You are not your mind
You do not belong to your body
You are a soul totally alive

Throbbing, pulsating, streaming
A quantum intelligence beyond
The brain, society, species, of your experience
You are a spiritual organ in a network

Let your ambitions and attachments go
For power, prestige, desire, money
Will not lead you to the pure freedom
Meditation exists when you listen to silence.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Autumn-mood-403551984

Notes on World War III

God and all angels sing the world to sleep
For the end of the world is man made
With the blue tongue of greed, control
The Moon burns in the mind of history

Where war and politics are the domain of the corrupt
Staring, at midnight, into the Angel of Death
A catastrophic power play of midget nations
Yet life is itself, the fulfillment of petty desires

Money, the pillow of the head in the dark
Power, the bent over guitar of the green day
Organics thick-lipped, riot and rebel
For a new world that cannot be born

Till the old world dies of its own inflation
God and all angels sing the world to sleep
That we might die, for others to take our place.

Art Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/D-R-E-A-M-S-398472986

The Death of Motherhood

Life contracts and death is expected
As in a season of coming Autumn
Life blossomed and love was had
As last Spring when everything changed –

When the wind stops, when the flowers
Wave their imposing colors
So temporary, like all things
Calling for pomp, begging for luxury

All to be included in the clouds
Nevertheless, life’s abundance trumps
Life expands and beginnings are necessary
As in a season, to break all seasons

The future was an ideal of beautiful proportions
Where everyone goes in their native direction.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/44-398449586