A Sufi’s Awakening

The monsters have abated to oceanic glare

Of too many missions from lost ships

Glacial awareness atop of monuments of love

To find Me and the heathens who said no:

Because all they wanted was some rest

From the throngs afar of love in the wild nights.

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Sentences were felled like trees needed

They were cut down and people were stopped

So that Jai Santoshi Mata was not ephemeral

And majesty was matter while The Mad Hatter

Was astonished while in The Looking Glass

And the modern world knew confidence at last.

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Complements like the Third Way

Tell Me that nuance is not wasted.

The modern world is fragmented

Like a map ridden conquest needing ink

And ending up with lasers

Far from the maddening crowd of intellectual bliss.

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Joy to the masses for the coverings of markets

Free like the Americas to roam away from Islands

And Continents that balance time

On rocky indexes and sharp share points

With couples addressing marriages

For the price of their own Rocks and Diamonds.

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As the music played the Woman watched over the waters

And the people argued who was the best

So she whistled for the fortune men

To blare the differences again.

The elders settled that they were welcome to it

And the masses were cheered to find themselves included.

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Returning from the seas

Mademoiselle found herself empty

The gates needed to be locked behind her

And her own hands were used instead of the guards,

Who had left her unattended for just one night

And time alone to remember friendlier times.

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The lamp remained on

In spite of being alone in the room.

This misery was helped by the balance of woodbeams

Leaving hope that the letter and pen

Would be married to a candle one day

For the contentment of the content speaking of Love.

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Familiarity was not welcome to the Indian:

He was so tense that the modest mood was ire.

Then the Pavilion was offered and some wet condiments

For an afternoon of travailing the London scene

And an actor’s glance at what could have been

Had the ladies written more and the Hats spoken less.

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The sailor was sure

The demonstration had finished

The denizens had become accustomed to the waves

And he saw the Red Dress again

Accompanied by mute eyes warming him to Hindustan

The compass was not telling the evidenced Doctor the same proof.


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The Egyptian was not asked of the Greek

How to play in the forests.

So too the Vedantist was invited by the Babylonian

To invent investigation of Israel

Until the New World had been discovered again

And America admitted Enlightenment

And had come to an End.

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Education was not this way formed

For competition to be known by brothers,

Who then need Vedic injunction beyond Mata’s intervention

#CainandAbel many times over

For The Mind and love from The Buddha

For what cannot be said.


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Ask me a question and Postulate less,

Then address the nation with more than irritated Stress.

Don’t you know these things are for Me?

Has the Age spoken to you better than that?!

Come. Be undone. And let the mirrors accentuate the Newness

Of commercial restraint and too many buyer at the auctions.

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What is the way forward?

The wife of the best dressed men in the market was asked to ask

The asker asked again and the asking was polite:

This was remembered.

The Wise were then found again and sounds were balanced

Like the Dao needing no more than that.

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The traveler was Wise. The roads were quiet.

This way the Fates asked him of passwords

And the horsemen rode on into the future

To open their wide worlds into Stargates

For the Apocalypse to enquire about why

Today would be any different online?…

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The confidence of The Writer was stolen

The Banker had invested in the Medical Complaint

The offering was online and the demonstration was quaint

Of all the words the individual had seen go by.

Time was wiser than that and the payment was made

For Sufism to find the Key to Life again and pay with royalties kingly and queenly sums.

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When rhetoric was balanced by harmonies

The Parliament was motioned to spread Justice.

Then the names were known, again,

And the mirth of the Muses was mixed with feeling –

Grecian and Roman – so that The Vedas could listen

And practice some gaits for a while.

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The woman laughed at the man in the wild:

How he struts his arms in the air and stamps his feet!

Surely he know these words are for me

And that The Imagination was not made for youth.

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Silence was blazen in the fires of the lower realms

As Shamans warmed their glee to find The Friend

And the medic was watched for Schizophrenic attention

Notwithstanding the Schools of Thought near The Academy

Where the great Idea welched on tomorrow and fought

More than an hour of the Great Hand to blame politics.

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Having to fill his time with aloneness

And the repetition of Naam,

The Saddhu went to the Hospital for help

And came back so answered with 0-9.

Why Guru? Why?

Because the good strain time so that I have things to get on with…

…. “Namaste” : Namaste 😊



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What was it the Shaman needed?

What date had he made the Friend late for work?

When was the Shelter denied some traveler?

How could he cut off a loan to the newly released from Jail?

These questions accompanied some Spiritual Guide back home

To watch with Mother as the Doctor made his Tea and broke Bread.


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Sapphires were the lady’s first choice

When the merriment was betwixt Hello and Good Evening

So that the passage of time was sweetened

By being given to more than it was admonishing guilt.

The newcomers were all talk

The windows were open with the tree stalks

Nature stood by and always knew what to do.

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The Guides came by again and did not see the same thing.

There were no Horses on Oxford Street

No singing in the streets when action would bring

Balance for foreigners to trade with whistling

While the ladies streamed on their men’s arms

From the airshow of technology they now had to proof.

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The Islamist entered the country like a Siamese twin

To the Babylonian misinterpretation of Knowledge

And that somehow, he was wanted for more commitments

Then a Trader and Traveler known to the morose Mother

Concerned of her child how he shall eat at the end of the day of Prayer.

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The Sea Horse was brazen before the camera

To tell tales of a life that the child had not seen

So the Scientist ventured forth with his Poetry books

To investigate invention again and panic for the umpteenth time

About work and employment for souls in distress on the Ocean of Samsara.

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Laughter filled the Radio room

The outside world was benedicted with Silence.

This was the passage of Time before Comedy

When the Royal world would be intruded on

And the fair farmer would say fields worth of thanks.

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In the old age, same as the wry times

In the young age, different to the dry times

Then when were the tears to come of loss

And shadows of Commerce spent in wasted regret?

This was the passage of growth for the old women

To loose their dependence on men some more.

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The watch was handed over to the Gatekeeper

And he twiddled the Rocker with his bony fingers:

Was this the ‘Could Be’ moment of the Aeons

When man had discovered the perfect balancing machine –

Or was Eve to find herself regretting her role on Earth

And how Jehovah was made up to follow here down Hell’s path.

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The mystic did not know

The Time did not tell him

There was no capital strain

And the markets were dull again…

Fellow man had not been kind to his needs

They were not met until help arrived from foreign shores.

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The brother was unforgiving

His hold on the world was The Real –

He offered a chance for Enlightenment

Down the alley of The Medic who frazzled hairs with wires

And spied on mirth with angry assistants against Unity.

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Shopping was not admitted in Athenia

It was bare dressed for the Yogic absence of thought

Far from the horseplay of carriages and cloaks.

Rulings were made so that passion was displayed

Humble and restrained before Zeus to contour Time.

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Weather told the Shaman that he was accompanied

But He could not cope.

Those Angels needed some distance

For the road ahead was longer than Time

And The Flood was not yet upon the Earth

For the Sins untold that He had endured because of Medicine

Today and yesterday trying to heal the Healed.

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Racial slurs were all he had one faded day

To return overconfidence and his ruined hand

At the Poker Tables with Death

And some unstable O.T. comeuppance to be better than The Other(s).

So Science was awarded control of the language

While the Ghosts stood still, stared and laughed.

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The Healer was asked what time she was Love?

Then the Medicine was not working when she worried by racial times.

This way the Shaman was moved to the new language

Of another Doctor who complemented her fashion

And knew her address.

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Film Stars were adrift on the Ocean of Time

High in the School of Thought of localized consciousness

When the Great Storm broke out and glazed when looking

How adroit their position was to The Mind.

Buddha –

Then there was Confucian organization.

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In the retirement was not betterment

The Fates did not win the lottery

And the Ghosts did not leave town.

Stress and petty distress continued

And the children were no good for The Mother without God

Now that all the illusions were illustrations in The New Age.

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Then they sent for the Chinese to mediate commotion

And the fields told of the cities where they spoke well

Without the Burberrys of well to do men

Loafing with the Commoner about farming

And the debt to rhetoric owed by Jesuits

Seeking and finding the Tax on the Land.

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Through the loneliness of Thought

The seeker knew Naam

And was adrift on metaphors and similes

Until he came to his senses

And found the Love of The Lord!

Was no longer blessed in the 21st century.

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Spirit was moved beyond Form

Dao was addressing Formlessness

God was empowered to use Mirrors

Angels held the balance of Time:

Man was returned to thought after 2012

And The Mayans had seen where they had been.

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Islam had been back to the court of popular appeal

To fine Satan for messaging the clues

To laundered cleanliness about how to escape conviction

For Time and Human Rebirth

If the name did not fit the right time of Fallen Soul.

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The Bhajan played on and the Community organized

So that new things could be heard and some old friends

Could know The Friend : Allah and some Godly remains

Of a language before The Computer spoke

Of feelings for a phone smarter than man

And contraptions needed to extract information with Revenge.


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Guidance was not enough to convince Hollywood

Acting was too much amongst the Heavenly Realms

Dancing had stretched Bollywood too many miles

To return with Kindness the Writer’s debt to Gratitude

For the hours spent inactive and too close to Madness

For Comfort to be shared with Rich Society.

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When did He alienate?

Before the two friends were contrived repetition

As Adam and Eve overcome with grief

In despondent Wars in Heaven

For games they did not play.

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The long Light was shortened by the need for a shotgun

As the infirmary spoke without words of its structure

To anticipate any argument

And be the best rationalizer : Clairvoyant and Seeker.

They are all here, at the best, in the Hospital chosen by Gods and Goddesses.

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Is the perfect story Conflict?

And this is the Writer’s aloneness

To balance temerity with timid times lost to the world

When he is sometimes populated by his Imagination

And The Self with many selves sieving Time

For the odd hand with chance to know success, sex and some fame?

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Downwards spirals the contrition of the Realiser.

He is the one who is the many after he is one again.

His hand had typed what yesterday was written –

And tomorrow was his yesterday he could have taken back, to be one again

Awhile with many who want to know who they are,

When he has forgotten the School, the Playground and Parking Lot

To Work no more with fellows and felines

And yet to get from them attractive things for the dishonesty He still prays (pays?…) for.

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Leave it alone.

It is called Social Media and must travel Oceans.

There in the night it is on the waves

And this is the wavelength of You and I.

Trust in this tryst as time goes by

And India will forget Her destiny in years to come,

Travelling friend sailing by, one more time…

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Stop awhile and find out from Time instead of Sports

Why is the Writer’s body weak?

What is it he is asking for?

Where is there water on that farther shore?

For all the medication you provide,

To stop him to ask?


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The road is ignored as the wild Writer falls in love at sea

And the paving is abridged to muddy grass and stones

He is unattractive with identity

He is lonely with belly fat

He is unwanted with ADHD

This is the reason he flees abroad.

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How much did the Dr want to know

From all the books that had been written

Before The Writer had come to task

And not page numbered the exact counter claim

For the person the Dr knew was suffering.

The balance of Justice spoke of More and Less

And Time was witness to more Injustice again.

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The heart renders what the hand can hold.

That is why The Maker compliments dust,

If it is well used The Poet will be power

And the Time shall pass with flowering of formation.

Creation will be in the room awhile

And some words are needed to describe time.

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The woman wanted to ask of the Writer one thing:

How is it you know the words to the wanton Lust I am not solving?

Time and the right medicine from the wrong people

The Will of the small Hand that makes some things possible

Including my own demise.