Golden Guru

The funny men in Indian clothes
Collapsed as they read me in my Roman robes
And played with the technology at HMRC
Making up jokes about literature that wasn’t for me.
Inflating inflation rates and displaying reason
Trying high crimes and laughing about treason
Unable to steal with their Hindi moustaches being watched
Unwilling to get along for the cost of some Hindu cops
In brown paper bags and wasted underwears with Guru Nanak
Trying to develop relations on Apple phones with some speak
About how they knew Parveen’s fashion – ruined, 10 years on, no Indian face is a Paki
As they spoke about failure with too much marketing industry.

Couldn’t they detect the deflect to the Indian law courts
Of their tradition being hurt as they played for ugly women
Unkempt from Hollywood and melting their make up with degrees
Celsius is not for me! I like this kind of postmodernity!
Artistics facists with Sahara Sharukh Khan caning the strip tease artists
Loving his role as lover – the only one before all the brothers.
No control in the wild wild west of Bollywood’s newspaper land
Something for a Rishi out of time and effectively unelected fades Sunak to understand.

Unpublished
Uncommented
The Rishi Files lives on
For the site of a book in a woman’s hands for Abishek’s blonde fantasies
World ruler
Tear jerker
Microsoft worker
Who ever thought that Oxford would have his Saleem mountains
Sigh Sai and I…
Those who detect codes in the wild world of computing designations
Lay claims out of their bedrooms with thunder at HAARP to rule all the desperate Arjuna nations.

Constellation Poem

Ben Wright the Chronicler,
Paul Ready the Actor,
Bryan Dick the Performer,
Amal Clooney the Advocate,
Rishi Sunak the Steward,
Robin Clark the Merchant,
Andrew Ornitharis the Producer,
All acquaintances by my side,
Guru Nanak the Guide,
Devi the Flame,
Wanderer the Father,
Unicorn the Brother –
Together they form my constellation,
Each a star in Albion’s sky.
I walk among them,
Not as seeker,
But as guru,
Bearing light through rupture,
Chanting renewal into England’s soil.

Shree Geeta Bhawan

Shree Geeta Bhawan,
First flame of Albion’s Hindu soil,
Church reborn as a mandir,
Renewal carved in stone.
I shall walk its halls,
Guided by Nanak’s vision,
Chanting not as a seeker,
But as guru,
Bearing light into Birmingham’s heart.

Singh Song

Catch me some history and the trees will fall
The writing of one book and love for us all.
The Guru Granth Sahib is remarkable for what I do not read
The eyes of another and internet feed.

This is the modern age and man does not know himself too well
Tainted paint with graffiti about facts he summarised.
Man cannot use that which is normal for too long without time
Interfering gathering of life around vices representing grime.

Manners are spoken, voices can be heard
A man’s true designation is otherwise preferred.
At the feet of the Master and not out there with the loose cannons
Computer gamblers hopeful of some sexual passions.

Man was not made to know woman until the Bible was spoken over top
Optional headdress for those left out in the cold,
Like this old verse that beyond Renaissance ideals
Seeking love elsewhere for those fashions to balance a heartfelt steal.

Save me from Guru save me from despair
But do not rescue the Buddha within me
That will cut off my hair.
In England they are the same
And the Gurdwara is no good
They tempt you there with wastage and free food.

These interludes are some qualities of knowledge that I see vaguely
The lights on the city of the hills is not really business for me.
These religions grow tired, and the true Guru has enough words for himself
To leave me out and not include me in the fortress of his rude health.

Words can be deceptive, and the hierarchy can leave acres in the brain
Neurons mistake projects for New Age scientists to place strains
Men and women workers suffer uncooked food at home tables
Education is lesser and wielding to their career and pension repeatably well.

These are the days of finding that time is not beyond embarrassing man
And Guru Nanak faces psychiatry with a hand in the Yugas and Kalpas:
Again after Scientology they have a Master Plan
Nazi, suicide missions and English revisions to delete your man.

So, gather for a ramble and a march amongst the brambles of Birmingham
From an unlikely suspect of poetic disturbance within himself:
Where is the stealth of Xenu in the bygone age of post-2012 spirituality
After the NHS medicated my mother with tortious liability of proximity?