hmm...

Eyes: A HINDU TO A HINDU


how COULD you?
betray your nation
sugar coated with such AMERICANISM
battered child; heterozygous mixes
HOW could you?
dim-witted radical
is SHE more beauty
than our river Jamuna?
her pale reflection
the mirror is screaming man!
how could YOU
do this horrible act
scarring such a country unheard and unseen
in your daughter’s brown eyes
confused specs of lightning
perhaps our darkened cocoa
could not compare to vanilla beans
HOW COULD YOU
tears of anger soil my calm face
while the riots
came to break boundaries
you threw all our efforts away
tell me how could you
integrate
cannot you see
in your tainted child
stains of a decision
burden of your “love”
YOU went and married THAT WHITE WOMAN!!!
tell me
were we not enough?

“My favorite color”

in the brilliance
of the hues
i do
not have
(DI-REC-T-LY)
i look
at the imperfect
physical
image
of my
spiritual self
I understand

I understand
i am
( [anything!] )
discovering
paragraphs of travels
in crinkles
on my
“young”
face
innocence
has run away


but as a lost friend

is still

alive

he will return

as my favorite color









far to fall
up there
among the suns
brilliant colors
touch
every
nothing.
trust
that eyes lie
miracles before
can be explained
upside down
horizon is equal
dirt is what is above you
fool yourself
into thinking
YOU
ARE

you are not
sky is home?
an illusion

clouds fall
the rain
falls

it will happen
one of these days













with age
i discover
my immaturity

then
i remember
old days
and read
old pages of written thoughts

and i was knowledgable
but not aware of as much
as i look back now.

perhaps this is why
gaps of communications occur
between generations.

what was then
is not now.
and what is now
is not the future.

so we are all trapped
in infinite stupidity.





















homage to a beach


in this
arborescent nook
i sit
with such scholarly air

oh the fulgor
of sand atop crimson skin
a grandeur such
no palace may inspire

among the leaves
my thoughts fall green
unexplored territory
with waves sparking their luminescence

such squander
amidst city pigeons
twinkle of false crystal
dull and bowing to the sun’s smile at Poseidon’s realm
























I am a fan
of knowledge
but not an enthusiast
of being taught
restricted as to where
my mind may venture to
chapter and verse analyzed
by interpretations of another’s mind
no, a room full
of Dante and Shakespeare
Erastophanes
and Pythagorean
i may study with myself
but not
with a preacher
of words
pieced together
by the true author
and what a hypocrite
am i
writing to the world of this
intending to teach a lesson
please
take all this
in a moment
and remember nothing
yes it may
be wiser to experience
life through
the mistakes of another
but no teacher
can make you understand
love
or euphoria
happines, or sorrow
learn of world yourself
knowledge is yours
not thiers.















note
after note
is not music
but an ingenuous way
to speak
in an illiterate language
music
is not just
for dancing
but to solve
the mental anxieties
of a troubled soul
i play music
i speak every language































sun sets
water falls
rain drops
i plummet
Sun Rises
Water Runs
Rain Evaporates
I Stand Up






























Leave me in my coffeeshop
I hate
Hate
Hate
This coffee shop
where the populace gathers
to chat
No. never never never silly conversations emerge
but formalities of science
metaphysicalities galore
, “Oh please”!
I mutter
with a cappuccino breath
as if the lady next to me
with high heels
and pinstripes
has occupied the position
of Einstein’s best friend
the great minds
would surely
raise an eyebrow or two
knowing their great discoveries
were served alongside cinnabons
and corporate shoes
Alas
where is the mindless gossip
written on bathroom walls?
give me gritty entertainment
and not sheep in versace
my my how the time
on their Rolexes drifts by
as I attempt to enjoy
my whipped cream
and instead face handsome,
3-piece suited
pride
I may be stupid
and arrogant
but my claim to decency
is sincerity in that
Aaak if Ms. Perfect makeup
And MR. Joe Bond
were TRULY interested in Shaw, Bernard
they should traipse on home.
crunch apples.
and read literature as an art
HUMPH.
Just let me
Stay here
In MY coffee shop!!!!!
And truly
(QUIETLY!!!!!)
Think about “stuff”






love
must be a painting
who doesn’t
love a painting
painters love to paint
in different techniques
with different thoughts
and there is love
which is silent
love that screams red
a painter
loves to paint what is real
or what his reality is
there is really not a difference
as i may love a painting
and you may hate it
but you will love another painting
we will both love a painting
and so will everyone else
paint belongs to a painter
but what we see
in a painting
what we love in a painting
is a color of ourselves
and even though
the world is a rainbow
we can never all be one painting















peanut butter

a snack
should be a snack
of all days
when sweetness calls
or salt persists
if a tongue desires the smooth
or a tooth needs to bite

i would be perfectly happy
for the rest of my life
to be given a spoon
and an endless supply of peanut butter
i could sit in a room
completely isolated
my tanned friend will console me
and i will talk to the peanut
and the butter
i love peanut butter
sometimes more than anything else
food is but a consumption
that dissolves down my throat
but as i know now
that i live in moments,
the moment in which my senses
meet peanut butter
is a moment

worth being in a room
all by myself
with a spoon
and an endless supply of peanut butter
for all the memories that it has given me
and all the toothpaste i have used
to shine my teeth unsticky
every mouth i’ve kissed
that enjoyed the suction of it
long live peanut butter
long live peanut butter






pi


you cannot square
a circle.
without a circle
inevitably popping out
3.14
1592653
etc.
just like me
you idiots
won’t solve my mystery
you cannot solve me
i am not something which can be placed
into a category in your mind
i am pi
you are pi
pi is
and is in everything
we are simple
and yet too complex
3 cannot be proportionate to 1
and my biography
will not reveal
all
of me
it is the answer
it is the golden ratio of life
and it is immortality
it will be our death
in our analyzations
we will not find the answer for ions

theoritize
as much as you want
but until pi is solved
you will not solve me

you
will not
turn a square
into a circle
in your limited dimensions.

remember that i said it.

you will not
limit

me
equilibrium in bipolarity


i live with her
and with him
and am neither
at any moment

to kill
one
would be to lose the other
and lose what i know

i am woman
man
of decades
and they never resist my vulnerability

i am undone
in their subtle signs
and suspect everything
in anything

when i try to carry myself
the pressure of gravity
pulls
two

you do not know
unless you are
i am not either
but i am both

i am not diseased
as without this ailment i will justly die
it is selfish
to imagine it is only me in this body












sex when you’re young
doesn’t change much
but if you’re a woman like me
who has had to bleed out
a horrid monster
monthly
since the age of 9
witholding the most horrible pains imaginable
you will marvel
and be shocked
at how relieved you will feel
to see red spots
and clumps in the toilet bowl
and if you are a man
who just got lucky
after hours of trying
and decide to stick around if she’s any good
you will be surprised
by how you will wait in anticipation
for
her request
of tampons
























what makes
a sentence
beg for a period
how will i know
when a thought is finished
or still lacking
a period is too decisive
too sweet
of a finish
what if i stumble
and drop it
over a cliff i have created
and i cannot rescue it
better to be safe
i would prefer a running
of thoughts
without any sense
my life
is a comma,
at best
a semicolon;






















Siddhartha’s lesson

the sweetness
of ethanol
on the bitter
memories of my tongue
burned
the hatred of life
i had
my throat
forget
as my hand
grasped an empty bottle
and with
increasing anger
at its missing contents,
threw it at the rocks below
from my serene balcony
these jagged edges
so much greater
than my wasted glass
the next morning
i awoke
to find the green
sharpness of pieces
had softened
i climbed down rocks
to discover
water
had smoothed glass
and stone
water had overpowered
the strength i thought was strength
and made me
proud
at how weak
we all are















you claim
this is YOUR war

how is it?

using guns of government
battling death
with a cotton patch
across your chest
pride of your nation’s picture

such a maudlin hero
you fight for causes
that are causes for someone else
you are their puppet

go home.
make love to your woman.
kiss your child
on the forehead.

now there
is something worth fighting for.



















“the reality is”,
they caught me
breaking rules.
but i never had rules.
i always
did what i knew was for me to do

i read fantasy
until i had to learn.
but i always saw myself in
a happy ending

it was wonderful to stare people in the eye,
until diplomacy did not allow
such bold gestures.
but i always felt lives best
through one glance

i didn’t become naive
until i learned of betrayal.

i never developed into an addict of love
until i turned to hate

it wasn’t a lecture that taught a lesson,
but the reality
of a human’s world.
i could not before imagine nature to be a “cliche”
until i learned
nature, was discussed.

i didn’t realize
i was ugly,
until someone told me.

i had always
known

i was beautiful








THAT MUCH


Van Gough
chopped off his ear
tragic story of a self-portrait
he cut it off calmly
and shipped it to his girlfriend
you keep on asking if I love you
well dammit if you really need to know
cut my lips and paint them red
so you can kiss them
when they’re hanging on your door

































my mother,
she wants to redeem me.
she doesn’t like the things i do.
i am always wrong.
no.
really.
i am always wrong
because whatever i do
it’s not good enough
for what she has wanted me to do.
i am not sorry
for not being what she wants me to be
she
is not
what i want her to be.
and i still love her
and she still loves me
i know!
and i realize
that at heart
she must be trying to help me.
but i have always asked for help
if it was necessary
i do not shut up and vibrate subtleties.
i do not need redemption
and i do not need anybody’s approval,
but this still does not
change the fact
that she
doesn’t like
what my life has become.
all my suffering,
and climbs
up impossibilities,
cannot cover up
the obscenities i have yelled.
and hate i have expressed of her.
hate that is the strongest of my life
and she is the love of my life
i cannot change me
and she thinks i can
she thinks i am “potential”
and not
ME.

and
that
is what hurts.