consciousness

Facebook Queen

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

I’ve made it
They took it away
I’ve seen it
They called me gay.
I have it
It’s all a mirage
I will win this time
UKIP elected Nigel Farage.

We’ll get there
My window’s still open
We’ve made it
They’re calling me token
We’ve got it all
That was their plan
We’re being seen
Freedom of Information land.

He’s elected
They took his hits
He’s been invected
They say he’s imbecile
He’s a Light Worker
They’re taking L.S.D.
He’s a visionary
They’re saying something about me.

She’s in imagination
That’s not the state of the nation
She’s internal energy station
That’s not Krishna Consciousness evacuation
She’s Prakrti and extra special libations
They have given that up for me
It’s time to see what is in this holy city.

AI Summary

The poem moves through identity under scrutiny — being seen, misread, labelled, and reclaimed. Politics, spirituality, and imagination collide, showing how public narratives distort private truth. Figures like Farage, Light Workers, and Krishna Consciousness become symbols of confusion, projection, and longing. In the end, the speaker reaches toward inner vision — a holy city within, beyond labels, noise, and cultural misunderstanding.

New Day

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Ghostly shadows chase me down the alley way of my dreams
Appearing and disappearing in the fraction of a second
The half-remembered faces of undergraduate days
Self-reflection and awareness all rolled up into one.
The trembling vibration of the frequency of my brain
Mirrored in the corridors of knowing in my mind
Promises of perfection and tabletop lunches
I am undone in the failure of my forties
In the presence of such alumni and esteemed gentlemen.
When will I get a chance to succeed again?

When will it be my turn at the alter?
There cannot be so many bad days ahead of me
Lost to the unfolding fracas of frenzied want and desire
A familiar forlorn lust for more and more in the tiredness
Of my turned over plans from yesterday.
The safest place to live in regret
Where the bets are stable and the winnings are to others
Those who prophesied my downfall and saw it coming
Like the antichrist of ambition clamouring always for more.

Sure to be the second place loser in the rally of competition
And without coffee mates for dates, I am expectant of more failure
Until the rescuer comes and the infinity of the universe is known
Fortune over favour for the freshest scent of a new day.

AI Summary

It’s a poem about being haunted by the ghosts of youth — undergraduate faces, old ambitions, the perfection once imagined — and feeling the sting of mid‑life failure in their presence. The speaker moves through regret, longing, competition, and exhaustion, asking when success will return and whether the universe still holds a place for him. It becomes a portrait of someone standing at the edge of despair yet still hoping for a rescuer, a fresh scent, a new day.

What am I doing wrong?

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Where do I err?
Flailing at the railings of my life’s swimming pool
Reaching for the safety of the security blanket covering me
What am I doing wrong?
I am too close to the divide.
Strangers in my mind unkind to the findings
Recent excursions into the deep unknown
Asking too much for the receipt of familiar consciousness
Cups of tea and the drinking of an occasional latte
What is the breaking point of my mind?
Too close to the ether, too far away from electrical vibrations
Time is like a nation of zombies awaiting my pornographic reinvention
Standing naked at my front door.
I have been here before
Forgetful of the greatness of building my character
Like stepping stones across a frozen lake in my heart
Darting across the temporal void in avoidance of one more bloody conversation
The inner journey of man
The planned intervention
The existential cartography of my soul
It seems like we all need a common goal
And mental health is the way forward for the masses
Something to join the meditation with the mediation of higher and lower worlds
The frogs of the cauldron and the skulls of the pirate ship
Something I shoot straight from the hip
As a western cowboy in the Indian deserts
Land reclamation expert number one
Ask me where I belong and I will say it is right here
Where I stand defending my hand
Leading the leaderless with a magic marker and slight of my pen
Something again and again to drum out the pacing of seconds
Minutes away from the hours we share as our blessings together
Poets in tune and in the rudeness of awakening
Settling down for some more slumber party to rejoice in.

AI Summary

It’s a portrait of a mind standing on the threshold between stability and overwhelm, trying to map its inner storms with honesty and humour. The speaker reaches for grounding—tea, memory, character—while feeling pulled toward vast symbolic, spiritual, and existential currents. It becomes a meditation on surviving intensity by naming it, tracing it, and refusing to look away.