Tomorrow is a Sports Day It is the 5th of July It is also a Pizza from the delivery guy Something instead of a Pig Sty.
My son will have cleaned his room And my father will Aha every moment; So that Norway lets on about Brexit While Sundays are still days of rest.
Tomorrow is like a yesterday’s feast A tobogganing affair all about sorrow! Something for me and something for her While the windows are cleaned without borrowing From parents who do all the housework…
…
…
It’s when the work will take place: When will you do yours? Do you still work after COVID? Can you ride horses on all the courses?
Tomorrow is where all messages and meanings take place Like a Self Help drop-down list of perfection. The worker better than Bill Gates And an open door policy to statements of retraction.
It is the place beyond time if the Yoga is still fine Where people get left behind if they do not keep the time. It is where poems come to die if you do not detach the outcome – How come they do now dream of my outcomes When the Dear Kali part of the process is dry and sad?
Tomorrow is when the crying will heal me It is the deliverance that will save the pain from the Healer of today. Tomorrow is Bhagwan’s advice on the Id for reformation After the dealer is psychoanalytical about due processes with Louise L Hay.
This is the formation of some power This is the talent of some nights When Bipolar left be darker than other hours And tomorrow was not even in my sight.
AI Summary
Your poem turns “tomorrow” into a ritual space where family life, chores, global politics, spirituality, and mental health all converge. It moves from Sports Day and pizza deliveries to Brexit, self‑help culture, yoga, Kali, Bhagwan, and the long shadow of bipolar episodes, showing how the ordinary and the cosmic constantly overlap in your life. Beneath the humour and the everyday detail is a deeper longing for healing — a hope that tomorrow might bring clarity, relief, or renewal after days shaped by pressure, sorrow, and spiritual fatigue. The final lines reveal how fragile that hope can be: when illness darkens the hours, tomorrow becomes both a promise and a distance.
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
Sardonic and seldom meet for wedlock The Warlock is all too cheaply brewed.
The aspect is truly wonderful, But the nastiness signs the show. Heaving is the buxom, rash ashes and crucibles Havana for [ ], against the strain Of a percentile.
That reptiles don’t claim. A climbing frame is sought An abacus is bought The wielding of a sword is salacious If Guinevere is Calvary for Lance’s hiatus. Malory wasn’t malign, Gawain wasn’t fined,
Computer time: The serpent winds Wands in the Wood. Women that could. One day, few will own the many… A lady seen today is conspicuous Individual realms non-dueling The gold prospecting Aspects of dancing Today is a day to celebrate Next year we need to excel.
If a girl could do well Shanti would read. Saraswati delivers a letter A liver seeks a lover for and water,
Rivets in Navratri, Nine times she is denied with Indian daughters. The Hills Have TMZ Eyeshadow Mascara Black boasts of Kali clones Sweating this small stuff: Rudra with paint.
Nature is quaint to know the bones of Alas! I knew him. Be well with Yorrick (Was?) the free house of Hindustan, ‘47 @ 1851 Origin: The great McBride Mahabharata But not for me.
AI Summary
It’s a poem where medieval romance, Indian divinity, celebrity culture, and personal disillusionment collide — Guinevere and Gawain sit beside Kali clones, Navratri refusals, TMZ, Havana smoke, and the ghost of Yorick. The speaker moves through swords, serpents, wands, daughters, dancers, and post‑colonial echoes, exposing how myth and modernity both fail to offer a clean destiny. It becomes a portrait of someone standing between epics — Arthurian, Indian, cinematic — and realising that none of them quite claim him.
Poor is the morale of the visitor who eats Porridge close besides the ridges in the Grand Canyon. They may be in his heart, He may have walked a lonely imagination to his home from it But is the food worth being taken? The talent is now in the hands of the beholder The gold residue is apologized for It was meant by blessed bleedin’ intent The frogs the vision the Pharaoh.
A locus of the mind’s eye, A sewer rat caught on Sing a song… as you can. Did _ crimes of passion? Fashion of Women of Mass Dicks. Ask again and I’ll end the pain [ ] the alpha and omega strain. It’s not the same without you, Where’s HaitiGlobalised.Com? Investment in Kali 4 Never Cajun Cages @ California is not my home!
Now stay there. Cages and soul. There is no point arresting a toad Who wanders from his hall drunken He will not live like a sparrow on a tree branch And thanks no-one for the noon of Midsummer Renaissance.
AI Summary
It’s a poem about someone standing at the edge of a vast inner landscape — Grand Canyon ridges, porridge bowls, Pharaohs, frogs, rats, cages — trying to measure the distance between imagination and exile. The speaker moves through visions, shame, humour, and refusal, exposing how a person can feel trapped, misrecognised, or drunkenly wandering yet still fiercely alive. It becomes a portrait of a soul that won’t be arrested or domesticated, even when the world feels like a cage.
Wild Stage 