hinduism

A Saviour’s Way

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Catch it before it happens and see the betterment of man
There are things more evolved than love that intelligence does not understand.
Movements have come and Hippies have given commentary
On what was not to be said loudly by my family and me.
Death to the Rsi’s, abandonment and genocide!
India has a Beauty Queen now and can shoot their own Raw Hide.
If you save a post-modernist, what future is left,
When the joke falls on Rupees’ capitalism
And an African’s cleft lip?
Chip to the U.N. for a cause and some football with David Beckham
Tomorrow is nothing and Shakespeare is not so handsome.
Award the school of the highest halls
Mohabbatein with talk back without asking questions at all.
Deepika, Priyanka, “Pretty” and demolished egoic self:
Where is the health and the wealth and the stealth?
If you have no courts for the voice(s) of Americans deep within your coned bras
Then how can you rape foreigners of their hope for tax from their cars?
Do you get me? Yet is the cheese so lettered like a man known as Mr Freeze
Or is time allowance for some drag on your products
When one of us was not Gandhi like Obama driving George Walker Bush’s bush.
If it crashed, what’s the Dharma: Does Sathya Sai like your trains –
How about Versace and Aishwarya and those tallies for underlings’ brains?
If you use my name, I am you I for Egyptian gold and claims:
But the sky is not owned by President Clooney…

any more

AI Summary

The poem exposes the absurdity and violence of a world where spirituality, politics, celebrity culture, and postcolonial identity collide in ways that distort meaning and erase humanity. Through references to Indian cinema, Western politics, global capitalism, and spiritual figures, the speaker critiques how nations commodify identity, how institutions misunderstand the people they claim to represent, and how fame becomes a substitute for truth. Beneath the satire lies a deeper ache: the desire to reclaim one’s name, dignity, and spiritual centre in a world that constantly tries to appropriate them.

Open Rounds

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Enlightenment is about
The rounds are open in the Tavern
Tankards and happy men
Merry women skirt about serious business.
He’s back with a smile on his face
Blonde haired and lippy
Eyes like a pill head in a 007 sequel
The Black Man
The Caravan
The plans for another SUMMER HOLIDAY

Lets do lunch next year in Paris
I’ll buy the coffee while you wet your old age panties
Maybe our children can swap notes
And plagiarise the generation of artistic meet up groups
But he’s back again and wants to share the drugs.

He who talks dares last
The Christian is owed some money from the past
The lighten is darkened
The Atman is heartened
The Indian is outdated by the Indie grunge ratings.

#Nirvanaisbackagain
Thanks for access to the mainframe
But when I’m a Jew I’m history to the hostile Dr in your time with religious experiences
Why do you need to stand outside the law?

AI Summary

The poem blends tavern revelry, cultural nostalgia, spiritual yearning, and generational disillusionment into a critique of how enlightenment, identity, and rebellion are performed in modern life. It moves from carefree summer fantasies to darker reflections on drugs, religion, money owed, and the shifting hierarchies of race, faith, and artistic relevance. The speaker watches old archetypes — the blonde charmer, the Christian debtor, the Indian mystic, the grunge‑era rebel — collide with contemporary anxieties about authenticity, belonging, and being “outdated” in a world obsessed with reinvention. Beneath the humour and cultural mash‑ups lies a deeper question about legitimacy and transgression: why some people insist on standing outside the law, outside tradition, outside accountability, even as they borrow from the spiritual and cultural worlds they claim to transcend.

Closets

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The first was Adam answering Eve
The next was nothing to Steve
Because he was shy of the reprieve
That Satan gave the pail of water.
Why was she not God’s daughter?
Who needed her burned at the stake?
What is the raise on the hot bed of emotion
Of an ocean feeling spirits instead?
A heterosexual arrangement with Courts of Justice:
A homosexual tertiary commandment
The Ten Commandments respected ignorance in sinful times
For the merchant to pride the light in a seer’s eyes.
Don’t you know?
Didn’t you see?
My certainty.
The Book. The Book. His kingdom for my looks:
I want to look so certain again that I have regained his race.
Jews so common they displace
London to Nazi Town
Come down to the common man and surround me
With what it feels like to be brown.
I’m no Hindu, you sporty sporadic football kicking twat
Like a Governor who’s a Governor in ‘your’ school.
I sit out the next election
                                ‘he’s cool’
The white kid how played the mental health (charity tax) fool.

Christianity is not for this century
These leaders are left of the debacle and debate
They never went back to old man fella Jesus
And got lost instead in Bei, Jenga and white China hate.

There is new shipping for some travellers
Some trade for some merchants
Openness for the God Delusion in Hindustan
Where elongated language chants
Hare Krishna
Hare Rama
Om Nama Shiva
Welcome a door mat to an empire
The one me & Mum bought from the Eden Project
Things to product and protect
Items to ship in states of dejection
While the religious man means some State opportunity
For the politician knock knocking on a musician’s door.
Any food and drink?
What is in?
I think and I think.
I would like to know the sex on the show
When the barista is embarrassing the glow.

What once was of Church was shared with the FTSE
And then the demeaned played footsie with the Tutsi
So Shakespeare can’t close a verse with a computer penned name
That seeks of a  Rishi what it is to be famous again and again and ….

What is it to gain when the man is a frame
In the reindeer named politico who aims his archer well?
Let’s not dwell on Mahabharata for the weddings costing so much
But forget the show with Mark Wahlberg for the Christmases we can’t touch.

Hardy and Hardeep is not my soul concern
For the time left to play messiah for what Lionel asked to earn.
Give it back to the social employment of man seeking joy after mankind
Then there will be a promise and an upkeep
For things the lawyers did once find.

44

But like that I will be devoured by the fashion
Tonight with my lonely pen and quill
Playing Scrabble with mum in our small house
Lest the ghosts have a bigger pill to swill.

What was it you wanted for my thyroid?
From European Professor in F.M.B.s
What is it to direct you to your blow jobs
And how much you earn from closets

AI Summary

The poem revisits the mythic origins of humanity — Adam, Eve, Satan — to interrogate how identity, race, religion, and power have been distorted across centuries of judgement, colonialism, and cultural hierarchy. It moves through Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, and modern politics to expose how each system has been used to exclude, shame, or redefine people, especially those who are racialised or marginalised. The speaker confronts the violence of being misread — as brown, as Hindu, as outsider, as inferior — while watching institutions, politicians, and cultural elites twist faith, history, and art for their own gain. The poem blends satire, lament, and defiance, invoking chants, empires, markets, elections, and mythic epics to show how spiritual longing collides with political cynicism. Beneath the rage and the references lies a quieter truth: the fear of being devoured by fashion, forgotten by society, or dismissed by academia, and the longing to write, to think, to live, and to be seen without being reduced to stereotype or spectacle.

Too Good

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My poetry books were too good
They hurt the open market
They were Communist when they were Western
And Capitalist as the Chinese paused for thought.
The British told the French to leave it alone
The Germans told the Londoners to socialise better.
The Indian prayer left Ganesh at the alter
To find out who my letters were addressed to
While Japanese asked 7 Samurai what the Bleep* Ken Wilber was to do..

So forth the ride is funny when the wise men are about to calm the rapid writing down
Then I can come home for money which the rich men will pay me for being a literary clown.

AI Summary

The poem reflects on how the speaker’s poetry defies ideological, national, and cultural categorisation, unsettling markets and confusing institutions that try to label it. Westerners see it as too radical, Easterners see it as too commercial, and every nation projects its own anxieties onto the work. Spiritual icons, cinematic heroes, and philosophical thinkers appear as bewildered spectators in this global misreading. Beneath the humour lies a deeper truth: the poet’s voice is too fluid, too hybrid, too alive to be owned by any system, and so he becomes the “literary clown” — the one who exposes the absurdity of cultural gatekeeping while waiting for the world to finally recognise his worth.

Only Death

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Only death can accomplice the accomplice
To the greatest theft of all time
Settlers of the sting of the century
All money in the Cloud with Rishi’s rhyme.
Who is Sunak when the lights go out next year
No conscience and no wife to insult the Queen?
Who is Sai Baba hiding his life
,
When Chris Cornell is where the idol worshippers have been?

How will England grow without her own staff?
Enrique Moses bowls crap compared to the past.
Why do you smoke weed with Bill Gates?
To measure one long generation only to caste?
It is because of the sadism and the masochistic mum
The actress who taught Mrs and Mr to Radha Krishna
Then the moon turns and the tide draws near
When centuries are counted and not scored in India.

Click.
Click.
Slog.
Boom!

AI Summary

The poem confronts the corruption of political power, the collapse of spiritual authority, and the long shadow of colonial and caste histories, weaving together figures like Rishi Sunak, Sai Baba, and Chris Cornell to show how modern culture blends money, worship, and identity into a chaotic spectacle. The speaker exposes the hypocrisy of elites, the confusion of spiritual seekers, and the generational wounds inherited from both family and nation. Beneath the satire and anger lies a deeper grief: the sense that centuries of history have been mishandled by those in power, leaving ordinary people to carry the emotional and cultural fallout. The poem ends with a sharp, explosive rhythm — a refusal to soften the truth or pretend that the world’s contradictions can be neatly resolved.

Mentalisms

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I’m not that kind of poet
The type that times the earth
I know where I have come from
It’s just not that kind of worth.
I’m angry with the children
They won’t listen to what I’ve got to say
And by the time I get a hold of them
I don’t write about The Gay.

Who wants to know where Jesus is hiding?
Who wants to see Muhammed’s disrespect?
Who thinks Guru Nanak can have an equal?
Who likes Krishna to love some regret?

Maybe that is the continuance
The meaning of life for the 21st Century
What happened when Eliot befriended Krishna?
And wasted lands for his alliance with Sannyasi.

Tomorrow’s plans may spring from an asset stripped 1980s
When Kryon was a stranger to Enron too.
Where Americans face the final ultimatum from Ron
Live without the Newspapers or your politicians are through.

Where’s my Minority Report, Mr Malthus Cruise?
And those tapes of cassettes from Mini Discs of the CDs I was meant to become…
A land like India so clothed in respect for the native
Something for anyone to lecture on anything sitting on their bum.

So God bowled me over and let me be the top wicket taker
At school I played in goal and stopped cricket scores
Before being a “demon on the west wing in Hockey”.
Some fames were therefore for me & my brother played cricket for County.

… [insert Dream here]

But then we arise on his 50th birthday
A brother with no goals and lots of self respect
Responsibility for his younger and pains for his mum near death
Wandering like a ghostless plain close to his last breath.

Is it true the Rohan did not think the cousins warred
And fought like the white man to make the cemetery closer
For sex with the gang banging ginger and the necrophiliac in The Big Bang Theory
As cousin Amar throws our grades away….

What will be our saying?
Who will be our friends?
When can we call the real Time Out?
When shall we dance again?

So the monks journeyed for aeons
Lost in pain to grieve the stats
In Scientology since two brothers left them
And R J Ellory was king for a day.

One
Two
Three
Four
Is that a Hindu or a Paki knocking at my door?
Resident in England but 40 years
So certain of tattoo art for all his tears.
How can I quit drinking?
Where is the detox jokes at Rohan now..
How many Jack Daniels do you dream of: For that petri dish wife petrified of her karma and how?

[Release]

AI Summary

The poem confronts the struggle to define oneself amid cultural, religious, familial, and psychological forces that constantly misinterpret or distort identity. The speaker rejects being boxed in by labels — poet, Hindu, Paki, saviour, sinner — and questions the authority of religious figures, political systems, and family expectations that have shaped his life. He reflects on childhood, sibling responsibility, academic pressures, addiction, and the pain of being racialised in England, weaving these experiences into a critique of how society fails to understand or support those who fall outside its norms. Beneath the anger and satire lies a deep grief: the fear of being forgotten, misunderstood, or consumed by forces larger than himself, and the longing for connection, clarity, and a life that feels whole.

I Feel Watched

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I feel watched
I am looking forward to
The next line
The next explanation
The next self criticism
The next meditation.

The trees are still
The mind is heavy
The brain is pressured
The sky is rainy
The next meditation is tomorrow morning before 9.

One day every morning will be fine
This is just the aftermath of being in the afternoon of the aftermath of life
Trying too many things
Thinking about things twice
The next meditation is obsession.

Maya is a misdirection about the Indian lady’s midrift
There had to be no rift so the imagination was used
When I saw the Bollywood two live crew
Being too few for me to mention names
Mending the Partition bridge for the bride on Maine Street
Not so many geographical locations to go
For the mind to know which place to go
To settle down and accept I am brown
When I feel nature’s need to go downstairs
And have some herbal tea to spell back sales to The Church

Leaving me in the lurch like the Drs and Nurses of Psychiatry
Making the NHS rich with medical pills and historical diversity
Measuring selves and making my height an issue
Ripping up trade agreements so Parliament can know things anew

Fiduciary duties and the watched man of the politician’s thrones
Blaming Donald Trump for being in my mind
Oi! MP! Matey! We leave you alone!

And on they went picking up issues like bags of crisps on the floor
And the science of the clouds looked down on the poor
Looking for more
Looking for more
Easily etching out nature on the minds of the innocent
Looking for more
Like William Blake
Give me a break mate – what of your lawyers charging these rates?
Staring in my mind
Treating me unkind
Don’t you know the English rule the waves with their nationhood?
I don’t know all their things?
I didn’t memorise their names!
Who is P.B.S. to me?
Why do you hear the need to quote out loud the wild words of the past.
That was not Shelley
This is my caste
I am what a Brahmin is to Shakespeare when he looks past the glass
I stare out of in my bedroom when my window is double glazed.
The casting of the workman required to change it into a wooden blind stares me blind on this freeman’s salary with the Freemason’s down the road
Handing out leaflets with me at the Conservatives
(Kali will turn me into a toad!).

So this road I am on is long and I tire at page 3
Because this is Energy
“Save some for me!”
he said, delightfully.

I Am Meditation

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I am a meditator
Between this world and the nest
The open plan office of my brain
The workday harangue of demonic stress and understanding.

There is no one standing under me,
I am alone at work all day long.
The night is like a shouting wolf in the merry snow of Christmas in Leeds –
Sold out entry to next year’s competition.

Friends need revision & the memories are always there
but underneath are the Gunas are they despairing
I am paired with my mother for thanks and regretful lifestyles
Machines and cold waters
Open deserts and travelling daughters
The ones than make the past so enjoyable for men in the field of toys
so little to be thankful for when I consider myself gone

It won’t be long before I seek self-demanding understanding
The plain mug of tea and the lacking saucer
The night time Horlicks accompanying my pressured day to sleep
Then I will drink deep & calculate the art of landing on my Tweets.

Disclaimer

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I didn’t do it
It came upon me
The sadness of a lonely desperate winter
When Jingle Bells came over me
I thought myself divine
I was a winner in distress
I was shaped by the diabolical
To unwind the Indian woman from a dress.

Then I was a Priest and a guru
President indeed over birth, life and death
Intended to develop evolution further
So my big bang was unkempt and smelly like a rotten fart in summer.

These were the hummers of a vibration past Israel holidaying
When I had known the King and seen him in everything
There was something left it seems for Church and State
A tax free entrance policy for immigrants
Some land to sell to the Africans to sit and contemplate.

Then I was empty and Eastern: Admired for the force within
Keeping up with local political actions. Handing out leaflets to stave away the end of days.
Death is at my door step and there is a Baptism to say
What is the state of play?

How can I stay out of the way?
Qawali in the Park, Beethoven’s Ninth in the dark
Concerts and consorting, Krishna is rewarding
Nothing pleases the Hare Krishna until you’ve given your 50% in advance –
Give peace and the internet a chance, so we can be net neutral
Then I will find myself a fossil converting my oath in to renewable energy and fuel.

Transformers indeed in disguise, this is the heavenly prize I once sort
Something of the origin of the Universe: Some violence for political revolution.
Revolving around the sun the heavenly body is undone
And the ladies undo the convention of conservatism to admire me in the poetic rain
Reign of regal things. International seasons that demagogues bring
This is the venture for capital to speak to Poesie of the ancient of days that sing
Of the Virgin’s tomb and the ascent to Sinai
Where the sun is commander of the deserted playing fields for meditation in silence.

Speak at risk for the lawyers lazy fist
There is so much I can say one day when the oceans face passing away
Dried up by the energy and wit of the homosexual versus the playing field
And Friends on TV and not much from the 1950s.

Travel well and adorn the image of success so delicately that you unzip each file well
Telling of pornographic fascinations in a swell manner for the men in the Manor
And the ladies down Muthra lane. Nations are playing again
After the bugging strain and the dimensions for demons in the intravenous brain.

For if I am without and searching for the clown in China to appeal to finance
What is the last dance going to look like for a moment’s free of Allah’s terror and torment.
What things have I meant to address my own nakedness in the demands of modern time
The Professor who gets to the English academy on time
Telling us all about the mind, the world and the shaping of things for working life (lives?) in time.

Things won’t always be fine is what he seems to be in power of and some control like The Golden Bowl
And a haiden enforcement of conglomerate bliss
To travel in my place for some hidden agendas and kisses.

BAME

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Mixing with the majority
Splitting the sky into an event for the horizon
Cardamoms and elaichis from my brother
A happy dog day tea afternoon. Chai, to some,
With love
Emotions well spun all over the place
Traces of compassion frothing at the mouth
Spinning like a cotton wheel for the stars in their eyes
Celebrity red carpets and hand bags full of cash
Davos exposes are really trash
Let them go, with a ho, so the trolls can have a go.
Terror and the gaseous realms in the stomach
Pregnancy withdrawal symptoms: Trying to find truth again
Sex on the sandwich e-brain
Remarks from the NLP practitioner and the Window Cleaning Method
Spreadsheets and dirty sheets
Sheer stocking mocking the celebrity Brahmacharya vow
Cows in the ladies arms in Vrindavan asking “How?
Because Krishnamurti is on a tour of duty
Across Thine arms and into the Universe
Realms for longing and sad tricks on the human race
Energies exploding in the anus all over the place
Gas from the pills, chills from the stillness
Who knows when God will come back and walk amongst us as one of us.