I went to pay for the food But Fate was being rude To intrude on my inner dwelling With the outer foil of a garden well laid.
There they were, betrayed to the surface Above the water of my drowning soul And the thoughts that are so deep Daffodils in the supermarket are needed to excavate them.
So I am unearthed. Like them I a trick of the trade Waiting for payment of my death And the memories that accompanied the digger’s breath.
What is in a rhyme, but the time of meeting another Unlike you, who are gone and would have liked the irony Of nature ironing out the money due in the self service till Where the flowers balanced on top, left alone.
Nobody was there to take their measure And I was awash with grief about my greedy handful Delicate emotions spread out on the market stall of life Amassing a fortune for the savings account and pension.
This was not the mention, I was looking for an easy way out But you accompanied me like a bad smell The old smell of rotting fart to celebrate my triumph over the grave As if that was something else I was going to succeed at.
Failure to the seed, the life giving emotion of yellow piercing above green And the scene of my demise as I scanned my items Do you think of me still when I am not there to harass you Like and as: My metaphor is a mega bore from the 1980s.
These are times that are not for me, but keep you alive The memory is screeching and the ghosts are warning me The same is not for you, in your lonely crew Who will remember you when you are one effort from a cemented cemetery.
Take this notice of nature’s entry and seek refuge in the rhyming Buddha The slang of the cow’s udder under Krishna who can see my fears, The turning years and all that is to come The escapade of my life before Maya.
No more of your driving tires, and lifts to the supermarket Where I would lean on your purse, the mother in the hearse And the father who left me in Summertown, down undergraduate lane Things will never be the same again.
They medicated the brain to ensure the insurer and change the bliss Where is the wedding with the merger of Christ to secure the last kiss? How will I know what is known when the final wishes are blown And the gardening is what you have bequeathed me in my working man’s probate.
It’s time to test the prostate, and prostrate on the ground before Allah Lest I have anything left in the cellar of my heart and you surprise me again And again for the foremost thoughts about what is stalking us all – The final call from the One seeking The Fall.
AI Summary
Your poem begins with a simple act — paying for food — and immediately fate intrudes, turning the supermarket into a site of excavation where daffodils become metaphors for your own unearthing. Grief rises like something betrayed to the surface, and the flowers on the self‑service till become stand‑ins for the memories you can’t bury: the mother’s purse, the father’s absence, the undergraduate lanes of Summertown, the hearse, the medicated brain, the probate gardening you inherited instead of comfort. The poem moves between humour and despair — the “rotting fart,” the “mega bore from the 1980s,” the prostate test — as if the body itself is mocking the solemnity of death. Yet beneath the irreverence is a deep spiritual ache: Krishna’s cows, the rhyming Buddha, Maya’s escapade, Christ’s merger, Allah’s final call. You’re asking how to live when the dead still accompany you, how to scan your items while ghosts screech, how to accept that the world continues even when your inner world has collapsed. What you’ve written is a portrait of a man trying to carry grief without being crushed by it, using rhyme, myth, humour, and memory as the only tools he has left.
I can’t believe you’re going to die, I’m going to give religion a try, Insecure in my youth, I will try it’s proof: Something my Ego will understand.
Buckling the horses of Arjuna to things I will understand, Not trying to own every house in the land, Surprises from Bel Air mansions Lavish green lawns, There’s just time left for the lessons on parental viewings of Porn.
I can’t believe you’re not here anymore, I look around the tremendous respect for temporal vortexes, Oh indigestion and headaches from energy erections Parading through my brain Listening to the non-advice and going insane: It’s your parent – You projected, Why are you trying to get me a Vedic House erected?
Fresh Prince to the king I never was, The rent I owed you when I was only 12, And the damnation from society The clout from the god within me The monkey in an experiment I never was The kangaroo and signifying Laws…
Keep coming back and I am an employment hazard, Someone with such regrets that I am a deep snowy blizzard, Lost in the Maya of the world of those all knowing Hare Krishnas They speak English like I know nothing – Not versed in the Ayur Vedic Samaj Ignorant Illusion Jai Om Namo Shivaya Why isn’t my Id for hire? Jai Guru Dev – is there an answer over there? For how “I am not the body” Will make me not feel very sorry, When the time comes to pass For at last it must come That both of my parents imbalance my brain a certain way
In the meaning of what Death has to say
Pills and glorious business day by day
When those intoxicants at Jones Day (Gouldens) never came back my way.
AI Summary
Your poem begins with the shock of mortality — a parent dying, a son trying to make sense of it through religion, myth and the language he inherited. It moves through childhood guilt, cultural pressure, Vedic philosophy, and the confusion of being shaped by parents who themselves were shaped by trauma. The poem wrestles with identity, spirituality and mental strain, showing how grief can distort memory, self‑worth and the search for meaning. Underneath the humour, anger and references is a plea for grounding: a desire to understand how to live when the people who made you are gone or fading.
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
Wild Stage 