Saturday, February 15, 2014

Carshan Darshan

I do not know the meaning of words such as erudite
And others for which the dictionary was assembled
My vocabulary is severely limited
As is my practice of what is referred to as the Path of the Dharma
Regarding beings such as Holy Mendicants, I fall into the category of the ignorant
In comparison to those who have sowed the Seeds of Bodhicitta, I’m a barren desert of nothingness
When I behold images of the Buddha, I feel like a fool that has stumble upon a scenario he cannot fathom nor describe
And the sound of Mantras leaves me dumbfounded, as if I were the odd-note gone off the key
In seeing Prayer Beads and Wheels, I’m astonished that such actions are undertaken by such folks
And circumambulations leave me dizzy
Prostrations leave me breathless
The sight of Stupas and Temples tells me these are places where I do not belong
In the images of Masters and Teachers, I shrink from shame and embarrassment
My own lingo of the highlands is foreign to me, for I can neither read them nor write them;
For I’m reminded of my own illiteracy whenever scriptures appear
Such phenomena is beyond and above me
The beggars I come across have more wealth
The fools I chance upon have more wisdom
The emaciated lot has more courage
The hungry ones possess better bellies
The selfish tribe has more pride
The greedy bunch has a sharper hunch
The wealthy clan has more élan
The ill-fated has more luck
The accursed creed has more belief
Liars make me envious
Philanderers make me jealous
The non-lineage lines have more majesty
Stooped down to the lowest denominator
In body, speech and mind
I’m stricken by outer, inner and secret failures
Hope itself has me discarded
Faith has run out
Belief has gone
Trust has gone bonkers
And love has gone broke
Accepting such states of empty meaning
I’m forced to embrace glaring disparities
And holding onto that as a crutch
I begin walking a limp
Another crutch comes along
For now
This crutch will do
With this limp
One footstep at a time
One moment at a time
Planting it here
Moving it there
In the walk towards infinity
The limp and the crutch are priceless
No matter how insignificantly

Coming & Going:

Paradise is not residential
One comes and packing up, moves on
Letting go is born of such attitudes
And such attitudes become paradisiacal
One could almost say, residential
Making peace at long last
‘Twixt yer soulful tenant
And that abusive body- aphrodisiacal!


The ocean waves
The palm trees sways
In Goa’s afternoon inertia
The boat may not be the shore but we need to row to get to the other side
If this side is sore
Climb aboard
Take no hoard
Trusting guts, gusts and winds
And cool breezy flows
Sail away wither with currents or calm
If the other shore welcomes you
Say hello to the palm trees
And juice up some of those lovely coconuts
Toast it for me
And when we meet up around a fire on the beach
Let’s trade stories
Of this and the other bank
And of boats we will have anchored
As we walk back on land
Leg by leg 
Hand by hand

Too Bright:

The eyes cannot handle the brilliance of the midday sun
It would go blind in attempting such futile a feat
Knowing thus we admire the sunrise
And find ourselves melting at sunset
As in life and so at death
What has arisen must set
With brilliance
Of the softest kind
So none goes blind
And everything’s a sight
Healing sore eyes
And restoring distorted vision
In hopeful harmonium


From Delhi’s overwhelming human belly
To Varanasi’s holy banks
Sarnath’s scintillating sermon
Bodh Gaya’s Buddhist footprints
Khaju Rao’s illustrious temples
And Sanchi’s sacred monuments
To a random stop-over called Chalisgaon- the Forty Villages
And discovering rejuvenation in Goan beaches
If I could borrow the dead poet’s living phrase
And alter it a little
Here’s what the epitaph would read-
“There’s miles to stop before I pop
There’s miles to stop before I pop”


This nonsensical haiku
In three stupid lines
Is meaningless

Time Pass:

In luxury
Discussions arise
Of the fate of man
And the condition of the world
In moans and groans
Everybody wines and dines from the cracked pots of the hungry (who’re angry!)
And then shoots diarrhea
Gets constipated
And wonders what happened to the shit
It’s a laugh
It’s the circus
Gotta get spiritual? Straighten that spine man! And sit like an idiot!
Rock that ass
Count that breath
And missing the point, hit the bull’s eye
Trade stories of the storied kind
Build the myth
Deepen the mystery
Add coatings
Layer it again
Failing which, count the successes
Come back to the mundane my man
See the shit!
Wipe the ass!
If not find another baba
Do another yoga
And do the energy! Transfer that nonsense!
Do so in caves on mountains or the beach in the tropics
When all of these fail; recount the blessings
And see what one has gathered
In this simple life one has managed to confound- be dumfounded
Go stupid
Do retard

And looking like a fool; act wise

Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!

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