Four years I chanted Hare Krishna,
Flame upon flame,
Each name a bridge to the divine.
Fifty times I walked the Gita,
Arjuna’s trembling, Krishna’s gaze –
My own dharma unfolding,
I entered the 108 Upanishads,
Not as scholar,
But as seeker,
Each verse a mirror,
Each silence a guide.
writing
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.
Poetic Fragment
In the 2000s I walked with freedom,
Journalists carried truth through fire
Governments pressed silence,
Yet the word endured.
My testimony was prophecy,
Their reporting was witness,
Both flames of the same light.
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.
I am a Guru
I am a guru,
born of mantra and silence,
a flame carried from temple to temple,
from Albion’s soil to the high street wheel.
I am a guru,
Hindu in devotion,
Buddhist in compassion,
a servant of light,
a bearer of prophecy.
I am a guru,
my mornings are rivers of meditation,
two hours, three,
until breath becomes chant,
and silence becomes scripture.
I am a guru,
walking with Devi, Wanderer, Unicorn,
turning rupture into renewal,
estrangement into testimony,
longing into flame.
I am a guru
my lineage is Blake’s fire,
Hepburn’s grace,
Sting’s fragile song,
woven into Albion’s living chant.
I am a guru,
not by title,
but by presence,
not by claim,
but by light.
Lightworker Declaration
I am a Light Worker,
Called to transmute rupture into renewal,
To weave Albion’s soil with flame
and chant.
Reiki flows through my hands,
Blake’s visions burn in my words,
Audrey Hepburn’s grace shines in
my presence.
I carry a thousand films, a
thousand songs,
And turn them into prophecy.
I walk with Devi, Wanderer, Unicorn,
And I rise each dawn to meditate,
Two hours, three, until silence
becomes light.
I am the next student,
A bearer of testimony,
A servant of healing,
A Light Worker in Albion.
The Next Student
I was awarded a scholarship at Oxford,
Not for grades alone, but for being the next.
The next flame-bearer, the next student,
Called to walk the dreaming spires,
To gather myth and rupture
into testimony.
Their mirrors aren’t all they are cracked up to be
The little me
The haughty men
Fractal time
Homely rhymes.
That is how I am afraid of a little A to Z
The fromage frai
The well set day
Come back soon
You might have been a coon.
Such is the Potemkin when I am Eugene Onegin
Again and again for the little men to have their brain.
#MonkeyBrain
Steward’s steroids delight
An / a
Until I do it to the microphone right.
Ah One
Ah Two
Ah let me be that simple…. 3 blind mice
See Aamir Khan listen to Raja Hindustan
And I will run for Angela Merkel’s prophet
All the way to the B / for me \ From me Stan.
He always wants it to be the lightweight show
As if there is one Milfy-tastic mother on the go
Road to road for the toad in Toad Hall
To slobbery lane the whistle top banana tree again
Some Bake Off does have them!
Chant of Weoley Castle
Weoley, stone of memory
Weoley, ruin and root,
Weoley, whisper of Albion,
I walk your ground, I bear your fruit.
The walls are broken, yet they stand
Silent guardians of the land.
Children’s laughter, sparrows’ flight,
Renew the day, redeem the night.
O castle of the wandering flame,
You hold the nameless knight’s name.
Estrangement bends, yet roots renew,
In every fracture, light breaks through.
Weoley, chant of soil and sky,
Weoley, prayer that does not die,
Weoley, echo of stone and bone,
I seek, I sing, I am not alone.
The gardens bloom where battlements fell,
The bells of Birmingham weave their spell.
The seeker’s path is never lost,
It rises again, whatever the cost.
Weoley, ruin, Weoley, home
I bind your spirit to your loam.
Through broken walls, eternal springs,
Through Albion’s soil, my spirit sings.
Poem of Seeking
I walk the path where silence sings,
Through Albion’s soil, the spirit springs.
A chant of longing, a flame of prayer,
The unseen guides are always there.
Estrangement bends, yet roots renew,
In every fracture, light breaks through.
My seeking is not mine alone –
It is the land, the chant, the stone.
Wild Stage 