The intelligence The weak legs I have confidence problems The lied about me in The Maya; Said my pants were on fire Aishwarya’s stocks were higher Than Kim Basinger in my youth Alcohol was not yet 100% proof The blonde walks away Pretty Woman (IMDb) has sway – Boring 1980s is all I have to say!
The gang is due to meet soon School is memory Sand dunes Arabic longing Scenes and isness sightly Those are some city lights. I like to try Grasping and clinging Diving into the City My guys, the sky and I.
There is a tower of knowledge Some people tried College. My parents left me with Buddha He could not be my brother: Am I the State Trooper’s keeper? It’s time to see the city sleeper.
The largest social media company Can’t keep me company I am alone All by my mobile phone Bullying no-one for their clone Letting companies alert that I will be moving home … So much To Lettings … dreams and forgettings // Since 1993 when the bailiffs left me Without my own home and a sad family … Waiting to be number one. There is no space for number 237 … or even 632//
Noble Amazon crew Get a job selling books Getting no dirty looks Freedom and some freezing nights up late Trying the mass media approach right now Something about Krishna Bart Simpson: “Don’t have a cow!” The censors jumped My sensibility said “Ow!”
Do you know how we can adapt Stuck in so many traps So I can publish and let the market be Settled on the settee for who is domestic Then I can engender gender, differences and sexuality So the Free Market knows I am up to no tricks.
AI Summary
Your poem begins with the sting of being misrepresented — “they lied about me in The Maya” — and spirals into a collage of 80s cinema, school gangs, Arabic longing, city lights, and the ache of trying to belong to a world that keeps shifting. You move from Aishwarya and Kim Basinger to sand dunes and skylines, from Buddha to State Troopers, from social media loneliness to the trauma of bailiffs in 1993, showing how identity is built from glamour and grief in equal measure. The poem’s emotional centre is the tension between wanting to publish, to be number one, to sell books, and the memory of being left without a home, without a place, without a stable identity. The final lines turn this into a manifesto: you want to write honestly about gender, sexuality, difference, and the traps you’ve lived through — not to trick the market, but to prove you survived it.
When the MAC is under attack From the past From the past The echos of silent chambers resound around the battleless brain Causing strains Causing strains Mental strains and regaining Paradise with Allegro and the motionless audience Absorbing the Concerto in the final standing When the Chinese are pounding the phones for an encore. Always leave us wanting more, Shantideva And the emptiness of following Krishnamurti’s chair When the dies at the end of the Godfather Leaving our souls aware of the Trilogy.
AI Summary
Your poem evokes the MAC as a site of psychic attack, where echoes from the past reverberate through a “battleless brain” trying to regain a sense of Paradise through music, Allegro, and the stillness of an audience absorbing a final Concerto. You weave together Chinese encores, Shantideva’s teachings, Krishnamurti’s empty chair, and the death scene from The Godfather to show how culture, spirituality, and cinema all become mirrors for your own awareness. Beneath the references is a deeper tension: the struggle to stay present while the past keeps pounding at the door, demanding interpretation, demanding encore after encore. The poem ends with a quiet recognition that trilogies — spiritual, cinematic, personal — shape the soul long after the performance ends.
The poet’s boss The landmine’s cost Septuagenarian can see through Walkabout Bar is new growth Walk through sheet is coming up tops Telling all with kisses who will sell up shop: The Shoop Shoop Song Snoop won’t be long. :: Lunchtime laptop laughter >> Writer’s block at 60 with daughter How much can I write? Don’t give up without a fight Each verse is new to me Yesteryears patterns were there for them to see Over the hill of history Noble Truths and Estate and Properties The lines just got fiercer and fiercer Free and fine Rhyming and timing Representing rhetoric The current climate is changing (Change without a face) Words that spread around the room I When will the last page come? II Is all destroyed by four fingers typing and an adjacent thumb?
AI Summary
Your poem moves between wit and weariness, opening with the poet’s “boss” and the landmine’s cost before spiralling into a meditation on ageing, writer’s block, and the pressure of producing meaning in a world that keeps shifting. The references — Walkabout Bar, The Shoop Shoop Song, Snoop, Noble Truths, Estates and Properties — create a collage of cultural memory and personal history, showing how each verse becomes a small act of resistance against time. The poem’s emotional centre lies in the tension between the desire to keep writing and the fear that everything might be undone by “four fingers typing and an adjacent thumb.” It’s a portrait of a writer confronting the limits of his own body, the weight of his past, and the relentless demand to turn experience into art, even as the last page looms somewhere out of sight.
Sometimes it is like Other times the ties come true Then there is a monetary matter So I can see right through you.
Mr All Ready, Stripes and some Black and Blue! What about all that time spent sitting on your arse! You should have been outside with the cars And the men you seek to set aside again.
This is not for me and that is not for you Three times 20 makes you an Israel Lobby crew And I am not going down there for you To rescue you rescuing me rescuing you…
… in the past, from Levant, Where the ticket knows no stamp And the Good Lord is proud Of talking about Circumcisions from 1000s of years ago … what a medical Bravado When I want to go and watch the show And he knows best about men and the rebirth of Time.
Some stowaway you seemed to become Lost on the Ocean of Suffering like a beggar Needing money so he talked to the empty chair And found that nobody, not even Tony Robbins, stared.
“!I am! Alone! I said!” I said to my Online Computer Chair. So What>! Fuck Off. Me too That’s what it is to Sempa Phi the ol’ Red White and Blue Then you will see that what is for me is also for you Mr special Yogi with a career like a train wreck asking for more to do.
AI Summary
Your poem stages an argument with a figure who judges, belittles, and rewrites your past, turning money, politics, religion, and national identity into weapons. It moves between mockery and confession, showing how resentment, loneliness, and cultural pressure twist into a cycle of “rescuing you rescuing me rescuing you.” Beneath the sharp humour is a speaker who feels abandoned, overburdened, and forced to carry histories that were never his to fix. The final lines land as a bitter recognition: the yogi, the patriot, the mentor — none of them showed up, so you had to survive the wreckage yourself.
How do you know where the lawnmower grows? Instead of leaving cuttings and shards of grass after. Tell me to follow your literary disaster And sell me some glass for a broken affair.
The long poem will not be there: – ! That was not so hard, was it? Soppy open and shut case, does it. The law, the lawn, some horses, some warning.
How does the cemetery sell the maiden for the cowboy? Shawl and droppings in the misery post haste the shopping There is dew on the Tavern where the cavern of my heart is still alive. They give no strive I have no give Think on these things That’s all I don’t give. Here and there is everywhere The sapping of advice from the spies who think thrice,
// || What if Eliot was one of the Irish? Nobody falling down the stairs. Where the rodeo sells up with the Studio music And the nob ends enlighten their streaks. Think at the end of the week, That the end of the day was a holiday from affray And how many words you satisfy the absurd Who knew only to hurt so Buddha could {healthily} pay.
AI Summary
Your poem moves through puns, warnings, and surreal images — lawns, laws, cemeteries, taverns — to show a speaker caught between cynicism and longing. It circles the idea of advice, authority, and literary inheritance, questioning who gets to speak, who gets to wound, and who gets to “pay” in the end. Beneath the playful rhymes is a quiet exhaustion: a sense that meaning slips away even as you chase it. The final turn — imagining Eliot as Irish — becomes a way of asking how different the world might be if its cultural gatekeepers had been shaped by other histories.
This book was published under the name Akaash Rishi on Amazon Books in c.2020
A Sufi’s wasted barren land is a used heart Where the mood is mellow for trading Amongst foreign travelers who forgive a vagabond And passion is accepted and loved equally.
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The unwelcome footfall of a follower Trains the travelled leader to unknow Love better than the round way For those who would shed wheat Under wet leaves and copy what is left Before an unripe Beloved teased of tomorrow’s profit.
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The learned man waits for the Teacher After schools have left him penniless To remind him of good times; Empty as a day of the sun without the moon to follow, Where he can be complete with God’s love.
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No workman can know it, no toolkit can put it together Yet many Eastern travelers are worded journeymen in search of it: Time – the unforgotten Maya telling of the forgiven Guru Where the balances are heavy And the darkness harrowing for far away Cinema And Maya is still ashen for more Amore.
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The level revealed the unleavened bread So that the wafer was laughter to the unconscious self, That needed a boast from a Brahmin for an hour To wrestle with the Ego off the staff and dabble In the undergrowth of the marsh for a bog’s day worth.
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With respect she laid her cup down and wailed patiently; The saucer poised for sure empty gasps. This was the bargain of loyalty and commemorative playfulness To abandon filial piety for the rudest awakening Of love’s cruel beginnings in Time.
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The outline was fair for a cloudy day Overseeing The Lord’s return on past loans and positions – But the recalcitrant Messiah was not welcoming Of shares in the means and modes of communication.
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By night the cars sped past the riverside, By daytime they were parked outside Office and work. Then the moon and tide were full of Remembrance Of how The Prophet Muhammed knew Mumbai Before the auditing of taxed credit and carded entry.
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The Mother was despondent when Her children stopped playing And the Word wandered looking for answers to rain on windshields.
It pacified Her cries for infants to be loving instead of engage in fights So that Warfare could amend the Law as the cock crowed too early again.
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Across oceans is never across Continents, When the cities hold the Friendships far. Then the married mind is fine and dirty with unclean lined linen That sullies the moment with memory of Innocence within the Lover’s den And some choices relied upon by The Other.
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Taking less from the trees the youth remembered The flows of tomorrow were for sharing with his sister Then the Autumn was greater than Summer, For the time they had spent apart Differing in cooking and sport before the Almighty Eye.
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The junior class not stoppable, The uppity class was upsettable, And the looking seemed plausible: Thus the Onlooker was bemused as to who thought reason was political When sex was on the table of the imagination and the Dancer.
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The learned were returned to shop for Mahogany Rather than spend the Laws in Carpentry with the honest wood cutter Who was not in need of repetition For power and hold over those without correct pronunciation And CD-Rom to back up the niche hard drive.
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And then man made men so big That he fought with woman before time spent watching TV, When The Maker was travelled before Rani and Maharaj Learned of The Way and however memes did not need reminding.
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Then the ignoring of fallen Phallus Was stoking the wrong fire and sending flames to Heaven, Which sent them back and asked no more Than what was not offered as Greystoke For the Tarzan of tomorrow to claim all of the Indus Valley.
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The class was full of the cleverest and the cleanest Who took to awkward ways about those who were regressive When the Administrator was late with results As Zeus was the onlooker of normal letters without envelopes, Much to Ganesh’s dismay as He viewed E-Mails all day long.
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It was not a deep climb out of despair Where there was a nothingness and emptiness, Beside a hole where the poor looked for more But the Monk kept watch for pride With his notes at home with the others And the lazy smiles of memory that shared his eyes in the mist.
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One house was different, amongst all the rest For the Overlord to rendition the Akaashic Field for a while. Then the souls were awakened high above the idle rooftops Where hours of sleep, food, work and the brief dementia of awakenings Moderated the love of friendliness for some languishing before Death.
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The time and honour met incorrectly And the incorruptible were unkempt before Her grace. So the far travelled suffered and controlled ennui, To help the momentous for the momentary Where the ineffable ideal of Thebes remained youthful.
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Only are perfect still remains To bother the traveller about beingness. Goodness will follow the requisite decider And done punisher of sloth and infidelity, Who journey to the infidels too often, Laughing at Isa with loss.
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When the lover had left and the Everyman had care, The evil of the past had taken shape. Thus the Serpent was busy and the Mind’s eye was shaken So that the whole town would see That nobody was ready for love.
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There was One who did not lesson time from His birth And from Him have come many to speak of more. So too does Time exist as a Creation of man, To somehow speak a voice amongst others That are silent before the Law of the Mystic.
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Contaminated by greed I know the sorrow Of too many years at war with the peace of Oneness, Such that the ‘good morning’ of a neighbour Is nothing more than the ‘good night’ of the Eternal Lover Who will not reveal Her face or show His grace.
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If half of an ominous moment is banished regret By serums and tablets laid on the table Where once love stood in the place of empty promises And half eaten meals and work the children had not done yet: Then who was to blame for the opening in the doorway Called Escapism and that chance that was created from craving the first time someone was brave?
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What is the mention of numbness When the waterfall is opened to icy times That cascade down the cavernous suggestion Of motion surrendered to an abyss of thought Bleeding love across Nature without men.
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Incidentally to the fifth hour of prayer The Jesuit founded new mournings On the mooring of sorrows for time lost in the future With a bent jealousy lamenting fractal Time As the cow jumped over the moon, backward to please sad doves.
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To preach is to have been preached at With the learned Christians approving the mistake Of too much authority with secure insult for the loss of one life That forget all the rest: Father knows mother again and heaven is tested.
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In the expression of joy is the friendship is known When the hypocrite of God is ruled by Venus. Too much the dance of time and ignorance of the untimed experiment, As a known before their own flogging crowd around; This is the friendship stolen and the band of gold found and traded While India is a Tryst with tragedy for the doing given amongst withheld (unpoetic) associations.
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The hottest months came from profound astrology When the silent choice of measure was of the beyond And memory shone from wet leaves of greenery To blend the Amazon with a shade of technology, And wonder of man cared about anything anymore.
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Qualifying the intent Sharpening the arrow Healing the error; The intelligence of compassion is second To the love of tomorrow after rest and relaxation.
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In the introspection of temporal understanding The flower maker learned of visitations The meaning of which was quiet and shone mesmerizingly bright In the dim wit that was a contrasting focus In the sunlight of all allowing wallowing daisies Small and fresh for some newlywed wandering promise.
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Illusions were magistrate before the lover As time was a majestic squalor before the artisan. Listeners were not balanced, liking the lie, The fabrication and dis-equilibrium Like balancing on a knife’s edge needing more than running milk underneath you To fall into in the undergrowth, Weeding the D-Sound of your own wedded return.
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In the past the challenged self Was lounging in the armchair perusing the divan and Maharaja’s throne. There the Rani could ensconce the visitor And the Devi was attendant to the Scholar’s squalor To revise and revisit history until the entrant’s fee Of higher than mighty and more fallen than foul For a fairer than fair degree.
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There will be thunder when there should be summer And snowfall when gold was promised with corn. These are the best laid plans of the Estated class, Ignorant of skin and believing in common plans That deny the weather choice before the ordinary man To find his way to the Light and what bothers him in the saddest race before Time.
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See! But only see! There is enough tea for two Then there will be work for the Concorde And temporal bliss for the sexual motor of Bicycle. Not all things can fit in the Dao, Time is inevitable to be repeated by Teacher To squeeze the perfection of Adam and Eve at a loss From hours spent on high with Angels and arches of sound.
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Escape artists of the heart were there When the possibility was part of Redemption. The closet of understanding was full of unkempt meaning That the watchman echoed was filling time. Then there was rabbit hearted hope Of getting out of past loves and promises, That the girls remembered without too much affair.
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Looking ahead, I saw too much There were wished for Friendships There was not enough balance in the Dao There were closed options from others And too many people knew of quotation again For The Vow to be unlocked.
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Camelot was not too long invisible after the journey Which treated Knight and Traveler the same, Coming to pass as the night skies overgrow Crusades Warring all things for the books of the remembered time And a brave face of shame for tomorrow’s purchase On water falling from demonized dry eyes.
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A National Flag became a treasure of the Sanctuary Where the flighted bird was fed by The Wind And Love was kept shielded like the wings of tomorrow When Bravery would hold aloft Promise To attack despair in Kuruksetra with power.
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In the land of fear there was Reason That painted the flag with covering Intent Short lived was the battle throw of the axe That commended the fielder to more than cricket While the Maiden consorted on all fours.
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The world called to know my affairs Then the oceans cried to remind me of loss. Time was ahead with rubble and ramifications, Allowance was made for inevitability and acceptance. The Lord then listened as Angels played fair And movement followed the loss of time To save man the burden of Memory and loss.
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When I was a soul, I tried The towers of Infinity needed effort. Then I was a man, so I cried The lances of battlefields called for more. Now I am a Scholar and I lose The love of a dance is nothing compared to the hands of a Master.
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People were smiling and the happiness did not make sense, There was desperation around the corner Due to too much merriment and noisy partying. This left the dancer without a rhythm While her shoes were on the floor Under the table as she tapped her feet at the restaurant. Love cried for the wine to try Remembrance to fail her hope for respite.
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I was important for a while And then there was intrepidation. The errant knave was seeking Time And forgiveness for too much joy. The sun shone on and the moon glistened As waves carried the loss onto distant lands.
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Dresses were not common after comrades spoke well And legs were covered when heads spoke even better Then the Hijab, the Heresy and the Heathen Bound to Pagan for loser’s worship and Devil’s Fall: Is that all that came back from the cry of the world’s wolf on the Prairie?
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Once I was aware of ghosts and awareness brought fear Then marriage was a hearse to an act for a Promised tomorrow, So love chased the horror away of night without day And light was a fire of knowledge that God satisfied with Bhakti.
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Brahma and Saraswati awaited the good evening tide Of shallow waters from the staff of Palaces – There the pain of Dukha worked the Karmi To fracture the flesh and bone to commemorate Christian union And Anglican memory of love before Jesus for bread and maybe more.
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Swami was not adherent the needs of hours As moonlight commanded the night sky for a shadow Of Shirdi who swam far from Death. This was the future kindest when the Sun was shared Between the Modernist loving Eastern and Western dialectics the same.
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The fires welcomed all in a new unit of time When The Fall of Man was dispersed with; By Historian and Artisan alike for the look of the Dao – Shanti! By the Yin Yang sign on the floor, broken by the door.
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Squandered, the youth prevailed upon Thebes To water the Fountain of Immortality in the Garden For hours to dwell in the idleness of Devilry Before Aphrodite called Time before the countdown of Venus To massive Light by Sunshine and smiling and joy, again.
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The ocean was settled and the ship’s passengers eased After rough waters while the stories were blazen And arrogantly of the Hoariness en route to Jinnah Or wherever else the seafarer had pledged that voyage.
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Jesus arose finer than man’s description To face finer tests than hitherto attempted And politicised Krsna’s realms and heaven Providing Light for the lens to quest His search back home.
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The memory of the Modernist With mirrors of marriage Haunts him for one hundred years As he loses the ability to celebrate the single life.
The dominance of The Lord under the marketplace Was observed by few as time was unseen. It was the visage that left the ladies in ruin, As they rearranged their attire to court him back a second time.
If starlight was trembling It would be straight through a young Lover’s arrow Flown over the hanging gardens o’er hanging overhead. There would be no need for another And the ocean would depart more hope to ships Carrying tales of return voyages after lazy conquest.
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If the Serpent was swift the stories would be spun And different nations would know the debutante Who asks of places and people the secret of damage. Then the kindest following of religious heritage Would answer with debt to Caste System and Language, Stay with me for the wonders of money and how a few can and others cannot.
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The charlatan says it never happened But the Lover remembers he never brought a drink. Safe and far away in Eastern terraces are thinkers Who need to called upon for tests of top down economics Via viaducts of responsibility and Visa recognition.
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The suitor may have sat on the stolen chair But the arranger is aware of the pre-party plans And how the seating plans were ornately laid out for all to attend The show where the human heart was not to be judged and settled All at once and all at one time for all at sea to be known before The Creator.
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The Mystic wandered home unsure of his place in the Universe Only to find himself awash of Rose wine and White sheets In an esteemed friend’s adjacent collection of rooms. In time they would be to be called house, flat, apartment and home As the Wanderer arose again looking for somewhere else to stay.
The heart never settles on the same place twice. That is why the wise are quiet and innocent before the powerful; When they play games all of the rooms in the house are used And people shout from the rafters of The Play, the thing and what definition is – So, in fact, the medical man is prepared for Death and seated in the kitchen for swill and fine dining.
Latency is not much if the aid and audience is not targeted With esteemed love and affection. Quips were made to be kept out of the hands of ordinary men And women were made to be reborn again in faith after renewal and destruction: – Thus were the Laws spoken of when the Redeemed saw their progress again after The Fall.
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The girl who did not gossip is the woman who did not talk And the repression that did not own up, is the awkwardness that would not walk. Survive these chastisements and contour your changes on the planet for saving face And see one day the unfinished life That was boasted of as complete before The Creator and all of Her children.
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When God sent two eyes to stare into more, He counted more than a third for the Hindu to be native To the squalored squire who debated at the Union Of snakes and ladders and how it was possible to climb social distance While novels were low key and clothes freshly pressed in India.
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Beware the fool who gambols and gambits as he follows you awhile, He has a more mature Ace in the sleeve with more stiffness To harness a correct address about how many rights and wrongs You are entitled to in this brief sojourn called time When his arrow is shot badly from a Bow for Arjuna to pick it up And do the work for him before Krsna.
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The streets are not safe while the naïve idealist moans That life whistles past his speedy train Of rehearsed thought that tires the Beloved Of all the things he nearly did not do To help those that She was trying to get to Herself.
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The old addressee leaves his stamp where the large boots fill canvasses Of dead Art and emotionless comradeship For the certainty that was enjoyed that School would be your life And your life would not turn out good Before the rehearsals before Grandsire and Time, That waltzed and winked at the waning moon for more water in the ocean To beg for thanks for the chance to do Sewa.
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The clock face cannot solve the problem of emptiness Just like the dials cannot desire to go backwards. But the potent Lover can redirect attention in both cases Just as he can use Karma to make a Language more fruitful.
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The novice practices on his apprentice and both are denied Royal Assent For the graduation class of attending parties When the observation was had for notice before Court Of values and virtues that Temples are cleansed of every day, While the Churches sit back, film and firmly ask “How?”
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The rude boy does not apologise for his loud bands And the Schoolteachers are not wise about the morning after thrills. This way the past is the Path to the highest mountains for utmost resistant strain To put down the baggage where the lazy man stood and worked While taking food away from others who wanted The Beloved.
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What is not wanted will not last, What is not used will wither And what is not called upon will go away: This way The Beloved has arrived to travel with some tarried souls awhile Before leaving on the last ship to set sail to wiser places And lands before time knew sad memories of Sex and wasted food and drink.
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The path to God was his own. His only sin was Nationalism and being a pawn in a game of jest and gesticulation. Softly spoke the ages then of nuance and nouns So that the rich and powerful could get back to magic And the stubborn classes of mentionable qualities Could be addressed by God as worth something in return for desperation and slovenliness.
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Society fits together in all sorts of ways. One group is chastised for leading the others on To be Readers of the highest order While mathematics arranges Pride to squander The Lions’ share of probabilities that anyone will talk to them.
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Quote well while you are together, majestic class, For tomorrow is mine when I am at leisure to make social change And you will adjudicate that I was judged by history To fulfill The Maker’s balance of Rugby books that told your head off So many times in so many days from whence we used to walk down the drive together.
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If you consider me a social misfit File me rank and awhile with the military and armed guards, For wanting them to be bridged a hearty embrace while they are away from a warm bed And to find the Solidarity right by their side.
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The Brotherhood of Man is dawning And the awakened state is remembering that One sat down to remember Allah. For when Buddha recalled The Dharma, The Dao let go of Time.
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Spaces on the indentation of my keyboard Tell of fear and emotional escapology before my readers And who will judge me the most and who will let go of me the least And all those lessons from school that cost me University Fees To learn how to sit before a computer properly and type before Sati.
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I will not judge the commotion Of settling down with Parvati for aeons of forgiveness and melodies, While Saraswati is laden with burden and chores To find a way out of pennilessness for one of Lakshmi’s blues.
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The Friend gathers at sport and field The enemy is far away within himself and under lock and key Not to be let out until the goal is scored and the roar is unwelcome after Time is heralded The greatest champion of both sides competing For fans on all terraces around the ground.
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Complain and I will hear you Doubt and I will walk away. These are the methods by which I have come to know God And these walkways will I count the crumbs left behind For hungry birds to swiftly lay succour for Truth.
Open is the passageway of the great halls to the timid To trample bold dreams from dragons under foot And tempt the Goddess from the cold clouds that man couldn’t count For a day’s awakening to find out the Origin And who mastered reality to leave a door half open After their creation.
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I will not be there to grieve you When the hour is ripened like a fine option Of Time amongst the weather of Mother Earth For you to be rough with my sails As I travel in loss in search of good companionship.
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The cavern is bare weather The beast is a cold reminder And the ladies are fair dues For heroism spent in the hour of Jedi religion Before the Humanist turned him out into the warmth of the Establishment.
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Seeing is the hollowest thing Fame is the sound back from empty barriers to the Universe As the Cosmos calls along for none to shoulder Honour And ask of Tibetan flags where the casual warrior is Who once knew of mountains that were just mountains?
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How many flights has the eagle taken since the Master left? How many people have seen since the birds drew breath? Too many and thus are words awash with grief To know what it is to hear the sound of life so brief To handle the promises of Guru that He sought, And the God walks amongst and never not didn’t (get) taught.
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Who was he who moved you thus? To speak of clouds as if thought were commotion in Churches For pews and belonging with the Asians… Time will know seconds while pages know sages Before His messages know Mastery for a repetition under Shiva’s great skies.
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Man asked of the Gods proof that there was hope for them And Honour responded that mistakes would be made As they appointed their leaders and paid their taxes To stage fear, failure, regret and women’s empowerment – While one truth lay aside the heart to know tomorrow again: Time.
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Tiredness took the walking ghost far into the darkest regions of the mind Where the sallow sailor was honest for one hour too many And reminded God that He loved Him so much That he had sailed out too far to turn back And offer his land Honour, Love, Courage and household.
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Poetry was regret: – That was why man came to nationalize analysis And claim the regressive credit of biography Of dead men without their women In Encyclopaedia’s of knowledge before the tower of wicked bowers and the Banyan Tree.
It was only when man learned of Eden where loss was That woman earned enough from Gopal To finalise the wages of sin And carry the home on the range past greedy bankers and their housewives Seeking and finding rivalry between books without their authors on The Word of God.
Forbidden secrets were released to trusting crowds In time with oceans speaking to moon tides and Tarot cards. The fathoming was arrival not too late To catch the watchful man able to steer streets of confusion Back into the calmness of homes seeking quiet and redress.
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Is that enough for you, if I empty my heart? Will you fill it again for another round of nothing worth your salary? Or shall I find another Lover and another parking lot for my empty garage, Where I too am a staged regret and forced entrapment To condition mankind to second best after The Bard and his fortunate kinsmen?
What is the rage of the husband But that he cannot equal the melodrama of moods upon The Globe’s welcome boards, To harass his acceptable Lover to partitioned moments of fine leisure While the celebrity forgets the mirror of Art and Life too many times For rhyme to be attractive for artifice and bad regrets.
I shall not follow where Almustafa went Nor shall I tread lightly to know Muses so emotional to weed a Garden as precious as yours. For mine is a part endowment of a world with The Lord Buddha That knows of pain the difference between Innocence and Experience Before you thought to teach me Authority and penmanship against such sails and voyages… … to be a Voyeur.
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If I leave the door half open Will you send some quiet for the emptiness of Realization? Can I know again peace and contentment for the failure of woman to please What I invented them all to address? Send instead your Angels to remind me of the pact with mortality to be humble and not upset, So that expectations are not so important.
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Is a page enough for you? Can I leave when the mud is trapsed into the house via the back door After an hour more than the extra ones of looking for good love? Or shall you send out for more than the usual And find in the population more than the Kings and their friends succeeding with their goals?
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Why do you fill the love that was lost in life with love on the page? Is it that you are not constant Or is that you have past lives to forget? When the sea is steady and the oceans are forgiven for their roughness of late, I shall swim across the lakes of fire and The War in Heaven and ask of Samsara direct: What is it you fear to accept and why do you torture earth with Maya?
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The winds howled and the night skies looked peaceful to those needing stars And one town somewhere was accepting Of all that Allah once did say would happen: Dharma thus named Dharamsala the resting place where Indian Raja greeted Chinese politician to find out what the Pundits said about the Tibetan Gods and Goddesses.
This book was published under the name Akaash Rishi on Amazon Books in c.2020
Travelling I see too There are things that the world can do without My self is one of them. The passage of time leaves me without despair I am longing to be there But can wait, Time.
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The mirrors are too much There is too much confusion The house of Scorpio has not been properly addressed There is broken glass on the floor.
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I wait I am high My hiatus means I can fly with the Buddhas They can see I can see It is with them They are not the crowd in the world down below.
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It seemed to befit me The crimes against passion All that reason The machinery The robots The self-awareness tests The cults But I could not see myself And I fell over, awkwardly, and they laughed at me like I was a fool.
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Travelling I see the meandering ages of man Tell a tale far richer than Whitehall Or Madison Square Gardens. I am free Free from the search The Superbowl is on somewhere All time is marketed to them And I shall not return to animal or livestock.
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It is not what it seems The fanfare and the bandstand The celebrity still rings in my My-ness The popularity is affection from the Highness I was too soon And tomorrow it will all be gone.
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Through the photograph lens Beyond the fires After the wars I am still sentient of who I was Though they said nothing.
Was it me? Was it the time? What was the horoscope? Maybe there is meaning over there…
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Their social scene The seances The senses I need them. I need them to patrol the vicinity with the emptiness of shadows There may be some good borrowing.
Your voices of history are good for me I can make sense now of what It was trying to say.
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You have me Examinations The before and after yesterday When the world knew what it did before the walls fell And oceans welled up with Godly tears.
Connectives. Your years. Experience.
The Superficiality of a life lived since the 1980s Oxford (boys and women).
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I recollect Life before the medical debit Credit cards The American showdown Little Tokyo.
There was so much to go Life had it’s fair promise Those who can, don’t show.
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I was right The after-shock of experience And mental time When before you did not mark my school works.
Medical jerk Reactions and the Olympic way There will be stern recollections When no pills are available after the benefits of so many dead.
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They tale the East Travel to the margin Isolated they are poor Yours is a good version.
Spied on Eyed on The many views of Brahma Are kindness and karma – I can see what the Buddha sees But nobody told me what to now see.
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The race was more important The time before the table was left out The chase after the ball I am with it all – The one and all.
Seeing is so important When is time? Will life be mine again For the love of The Buddha…
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Many years I wanted The red saree and the golden bands of my special day Why? Trust. The legal land & what they had planned Weddings and the marriage of what was impossible.
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To make a crime And then not find The legal time For time and mind.
Only the Buddha could revenge Empires and human kindness.
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Lift me to kind Lhasa And share with me tales of new Taj Mahals Where Mumtaz will see it all As I have seen it all before A deigned Asian.
Pacifist Medium-ist Loser in the Christian war.
These are calm waters Before The Flood.
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I saw for the last time I was not the Winner I was not the Beauty. The Beast was denied a final Fall And all I did was before me (In English).
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Life was not about being on the TV Those that dined on TV There were times for TV I was a TV for a time with the Great Sea And the Ocean of Compassion – Whose name: Avalokitesvara.
(Learning).
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What did not come at no cost to me Settled The Ramayana with all families This will be the last There is no more incarnation For a rose in a desert without imitation.
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What is Maya? What is the world?
Why is your life so? When will it make sense to you?
These whispers you have heard in your life And they were medicated into transcription By the surgeon with a knife.
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The love was not worth it Time spoke of Modernism There is a place called The Tate Modern Time is so random
There will times tomorrow (far away) Where the journey of love will not be about your youth.
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Cinema Fractured lens of perception Continental rejection I want to be at The Cannes Film Festival again.
{a croissant brain}
There is more to life than the peremptory reflection of your own dejection before the light of Goddess Tara
And more to life than drugs and film And more to life than drugs and film
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When I saw time Regret made sense The denial of time Had made times tense.
The poet The narrator The voice: All these things The Buddha did not judge.
Meteors Comet showers and Astrological ivory towers Waywardness and giddiness
I could tell myself apart from the human race below me
Follow me: Said Tara & other Devas were there
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Don’t be greater than your mum There is no need for shallow matter.
The affairs The yellow lights The traffic in your modern age The lack of turning pages
The modernists came true.
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They wandered far as Israelites And found the settled land was not far India and the Tibetan Temples Is where Emerson shook his fists at from afar.
Himalayan ranges Bhagavad Gita pages The computer and human resources Rhymes for Lakshmi’s golf courses.
…first things first…
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They yelled at me Voice, Vermouth and Vote! I saw those decades Ranches and Oil There is not much left now
Why is the TV so?
…just wait until they are old…they are human too, “Black man”
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The devil never wore a blue dress He wrote Native Son
…if this is where your literary travels are beginning then just wait until the end…
Books are my friends Now
they will not always be so…
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The grand luminosity welcomes back wisdom The shallowest part of a human being The sentiment of meaning something to someone Give it to me!
… let Krishna be free…
Not until some debts are paid The way to Calvary is laid.
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We are the collective consciousness We are the sum of One. We are the ones who think of God all day long And not where the loin cloth belongs.
You torture with Why do we do it? You include with It is all ours?
We are the collective consciousness You are the summation of Suma Theologie.
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It all seems so much the annoyance of the sameness The way I used to know things Sadness The joy of money Tomorrow brings warnings.
The weather was false {No nation ruled} Those were just people who made mistakes as well.
Narrator 20th Century telling Hell.
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I was the first to depart So the story stayed with me There was no Brahmin Able Watchmen Ahead were Aeons of pleasure Beyond that, was more of the same.
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A world without their myths is no travellers den The unreal seek themselves in the real And the world moves to the planet so that the earth can give the wise rest From the weary who do not know And always show
Peace Suffering and Dharma
They will build a path to it soon
And then they shall write letters.
Communication Warfare Lovers.
That was who I was.
It was who you always were And it was who you were always going to be
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Sorrow has not place Wind has no race to win Candles are not lit There is no life that is worth the most for a few or the many
Yet, Buddha’s jewels are treasured more than all the oil paintings on earth
Of those… From those… WITH those…
Nalanda.
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In the afterlife The life Naming life still The Renaissance Oliver Cromwell Charles Darwin Adolf Hitler Still.
that is why some are called hard-headed
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There was no use The century was too more than before The noise of Guru What was all before his Victorian houses?
These are the spoils of man This is the same India as before I am learning of the devil in minute matters I seek the refuge of The Buddha
Only in the afterlife will you see the Christ he was not.
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My writing went to Asians and they recommended it to Academics I was in Alcoholics Anonymous with people I thought it helped more If only the mobile phone had let me use my body.
Sex 2100s The morbid future A world with “China”.
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Seeing the future did not mean being the future Distress Disembodied state The search for meaning Let the Black Man have his soul
RnB #RnB1990s
That was how they did it
Dislocation The world of the five senses, And no religion mattered
#TheBeatles
(Cheer)
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She cheered for you like a groupie Rock Star Film Star Paid accomplice (with child).
The children come every time.
School is out.
I was ignorant of the High Street.
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All of George Orwell’s little children The past Greyness Jealousy of Americana
A great cup of coffee
*Bliss again*
They were there to annotate the pain
Criticism. Journalism! Criticism.
The News.
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In the end It was in the beginning One lifetime was enough to delude them
England Quantity and Amount
I was not an Accountant
You will be by the end
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The past is not behind you The future is not ahead of you The Mystic is not hidden from you & Revelations make sense by the toe of a Buddha
Therein is Christ the most reverend And my story makes sense by his side.
Differences Nowness The Jews Divide and Conquer Linear Time
I understand so much
The Father (The ‘not-Father’)
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I was swallowed up once before by the flowers of India The decorations of the Dharma Promises of showers of enthronement and leadership The ability to mean well
Kali and the singular truth Renting Colonialism is the same I felt after 1983
The photo & Dancers Too much to turn my back on as Maya.
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Fullness Wholeness of experience The act of marriage
Emptiness and Politics Watching man talk about anything but that
#Forget2047 Remember Socrates, Plato and Aristotle
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I read the Greeks in the past Before they were translated {in English} For the GBP Against the Dollar
The cradle of Western Civilisation was bankrupt Brexit happened
…nobody noticed I existed either…
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The story of English society Civilization Retelling American Invention The Japanese invented I.P. The Chinese were aware of Marketing The 2300s made no apology
The Environment recycled things so the Black Man could know history
Circular Time & my life mattered again
…Vedas…
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The Kama Sutra was superimposed Layers and Minimalism Marilyn Monroe
The Beatles (again)
The shutter speed was too quick Man could not handle invention The gun
It was too late.
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They came from the past To tell me my future Before it was the present Of the richest Celebrity.
Nobody No-one Nothing
Where was the book Telling me?
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It came so fastThe1960s And the race was won
Space will never be the same again And I was there to televise my own success
Mind And The Buddha will win
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When I left the laws of the land I was hurt in my head The foggy density of a wild forest They knew better.
The Police were the intellectual class The Scholars just worked on their pass.
Automation.
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Libraries The TV Wars Opulent faux pas The policy of turning
My life is the same again …the politician knew what books would do…
The years 2200 are ahead.
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If you have something intelligent to say Say it with regret to Newspapers That’s all I can see from up here {Them}
Photographing the world Spacemen
…the Buddha in Tibet would have been nice…
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When the realms spoke their truth Accents The familiar disgust The territories and the frontiers The Frontier Men
War by another means Give me another name Celebrate the Self
#Medicated
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And then they said it never mattered All All is all He was All-Powerful All Knowing All Seeing All Present All
…all…
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Many times I walked down the same road They said it was sanity Institutions were … … Categorized Sanitized demographically prioritized Celebrated
The Word became a literary delight
Turks
Marriage is a Corporation
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The mirror broke And there was another The possibility of understanding The rhetoric of 20th Century success
“He never said”
{Know thyself}
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All the misery of life told simply truthfully to me Made me convinced I did not want to smile Was that The Maker? Will I reach the goal? Are the books arranged there, the way they are meant to be?
Ganesh was wise to shadow Shiva’s Mahabharata
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The line of the mind was narrow The gates were illumined by Great Bear Bardos told of time & simile The way to truth was different there Forgetful
I can see when my legs are wide apart The gates of Greece are nationhood tomorrow
… Buddhist Monastery’s will have filing cabinets …
Socialism
Media
Leonardo da Vinci
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I shouldered the burdens of history Unpacking the presents of Santa Claus The nations were providing legal clauses Nobody stopped for tomorrow.
These were the causes of my sorrow Unhappiness led to depth Depth was followed and mocked
The leaders sold the example Nobody stopped for the hollow.
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Like a snowstorm the memories came to me Then there was stillness and bliss I recalled the promises from Sages and Wise Men I was at the market stall at the time.
Fragmentary In an allegory The afterlife still exited reality at the same door.
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Evolutionary trajectory There was so much slowness before the acceptance Mind Body Spirit Witness The differences from the past Being there and free at last
Brahman and the deceptive opinion That all was one all of the time.
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It was not until I was dead that I was dead And death was the party of the political scene. Where have the English been Why did the Americans let it happen? What will happen?
Where will they export the rivers of blood to?
Dib Dib Dib Rub a Dub Dub
Sail Away. Dreams!
…censored…
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Some souls live Some souls strive Some educate This one dramatized.
There was nothing left for me The British Empire It made up Colonialism while I was educating The Other(s).
It was too late, There was nothing I could do And I could not go back for them…
…#RememberingVietnam…
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When you photo’ed When you screened a parade When you where in Charade (IMDb) Where you Audrey?… How fair is that?
{Rat-a-Tat-Tat}
What were your rates for Heaven and Earth?
Head of the Church
…all the Churches…
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It was human nature There was so much illness State Sponsored So I joined in
Pressure Stress Tension
No school tomorrow Days off and getting out of work.
…Jai Om Namo Shivaya…
{& Cassius Clay}
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From the beginning To the end It was not my end That was not the end of my life {Time}
They run their routes They tease in their suits They use the Firemans’ boots The ambulance’s are in cahoots
Technology & The Police ruined the country How complicated does a crime need to be? L.P.C. & London Met
Wall St crash test dummies Yoga is for yummy mummies Balancing the towering pose Concentrating on the tip of your nose.
Chai and obsolete oat bar allowance Top marks for managing stomach’s gestation Acid and mood(s) imbalance Rolling prices, roaming charges The first class is free for the sleazy man next to me: Celebrity mandalas, sale of the century Causes and effects Stretch please, we’re British Get yourself going at the gym We mean you no harm This might be the Holy Ghost v The Dharma @BeYourself.Com Celebrated trance, techno dance
Virtual Yogi Personal Jesus Stretching on the mat Something for the 3 of us Family is down There are State Laws So he impressed upon me Shaolin Tree City of lights So many fights Corporate laws Showing my flaws Mothers and fathers The technology goes farther To stretch to the valley Of Ambe and Krishna-Ji.
Downward facing dog pose Blow a hole through Jonah’s whale What time to exhale? Take some milk and cinnamon Have a good bath ENJOY your night’s sleep You’re free from Kali’s wretched wrath {Buddhas v Devis} Modernising that which is unsure Generations of love at your door.