Friday, July 28, 2006

chopra friends

chopra friends are
reading kopra poems
and feeling
not so bery
happy feelings.

it's so hot here,
kamasutra is not selling.
secrets of the world
in the middle east
aren't yet out,
so kabala is selling,
like burro-burritos
com picante sauce
y tequila con lemon.
all forces gone
to the middle-east,
the illegals are
playing mariachi
bands while border
crossing.

people killing people

people fighting...
people killing...

blowing up building...
blowing up brains...

blowing up trains...
blasting their bombs...

they're fighting for
Hinduism, Christianity and Islam...

people, don't kill people...
kill Hinduism, Christianity and Islam...

I'm a Muslim First

he is so called
an educated dude
with some bombastic degree
from a school in Karachi.

In star bucks I bought
him coffee with latte
and sat to talk many things:

well, tell me, I asked
why is religion important to you?
"well, err..yes, I tell you,
because I was born a Muslim."

"so I do what Muslims do -
my deen is first, everything else
is second, third, four of fifth..."

"I'm a Muslim first
my father was a Muslim first
and his father was a Muslim first..."

and if your father's father's father
a devout Hindu wasn't converted to Islam
by brutal force by followers of Islam?

would you then not be a devout Hindu,
doing what Hindus do, worshipping idols
reading Vedas, doing puja and holi?

and suppose you were born a Christian,
would you not be worshipping Virgin Mary
who being a virgin gave birth to Father's son?

is only God not absolute? I asked.
"yes, he is," he answered.
"no idols, no Shivas, no son of God either,
only Mohammad, may God's mercy be upon him."

was Mohammad God? I asked
if not, he wasn't absolute.
so why follow him?

"err.. he was the last prophet.
my father followed him, I follow him.
and if my fore fathers' father was a Hindu
who cares! that was long long in the past."

he got up and left.
it was prayer time.
the fourth in a row of
five day after day.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Got the Drift?

Einstein always wrote
All his research papers in German –
His mother tongue.
Though he knew English so well.

But there are people who
Like to debate in a language
Two or perhaps three languages
Away from their village mother tongue.

They think in their desi bhasa.
They talk at home in their desi bhasa.
In their blood and brain is desi bhasa.
Their friends are all desi bhasa friends.

So one can communicate with
Such desi people in a foreign tongue
Up to a level: how are you today, sir?
It seems it might rain today.

Beyond that, you must be kidding
To have some serious talk with them.
When I say ‘blind’ I mean: not based on reason or evidence.
When they say ‘blind’ they mean: unwilling to see or understand.

And then they try to teach me and
Convince me with their philosophies
And ask me: “got the drift?”
“No sir, I didn’t,” I say and keep my silence.

unwanted bondage

ever wondered why
this poetess painter
has no words to say
what the paintings mean.

every wondered why
her bush strokes can't
hide the bondage
that words can belie.

perhaps that's why
she's silent - telling
in shackles, telling
behind veils life's lies.

nothing much of art
is here in paintings
nor in her vapid verses.
only what is hidden

deep in layers of soul,
in paintings it surfaces.
easy to tell thrall in paint,
so hard to tell in verses.

Hindus and Muslims

religions and the duds
following religions
are interesting people.

Muslims invaded India,
raped the land,
raped the Hindu women.

converted Hindus
in millions by force
to Islam.

changed their holy
Hindu temples into
their God's mosques.

Hindus are now free
from Muslim rule in India,
but are living among Muslims.

most of whom were ealier
holy Hindus. Hindu bhangis
and Hindu chamars - the lower castes.

so the time for revenge now. Right?

convert Muslims
in millions by force
to holy Hinduism.

change all Mosques
of Muslims back
into Hindu temples.

rape all Muslim
women to have
Hindu children.

wait. were the Muslim
women of now not the
Hindu women before?

Why everybody not
become a Muslim,
a Hindu or a Christian?

or why not everybody open
his or her head, leave the
religion and become a human?

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

but I like your poetry

I want to meet with you.
let’s meet for some coffee.

why? I’m busy.
I don’t drink coffee.
I drink screw driver.

ok. I will drink screw driver
but I want to talk with you.

talk what?

about writing poetry.

don’t talk about writing
start writing.

but I like your poetry.

so what? many like my poetry.

but I like more than them.

how?

when we start drinking screw driver
you start reciting your poems to me.
I’ll drive you to thinking screwing me.

now, now you are talking.
come to my pad 11 pm sharp.
no dilly. no dallying.

who owns christianity?

who owns christianity?
dumb question
simple answer
people, stupid.

who owns love?
who owns hatred?
who owns peace?
who owns war?

and who, tell me who
who owns God?
people, stupid.

democracy of the elite

in the USA today
there's democracy,
but democracy
of the elite.

in lesser democracies
the leaders loot
the countries illegally.

in the USA of the right,
they loot the treasury
legally and not so legally.

tax benefits to the rich,
gifts as bribes by the lobbyists,
not bid contracts to family and friends,
favors in return worth millions.

red states form the right.
what forms the red states?
the Bible blabbers and the clergy.

you can't win against God,
said Kerry losing the election.
though on the left he was so right.

as the Bible blabbers and the clergy
will remain right on the right. next
president will likely be for the right.

ms. priggish piggy

how strange but not surprising,
whenever some ass h... emerges here,
ms priggish piggy rushes to him
to be in cahoot with him.

there've been many instances.
the recent one is that of
Sir Ernie burro muse
to be in cahoot with whom
she had no excuse.

is he not making an ass of her?
not once, not twice but
many times, times and again.
she never stops to be priggish.

now she's admonishing others to stop
posting their thoughts, views and poems.
for her others hog the blog and she,
the queen piggy, has no space left to blog.

you shameless fool, you'll never change
from your shameless abhorrent ways,
telling others what to do or not to do
and you, making about nothing much ado.

the snooty

sometime the snooty
snotting on their
slimy snot apples
must be snubbed
and left alone
digging deep
into their sub-
consciousness
to find out
who they are
what they are
what they want.

Souls

"I used to think of my soul as something tangible too. I used to think the tangible soul resided in the lotus of the heart chakra(as per Upanishads). I used to think the soul was 4 inches above the sahasrara chakra, above the top of the head (as per some new age spiritualists)" ~geetajayaram

first a soul
and then a tangible soul
residing in a circle,
and the circle
in the heart residing!

what form is the soul?
soft as silk?
what color? white or pink?
or does it change colors
like a chameleon?

how big? how small?
what smell? what taste?
how heavy? how light?
stationary or in flight?

now new findings of
new age gurus (like our guru!):
the souls live
not in circles in our hearts
but 4 inches above our heads!

how interesting! how fascinating!
how revealing is this finding!
surely it's worth a Nobel Prize -
our souls over her heads floating!

Things Intangible

what makes you say
faith and God
are things
important in life?

Your beliefs. Right

love boosts your ego
goodwill makes you feel wanted
instinct makes you survive

God and faith? linchpins of the weakest,
give you nothing but false hope.
is false hope important?

***
and your painting:
a naked, bearded young woman
in the clutches of a tentacle
of an octopus in the sea,
is struggling to be free.
what beauty do you see?

***
and your other painting:
a woman's torso, shackled
hanging upside down,
arms where legs should be,
hands where feet should be,
what beauty did you see?

***
would you like to tell us
what in your paintings you see?

***
is the answer you give
to the question you ask
of things intangible,
intelligible?

om, om, ram, ram

"Why is there a need to have this image explained, interpreted, analyzed or brought to some sort of "word" expression?" ~Cinda

***
om, om, ram, ram

yes, what's the need
to say anything about anything,
be it tangible, intangible or intelligible?

just see it what you can do with it.
feel it, touch it, smell it,
bite it, hear it then leave it,

think about it but say nothing,
absolutely nothing about it.
be a part of oneness

in this cosmic consciousness
and like a little birdie
singing chirpie, chirpie

sitting in shade on a branch
of a plum tree after its bellyful feed
from the feeder hanging in the backyard,
sing your song: om, om, ram, ram!

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

She’s another precise woman

She’s another precise woman
She knows what’s exactly exact
And what’s absolutely not.

Priggish you know
What I mean.

When it comes to love,
Not that she needs love,
She demands love.

Exactly at 11 pm Saturday night.
Exactly 15 mins of foreplay.
Exactly 30 mins of in and out.
Exactly 15 mins of after play

And at each step
Everything has to be
Exactly step by step
In her precise ways:

How to hold her in arms,
How to gives kisses to her,
How to make love to her.

How to shriek, at orgasm:
Aaee aaee or no aaee aaee!
Oh my God or oh no my God!
Or I'm coming, now, now or dead silence
Or O God, O Allah, O Shit, O Ram!

To all this and to all after play
She’s precise, very precise.
One could love her sometimes
But to love her in her precise ways!
No, no. no God, no Allah, no shit, no Ram!

And she knows precisely
Very precisely
If someone has had love
or no love in his life.

She is the precise woman
She is the exact woman
Priggish, you know
What I mean.

she's an impossible woman

you are beautiful.

and you thought I was ugly.

you are intelligent.

but you think I am dumb?

you are wise.

and you thought I was an idiot. right?

let's go for a ride. let's go for some ice cream.

you go for walk. you go for an ice cream.

let's go for a movies then.

you go for a movie.

so what would you like to do?

don't ask me. you think you know everything. you think you are God.

she's an impossible woman

he's an idiot at best and a blog hijacker at worst

he's earnest in
proper English,
in proper prose

he reads poems of
modern poets that run
paralell (sic) to his art

he can't write
a limerick
a verse
or a piece of prose

he love poems like
roses are red
violets are blue
and his love is true

he licks a boot or two
of someone he like too
much. you know who

he's a critic from the start
he doesn't like poetry
or any one dimensional art

when enough is enough for him
he comes here to fart
and in revelry he sings:

roses are red
violets are blue
I love you
my love is true

and he feels love
goody-goody love
shared by some piggy
blessed by heaven above

PS:
and of course
he likes to hijack blogs
to make someone a thing of the past
then he apologizes for forgiveness
his stupidity, his foolishness

Monday, July 24, 2006

In Praise of Jews

Not being a racist
But only talking of races,
Are Jews not
The super race in the world?

Most intelligent
Most influential
Most daring
Most innovative
Most advanced
Most smart
Most wealthy

They love each other
They help each other
They respect each other
They are the fittest
Among all races
I see in awe their pride

In a span of mere 50 years
they’ve built their shining
Nation to the most advanced
Technological level
While their foes have gone
Back to the old barbaric level

In this humble poem of mine
I salute them
I praise them
I respect them
I love them

To Bible Blabbers

Poor Jesus
Poor Mary Magdalene
Poor Bible blabbers.

“Don’t cast stones at Mary”
Says Jesus, “haven’t you too sinned?”
All stop casting stones at Mary.

They could have stoned Mary,
If they hadn't sinned.

So if someone comes to kill you,
And you have sinned
Listen to Jesus of Bethlehem:

Don’t raise your arms,
Don’t kill him,
But be killed in grace.

To the imitator of Charles Bukowski

don’t imitate Charles Bukowski,
lest you be called
a fool.

the most imitated
poet in the world,
makes all imitators
look like fools.

“the ego creates that strange mirage, love.”
love feeds ego. ego, love.
love does not rip ego,
nor ego rips love.

Fernando Pessoa says the same:
we love no one, we love ourselves.
loving others is not love -
just feeling good ourselves,
just feeding our egos.

She’s another precise woman

She’s another precise woman
She knows what’s exactly exact
And what’s absolutely not.

Priggish you know
What I mean.

When it comes to love,
Not that she needs love,
She demands love.

Exactly at 11 pm Saturday night.
Exactly 15 mins of foreplay.
Exactly 30 mins of in and out.
Exactly 15 mins of after play

And at each step
Everything has to be
Exactly step by step
In her precise ways:

How to hold her in arms,
How to gives kisses to her,
How to make love to her.

How to shriek, at orgasm:
Aaee aaee or no aaee aaee!
Oh my God or oh no my God!
Or I'm coming, now, now or dead silence
Or O God, O Allah, O Shit, O Ram!

To all this and to all after play
She’s precise, very precise.
One could love her sometimes
But to love her in her precise ways!
No, no. no God, no Allah, no shit, no Ram!

And she knows precisely
Very precisely
If someone has had love
or no love in his life.

She is the precise woman
She is the exact woman
Priggish, you know
What I mean.

Following Dollars

they know where they're
letting themselves into.

where greens show their sheen
where gold glows in gold
where things sell like sex
like lust of sutras - Kamasutra
like secrets of world - Kabala
like laughter in characters - cartoons
like leaving suffering - spirituality
like love and peace - morality
like burying sorrows indeed - liquor bars.

they follow dollars
in the garb of God
love and peace.
wherever they are.

Nothing wrong to follow dollars,
but in the garb of God, love and peace?

Sunday, July 23, 2006

seven spiritual paths to a happy marriage

1

if he’s angry at you,
if he’s angry at kids,
and you’re gentle with him,
you’re falling into a trap.

he’ll become
more angry at you.
more angry at kids.
more angry with the world.

tell him: “ go to hell, buster.
I’m looking into this mirror relationship.
I’ll be no more gentle with you, you mama’s boy.
I’ll will keep the kids, and kick you in the ass
and send you packing to your mama’s house.
be a man. behave. or else…”

he’ll come to senses.
he’ll give up his anger.
he’ll love the kids.
he’ll love you.

he’ll pose beside you smiling
his smiles running from east to west,
telling the world how lucky he is
to have found you, to love you.

path number one was thought
by the spiritual guru
like all others of his paths –
never tested, only thought,
just imagined to write a book
to make some easy money.

if this path doesn’t work
don’t tell it no one, por favor.
just return the book to your guru
the return of money is guaranteed.

(for it always works with dimwits
and there're many dimwits in the world)

Gurus' Followers

while the guru is
teaching love, lust
goodwill and peace
and with no knowledge

of liberal arts,
beating his drums,
why everyone
is turning into an atheist

his lady followers are
cussing, complaining
of their gender inequality
and their pent up grief

they come here to share
their sorrows, their miseries
their wisdom, their blind beliefs
their foolishness, their disbeliefs

some old lady: men are pigs
some old lady-man: women are bitches
some piggy: listen to me. I am priggish
some flirting one: I light the candle. look into my eyes

some duped one: in gurus books I'm enlightened
some medic woman: god bless you. I send you to heaven
some confused one: four forces sustain me
some hurt one: I am wise. you call me stupid?

some devotee: thank you, thank you, dear auntie
some writer: I copy. I do not plagiarize
some friend of writer: dare you say this? we’ll sue you
some old daughter: my mom loves my dad. my dad loves my mom

and there are others
some talk of this
some talk of that
but most talk of shit

I wonder what guru feels
reading day after day this shit
perhaps his powerful teachings will
advance surely but slowly bit by bit

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Who owns christianity?

who owns christianity?
dumb question
simple answer
people, stupid.

who owns love?
who owns hatred?
who owns peace?
who owns war?

and who, tell me who
who owns God?
people, stupid.

Indian female

only an Indian would want,
for whatever reasons,
an Indian woman.

to tease her to go to jail.
to befriend her to get her chappals
and her fathers or brother's thapars
for fouling their family's name.
to marry her and be bonded
raising her up for ever and ever.

no, never. not even in the name of Allah,
I'll tease her, befriend her, marry her
or do anything with her; never, never.

so no jail, no bond, no bail.
no money backers, no smackers.
no rasgullas, no papdum, no crackers.
wonderful white women, no hackers!

lord Krishna was lucky
to handle a hundred milk maids.
my luck ran out when I stood up
from my seat in a crowded bus in India
and offered it to a standing pretty female.

no thank you, thank you, I appreciate.
but she looked at me with a piercing gaze
as if I had torn up her secret membrane,
and blurted in anger at me: "what d'ya mean?
you'll get me by offering your seat to me?"

Friday, July 21, 2006

Attachment-Detachment

seek detachment
with senses in attachment

seek attachment
with senses in detachment

and live your life
in this attachment-detachment

what play of words!
what fooling of Arjuna by Krishna!

what Bhagavad Gita!
when Lord Krishna fools

with one hundred milk-maids
it's called Krishna leela

but if you fool with a single
Indian female, pray for someone

who will bail you out of jail
Krishna, Krishana, Harey, Harey, Krishna, Krishna!

Superheroes

1

“the seven spiritual laws of SUPERHEROES.”

Wow, wow! so powerful are these laws
They are now stirring
The lovers of Kamasutras
The lovers of Kabalas, K-Bars
And the lovers of SUPERHEROES.

***

2

“I was mesmerized by the conversation between Grant and my dad.”

Even if you were not
Please tell us, tell us
Not once, many times
How you were mesmerized.

If a dad can’t mesmerize his lad
Or his loving daughter in her pad
How can he mesmerize the world?

***

3

Superheroes, in Chopra's view, are not external beings. "These are archetypal beings that stoke the fire of life and passion in our own souls…..”


So is the Superhero
Of all the Superheroes – God.
Creating him through
Our collective imagination,
We’re now celebrating him
Through collective consciousness
Collected by our
Revered guru in the universe
And presented to us
Through queer quantum
And quark thoughts….


Magical is God
Magical is our guru.

***

4

"Superman has outlived his creator," declared Morrison. "He's still there. They're dead. He'll still be there when I'm dead...”

So has our new age guru
In his super imagination
Of the wisdom of the dead –

Of those who loved love
In love books of Kamasutra,

Of those who found secrets
In the books of Kabala,

Of those who died drunken
With their skulls sunken

In bathtubs of K-Bar liquors
Reading comics like kids

And eating Indian foods
Cooked with curry masala.

All superheroes will be dead
Our guru will be dead

What will be left will be
Fat bank accounts

Piled high and deep
Made with sales of

Books on sham souls, sham love
Sham peace and sham God above….

***

5

“It was a thrill to see the Virgin Comics booth with our first series of comics -- Devi, The Sadhu, and Snakewoman.”

Here comes the real plug in.
O poor virgin comics!
What happened to the ones
no virgins any more.
Are the comics virgins ?
Is Devi a Virgin?
Is Sadhu a virgin?
I doubt if the Snake Woman
Is really a virgin!

It makes one wonder,
If the one behind
the funny virgins
Is still a virgin, indeed!

Not because of one’s choice
But because of poor nature’s
Some funny blunder and absurdity.

an Einstein of idiots

this past week on the web
was born an Einstein
of idiots
impersonating
many of us
he trashed even
our revered guru.

I do not care
who he was.
he's not gone
still lurking
like dry bull-shit
on the ass of a bull.

but one wonders
if he was
the gujju lad
hating his mom and dad,
he landed amongst us
right from Surat

where two generations ago
some beautiful one
in the family
melted the heart
of a British loafer
and was forced
to carry
some white genes
of whitish skin
blues eyes
and body bery thin.

so the gujju lad
coming to the west
berified totally,
he wasn't from the East
he was the best of the West.

so he came here
trashing us poor wheatish
looking Indians with
with brownish eyes,
'fatish' bodies
loving our garam
masala and curries.

he has fair looks
but nothing more
is fair with him.
with foul mouth
reeking with hamburgers
made from the holy flesh
of holy cows he hurled
insults on everyone,
including our revered
guru who in the world
shines like a bright sun -
bull of spiritual knowledge
bery bery deep indeed!

mahapralaya

there are many idiots.
all around us idiots.
it's the idiots' world.
idiots teaching idiots.

but a week ago amongst us
we had the Einstein of idiots.
what a bigot he was!
he spared none with his idiocy
not even the idiot guru's prophecy:

"if no love and peace in the world
if no goodwill in the world
if no new humanity in the world
if no alliances, no Nobel prizes
if no Kamasutras, no Kabalas
if no Komics, no K-Bars

he would tell his peace broker
to tell God up high in the heavens
to let loose the fires from skies
to let there be gloom and doom
to let the six days' work be undone
to let mahapralaya rush down soon, bery soon!"

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

when she is angry

when she is angry
she thinks everyone is angry

when her husband masturbates
he thinks everyone masturbates

new Masters and Johnsons of new age
in nonsensical discussions engage

look into yourselves
look into your souls

look not into others' souls
before you look into yours

yours might be the darkest ones
darker than the devils' souls

but do devils have souls?
we now have to ask our guru

his is the whitest soul
whiter than the whitest

lotus flowers that people offer him
while bowing down to touch his feet

the holy guru, the holier facade
the holiest dollars, zindabad!

Send him your love

He is dying in dearth of love.
Beautiful ladies,
Old ladies.
He’s a divorcee.
Send him your kisses,
Send him your hugs,
Send him your love.

You can’t miss him.
He’s here very evening,
Calling someone, “Mi Lady”
Or “Hey beautiful one.”
Some other lady.

A factory worker,
A bluish job holder,
Is dying in dearth of love.
Send him your kisses.
Send him your hugs.
Send him your love.

Send him your photos too.
Though he is ugly
And boorish but has
Hawk eyes for beauty.

Unmistakable Mystic Beauty

Unmistakable Mystic Beauty

Dear tear maker painter,
could you kindly post
that painting of yours
that made peoples' tears flow.

You say they take
your hand in their hands,
look at the painting,
look at you and

suddenly begin crying
with unstoppable flow.
The painting of a hanging torso,
legs where arms should be

hands where feet should be,
still hangs in my mind,
and I wonder if it is
some tear teasing painting

or as someone remarked:
“What bullshit is that?”
Would you dear painter.
would you dear tear maker.

would your dear poet,
would you dear movie maker
tell us what emotion shaker
in your painting is that

that tears trickle down
with unstoppable flow?
Or perhaps it is all

your hands, your soft face
your smile, your eyes with
unmistakable mystic beauty.

translation of an Urdu poem of Sachin on love

What magic is beauty?
What power has love?
It’s the stupor of love.
It’s the loonyness of love.

I want to get drowned
In this deep ocean of love.
All world seems purposeless.
If there’s some purpose,
It’s in your eyes telling love.
It’s in your heart full of love.
It’s in your sweet words.
It’s in your style of love.
It’s in your loveliness of love.

I heard many a time
People get loony in love.
Love is blind and what not.
But I always thought
It was just a word,
Devoid of purpose,
Devoid of gains.

But once I felt this love thing,
I knew what poets would say
I knew why love was blind.
It’s true friend; it’s true.
I see nothing in her but beauty.
I see nothing in her but love.
I see nothing else in the world but her!

to someone drowning deep down

To someone drowning deep down
in the bottomless ocean of love
poor loony lost in love
beyond hope, irrecoverable

***

ab muhabat main maray
tum doobay jaatay ho
ab bachanay ka tumay
koee intzaam nahin

mohabat kya tum ko
aati hai uskay kalay balon se
uski badi ankhon se
uskay khoobsoorti cheray se
uskay komal hoton se
ya mohabat ke bharay badan se

maro na yaar, zinda raho
is mohabat ke talab main
mohabat ke bina duniya
khali nahin hai
bhari padi hai
is ke siva bahut baton se

haey mohabat, haey ram!
zindi too ne kar thee haram!
log pagal hooey jataey hain
tumari komal dil ki baton se

Preety, preety; preety, preety

When I wake up
before dawn,
still dark,
from a deep sleep,
I feel
as if I've been
remolded once again
from soft clay
and am reborn.

my heart beat
lungs respired
not much ATP to ADP
to AMP converted
to keep me alive
except in my head
where neurons
rejuvenated
to store juices
to feed me on
to live on.
I shed off my ghosts
in my dreams
like a snake shakes off
its worn-out slender long coat
or a trees casts off
its dark crusted bark
to keep on living.

not a reborn christian!
nor a new age new avatar!
but myself reborn everyday
to feel the fresh wet grass
under my feet in
my garden long before
the dawn dawns;
and to gaze the stars,
to hear the music of spheres
drowned soon after the sunrise;
and to see the finches, the jays
the cardinals, the mynas
and the starlings and the bulbuls
chirping, rushing for breakfast
at the bird feeder near
the gazebo in my garden
where I sit with my early
cup of coffee and hear:
"preety, preety, preety;
preety, preety; preety, preety"
song of a bird that I cannot
see or name, hiding
in the green foliage up somewhere
in its nest and singing,
reminding me how beautiful,
how pretty is the world.

dear, it is love

you think of me
in the middle of the night
turning in your bed,
trying to get
a wink of sleep.
you can't stop me
coming in your head.

dear, it is love.

goodbye, my dear

your lack of playfulness
your somber moods
the absence of smiles
the silent laughter
your continuous chatter
of souls, spirits and gods
is now driving me nuts.
I see no life in you.
though sometimes I liked
your sober attitudes,
you're not for me
and I'm not for you.
goodbye, my dear.

all had shades of madness

I was among the
many followers of
love, peace
and new humanity
for weeks and weeks.
I told them how
crazy they were
talking
of love and all
crap they carried on
day and night.

they didn't agree.
they said I was crazy
and they were following
blindly what their guru said.

so I studied what
was in their heads
and found all had
shades of madness.

they cheered
when I left them.
now when I look
back at them
I find they were
crazier than what I
had thought of them.

my life was touched
by their foolishness.
now I sigh
a sigh of relief.

give your money to our guru

when tornadoes strike
when tsunamis tower
when floods deluge
when seas go mad
when volcanoes erupt
when aids spread
when crops fail
when skies go dry
when people kill people

and thousands old
and young die
don't send them aid
don't give them things
that money buys
don't give them money
don't give them food
don't give them shelter
don't give them things
to survive

preach them peace
tell them things of spirit
tell them join new humanity
tell them we love them
tell them they should love us
tell them they should love each other
and tell them to live on thin air
and on your new humanity fare

members of which sing songs
taking baths in bath tubs
of love and peace for humanity
members of which have
no sane audience and talk
to their dogs on morning walks
members of which know
when the evening breeze comes
Mahapralaya -apocalypse - will follow
and what will then happen how
to last little details they know

so Bill Gates and Warren Buffet
you two loonies in line
when you throw away your billions
in helping suffering people in the world
you both by our guru have lost your minds

you make poor people hate you
you stole all their money
you hoarded it so long
many went to heavenly journey
you didn't preach things of spirits
now who cares for your money

give your money to our guru
so he can preach us souls and ghouls
so he can preach us love and peace
that's all we need. leave us alone
we want to die in hunger with aids
without clothes, without homes

give your money to our guru
(better through a charity of the family
to make 10% profit out of charity)
he will use it for new alliance for humanity
and sell us all free his love and peace
and keep the money for himself, his family and friends
to travel around the world living in luxury
and reading other's writings writing books
on love, peace, health, wealth, death and charity.

Weekly Intent

someone wants to know
how to be on Weekly Intent.
simple. send to Intentblog your content.

but tell something interesting
tell something funny
tell something we don't know
tell something to make us grow

don't tell us all old nonsense
not layers of souls and dark ghouls
nor stories of Sita and Ram
but some story like 'thank you mam'
of a manly man loving wham wham

a gujju lad living in usa

A gujju lad
with some hair on his face
and a sprouting moustache,
imported to an economy motel
in some redneck state
owned by his dad Duniya Motelmal
has perhaps gotten the taste
of some safed shitty trash
(red neckisch of course in nature)
some farting fat trash
a toilet cleaner maid in the motel.

he's the only pyaara putar of his dad
but his fat fart lady loves him
she knows he'll soon inherit the motel.
so she made him a white lad overnight
offering bulky hanging fruits of love
both front and back and in between
and on the side difficult to reach
with his pinkie sized manhood
bristling, bubbling, bursting with pride.

now a safed lad inside, but a gujju outside
looking like a big rat fed on offerings
of laddoo, milk and barfi at a Ganesha temple,
(Ganesha, the son of Shiva, with head of an elephant)
talks, walks, acts, eats and shits as if
he's lily lily white both inside and outside.
he says all indians are silly, always willy-nilly
no guts, no brains, their beauty in drains
they eat in hurry, they smell of curry
they are cheap, hoard money in heaps
no manners, their clothes look like banners
sikhs wear long hair, beards and turbans
gujjus wear chappals, kurtas and dhotis
(in summer lungis for cool airy effects)

they do not know how to date
they can't find their mate
they marry for caste and money
they never call their love honey
their parents find wives for them
but seeing safed women everywhere
they drool like in doldrums

and he does not like sikhs, nothing about them, zilch.
not their punjabi music, not even their bhangra
he says they are gays, and sway their hips to his dismay
when they dance around and around in bhangra

but poor gujju lad does not know how
that most manly men on Earth are sikhs
just by passing a pretty girl they whisk
and so brisk are they, the girl becomes pregnant

but he tells all they are gays
to keep his secret buried deep down
he's perhaps right when they see a gujju
acting like an angrez
they make a curtain of their turnban
and hide the lad between their legs
and order him to use his teeth to open the zippers.
this gujju lad once went into some such dithers.
no wonder he calls them gays and lays a claim to be an angrez
though the angrezi he speaks is gujju angrezi from surat

she left me again

his wife leaves him again.
not this time for forever
for he says he loves her
and will love her
forever and forever.
she leaves him whenever
she has free time.

the fact is,
though outwardly he seems
to be a dude of some
manners and some brains,
he is in fact a boor.
he pesters her continually.

so he calls his sister
and complains,"she left me again."
"left you again. again and again."
he hears this in his ears.
his sister is not surprised
knowing what her lil brother is.

so she feels pity for him
and invites him to dinner.
he accepts it readily and
shows up an hour before time.

he sits on the sofa and
and asks what's for the dinner.
next moment, little cute Meera
barely 15 months with her front
teeth cutting, still potty training
on a little cute baby pink toilet
with pictures of bears and
micky mice on it, comes
rushing to the living room,
from her little toilet room
hearing her dear chacha at home,
with handful of shit smiling
and showing to her chacha
saying," chacha, chacha,
shee, sheet, sheet here,"
bringing her little cute hands
full of shit close to his face
and giggling, giggling, giggling
"hee, hee, hee, heeeeee!"

love stirrings in his pants

some young man
bery likely looking like
a pygmy emigrated to
the western world sees
a photo of so-so looking
girl on the internet
who wrote something
to show her intelligence.

he feels a stirring
in his pants and
instantly falls
in love with her.
love at the first sight
as they say, but not really.
it's love stirrings
in his pants seeing
the girl's photo
for the first time.

then he finds
that someone says
she is stupid
she has no mind.

next moment he boils
in anger. he hurls
obscenities: "how dare
someone say this?
he's no man,
no stirrings in pants
his mother should
be ashamed of having
given birth to him."

then he assures
his secret love
on the internet:
"dear sweeter than sweet
looking girl, beautiful eyes
long hair, wide open smiles,
don't care what others say,
say what you want to say.
the world is deaf and dumb,
awaken the world."

A translation of an Urdu poem of Sachin

I saw the whole world
From far and from near
Whatever beauty I saw
The fitting ugliness was there
How strange are these
Two colors in life
One is dark, the other is white

I studied people closely
I looked into their hearts closely
I peeped into their heads closely

Then I pondered: O God
What’s this your godliness!
Seeing your godliness
Sometime I feel sorrow
Sometime I feel happiness

Again I pondered: O God
What’s this your godliness!
To some you gave brains of donkeys
To others you gave brains of gods

Translated from an original Urdu poem of Sachin

mahapralaya - after Rodrigues Arsenio

Soft breeze is blowing
I don’t care from where
It’s coming
But I know for sure
Mahapralaya is coming
Soon it will be all doom

The whole universe
Will melt and vanish
Into nothingness
Then he will smile
And think what kind
Of new universe to create

A world with only love, no hatred
A world with only peace, no war
A world with only happiness, no sorrows
A world with all wealth, no greed
A world with all content, no bitterness
A world full of sissies, no machos

A world full of faithfuls, no adultery
A world full of believers, no heathens
A world full of wise, no dimwits
A world full of blessings, no cussings
A world full of gurus, no chelas
A world full of all beauty, no ugliness

With new world so wonderful
I wonder what quantum gurus will do!
Perhaps to be original
They will say, let there be:
War, hatred, sorrows, greed
Bitterness, machos (not nachos)
Adultery, heathens, dimwits
Cussings, chelas and ugliness.
After all they’ll have to make their living!

Then he'll say to himself:
“ Nah, no, non, nahin, nyet.
That world will all vapid
All bland, all flat
All flavorless, all savorless
Everything will then
Taste like potatoes
Look like potatoes
Smell line potatoes
Sound like potatoes
Touch like potatoes

All couch potatoes
All potatoes-heads around
Watching football games
Playing billiards and foosballs
Drinking beers and moonshine
Smoking tobacco and pot
Chewing tobacco and spitting
Cussing the hell out of you
Riding their Harleys
With bumper sticker like
“Trust no God, God farts”

Well that would be interesting
to some, but not to God
Because God is holy
He has gotten his holy son, Jesus
Begotten through holy virgin Mary.

So God will be thinking
As soon as Mahapralaya will be coming
As soon as the breeze will be flowing
It is not it takes time for God to create a world
He can do it in six days, he can do it in a jiffy
The problem is the most perfect design

That he cannot do in a jiffy
It takes time, it takes brains
Even for God it takes brains
But for Mahapralaya people
It is all God’s maha game!

the queen of idiots

the queen of idiots,
the east coast priggish
ms. piggy is celebrating

her idiocy tonight simply
hitting the IB typekey
and sending one liners

to everyone to make
the comment counts to
a thousand or more.

to cheer up the sad host of IB,
hijacked by some other idiots
at the height of their idiocy.

she made it over 1000 mark!
wonderful! wow! wow!
and was presented the first

prize of IB certified idiocy.
wow! wow! the idiot queen tonight
is joyful celebrating her idiocy!

Kamasutra! Kamasutra!

Kamasutra! Kamasutra!
Sutra of Kama
Rules of lust.

written by Vaitsanaya,
centuries ago in India,
along banks of brahamaputra(?).

translated into myriad languages,
read by millions lusty sexy people
and not a single soul understood it.

so the ageing new age guru
takes this task upon himself
to rewrite Kamasutra

mixing spirituality in it.
And his lusty dandy lad
helps his holy dad

with porno paintings
to illustrate it
lest some still don't

get the kicks of arousal
reading it with some floozy
or alone in self pleasures enjoying it.

the randy guru too gets
the last sexual kicks of his life
reading it, shamelessly promoting it

on the web logs, on the radio
on the telly, on the talk shows
and his dandy lad toots it.

mixing sex and lust with money
is well known to pimps and whores
in many old to new lores.

though the aging guru may be lusty
his sex tools have to be rusty.
so what's this new Kamasutra for?

make a guess, my friends. It's no
souls and ghouls nonsense.
it's all making money and money

money, money and more money,
making you horny and horny
sucking your horny money.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

he laments

he laments like this:

I’m lonely
What do I do?
My wife just left
Not for another man
Just to be with herself
To be with her parents
To be with her siblings
I pester her so much
She said she wanted
To be away from me
To gain her sanity

weirdos counting comments

some people count
the dollars in their banks

some count the cunts
they have fucked

some count the countries
they've visited

some others count
countless things they like

but the commenters
at the Intentblog are

counting the comments
to make to a thousand tonight

their minds are empty
dumb and stupid they are

so they write
"how are you? are you

fine tonight? today sun
was shining very bright"

Or "come on guys, hit
to your PCs, hit the keys

to make it to a
thousand comments tonight"

so with this trivial game
that their trivial minds play

they are passing their time
to hit to 1000 before midnight

these are the weirdos -
the followers of a spiritual guru

whose soul has been enlightened
countless number of times

but not fully yet to enlighten
the disciples' souls a few times.