Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Zero Milestones


Sashaying nothing
Swaying everything
Opening seclusion
Freeing seduction
One relearns the blank names of the ten thousand attractions
And the one lonely meaning of many crowded words like repulsion

Home Prints:

-So far
Bhutan was lovely from what I sighted
The wrapping was beautiful from what was presented
When I spy the secrets of the contents I'll let you know of its values
Until then I can't really say I saw revelations
Perhaps they are hiding in plain apparitions
I don't know hence I can't really tell
But we are good at disguising the gongs of the bell
It's a recurring success where we never fail
-Kolkata, the city of joy is mired in madness
It's got way too many people walking in sadness
Where the poor guard the rich against the poor in some twisted badness
And the destitute have more fun having nothing to lose
And the rich sleep in silken worries having everything to choose
-Now I'm back in Bangkok after a lull of years
The road I used to haunt is filled with prostitutes
It used to be sleepy but now it motors on robotic fears
Yet the glitter and the glam hasn't dampened the Thais gentle energy
Whether its making Pad Thai or mixing the ham with the sham
They do it with a maddening pace of an acquired sense of dispelling synergy
-But last night I was rude to a man
For no fault of his but my own mindless cramp
I suffer still
From the heart of sadness and it's source in the darkness
It's there still
Gunning a drill
-Now surviving?
I hear that a lot
From brokeass folks and the moneyed pot
Two glasses of the same slimy shot
I once said it more than once
It felt cool and then the truth fired hot
It felt fake like a corporate cake
All of a sudden
I felt this unnecessary burden
Like I was tugging along this pretentious poverty
Weighing it heavy in the air
Eager to let it all bare
Panting at the chest
Tugging in the belly
Declaring false humility
Collecting egoistic variety
Like I was grounded in the wind and somehow haloed in the head
Feeling superiorly blessed
Then I saw winged ants and syringed mosquitoes
Overground chilies and underground potatoes
Stray dogs with cornered attitudes
Beasts of burden with grit and gratitude
Still Survive?
I'd rather arrive anyway anywhere anyday
Kill this bogus if it stands in my way
Murder this humbug while it's at play
Than let that poor con continue...
And still be ready to go and depart
Than listen to its shitty impart
No matter to whom it prays or on what it preys
It always fails
It always fails
(Now poetry
Like a new lover's gaze
Is best expressed in silence
And devoured in the quiet
Unless you're Leonard Cohen
Who had no choice
Who was born with the gift of a golden voice
And all of eighty one years paying the poetic price putting up with the finger and the praise
In his shoes we'd be crazed
We'd be crazed)

Onion Union:

I'm trying to peel the onion in your head
Finishing which
I'll show you its empty shed
Pungent and aromatic
Tearfully telling you to trust your nose
Your eyes, ears, tongue and your toes
I'm tasting mountains
Peaking which
I'll free fall and fall free
Drop dead and walk upto three
I'm walking again
Down to the plains
Leveling which
I'll choose one of the ten directional bitch
I'm in the southern bowls of the medicinal land
Laying in bed in the tropical heat
Getting up which
I'll lie again
Fanning this memory
Sitting in a mobile retreat
And so it goes
Your stories and your whores
Beginning in the head
Ending up in the world pretty badly made
Imagination playing with subjection
Projecting which
You redefine life
Imp by imp
Pimp by pimp
Whore by whore
Bore by bore
Snore by snore
Till you're no more

Daily Draft:

Here comes the mandatory morning posts
Pleasing deities and subjugating ghosts
Yama is spelt with a Y
And Lama with an L
Both are four letter words
Much like Crabs and Cops
I know what you're thinking but I'm leaving out the F
I'll throw in Shit 'cos that gets flushed-
As long as you put up with the stains and the floaters and the rush
Paro's sun's here
All of two hours and twenty two minutes late
That don't bother cicadas they've been at the jam since ages
My left face is warm
My right is still cold-
That's topographical as I'm a leeward fella going westward on a soul that's sold
I woke up pretty early
I know
I was the one who woke up and still looked ugly
Not in the flesh but in something we look at call the mirror-
I don't ever take that person seriously you know the one who wants to get out but lives trapped in in that villa
Here the morning birds are lazy and it's just turning Wednesday
God knows what they chirp on a Monday
Tomorrow I'm going down and then it's a free fall-
Going down the mountains it's always been a ball
My backs been aching it must be the age
If I slouch too much I'm gonna stick it out like a sage
I know the primary colors but I still don't know beige-
But really what's it like carrying a color you know has no taste
Party on friends the worlds at an end
Blood moon and all have gotten the fanatic Christians deranged-
Those with worldly disdains can take it as a practice
If you don't die as designated you can consider the rest of your lives gratis
I've got the fag now who's got the machhis?

Reclining Buddha Mountain:

Hiding in plain sight
In Paro's Bayul of Chumphu
Flanked by the 21 Jagged Taras
And a sky gazing Divine Thunderbolt of the Incomparable Madman
Lies the Reclining Buddha
A peak for a topknot
A crag for a necklace
A granite for a hand
And the bare gray mountains for a folding robe
My brothers once hiked up to this place
Ara in hand
Banter in the band
Two went yonder
One stayed put
The other came back
Forty three years hence
I'm beginning to glimpse the truth
Of mountains and men
Their stories
Of us and them
Now and Then
Again and again

Seasonal Sensation:

Winters in the morning shade where I sit
Summers in the sunlight coming down from Thimphu's hills
The other two seasons amiss
I hope the last of the monsoons drops one more time
One for the road
One last shot
A final wet beak
Filling a belly full of draught

Like a Swallow's Nest:

It's midnight in the watches of good and bad
Its just past PM and now AMs here and mad
Leaving me up in bed playing the philosophical lad
Starlights faint
But the moonlit shards shafts and slivers
It's delightful company enlightens me
They're turning me back into a boy with an imaginary toy
But this ain't sad
It might even come out a tad glad
Farewells are public departures resting best in tender private dwellings
Wherein you gauge your swelling feelings
Herein there's naked mirrors reflecting sentimental dealings
Like smiling sorrows
Like leaving hearth and home
Going housing seeking elusive gnomes in stranger burrowings
But we move to stall
Stall to go move
Seeking still motion
Molding silly putty
Ever on the trail of the perfect groove
Barefeet or booted
Invited or mooted
I'm not sorry for the mush
I'm not in a hurry nor am I in a rush
I'm just letting it all sink in- welcoming the worry and the crush
And I don't airbrush
Neither are there shadows in this twilightning room going hush hush
Having confessed that I must get a new toothbrush
The one I've is old and brittle
It has a look I like- like one big hardy bristle
But a new one is easily affordable
A task very much doable
Now if I drown I'll go down wearing my fragile craniumed crown
If I soar and glide I'll ground the memories and therein abide
But should none of that happen I'll still stake it in my zebra humping bumping stalling stride
Without a hide
Thankful to the quiet ilk of generous clans
Grateful to the silent warriors of humbling pride
Who accept you in
Welcoming you out
Adding everything in
Taking nothing out
Praise be to our webbed karma
Glory to that ever unraveling dharma
Peace unto each and every drama!


A witness to my existence
Daily drag and habitual brag are here as two ends of one lonesome burning fag
Here's an opinion about points of view
Which in itself is a comment
You're right about all the things that have gone wrong
You're also wrong about all matters that have turned right
And now here you're
No wiser today than yesterday
What have you accomplished?
If its creating potholes on a smooth paved road you've done it
But do ya see the ragged man and the woman who fills it up?
Who sweeps the mess you've left behind?
If you did you'd take it easy
Knowing an angle has angles
A finger pointed out has four pointing back
That what's momentarily obscured will come alight
But you've made up yer mind
Come to conclusions
Your juxtapositions
A solitary broken bird seeking the company of herded flocks
Urging them to fly in yer preferred direction
Saying you represent the righteous
The indignant
And the moralistic ethical lot
I'm sorry
The only thing that's certain is death
Besides that we are all living a lie
No matter how honestly told
No matter how bold
Yer gonna die
They're gonna die
I'm gonna die
We're all gonna die
This cannot be wrong
Look into yer own eyes
Look into yer own lies
If ye can
Count the lines on yer tiles


Bowled over by the moon
Wickets gone
And I'm still standing
Stumped and humped
Remembering the entry is the exit
The way in the way out
No hideout

What's The Time?:

You can have the spotlight but the fun's in the darkened bun
Like the halo I can't see above my head
And the one invisible above yours
Where UFOs land and dance
And trucks trudge the rugged mountains spewing black nectar
And a polite dainty lady's Monday high heels maneuvers rude potholes
And the early morning falling sun lazes with hermit dogs
Listening to the silence in the cracks betwixt bird calls
Where they perch camouflaged
Making pine trees sing and green
Where a man sits porched
Caffeinated and nicotined
Asking the ancients
Invoking the modernists
Supplicating mad lineages
Making truthful-false compromises
Knowing he's here for one thing-
To keep watch
Tell time
And pass on the pin pricked needle holed bowl of leaking life
From hole to hole
Bowl to bowl
Mug to mug
Jug to jug
Such to such
- inspired momentarily by Dasho Benji Dorji s Kitna Gangta?


Ambrosia sucked
The butterfly fluttered drunk
The flower shriveled
Thus dried
We crunched
Launching autumn
In spite of summer's dying eyes


Morning brooms sweeping
Last nights dusts weeping
Edith Piaf singing
Even the local birds are listening
I drank the coffee
Took in the incense
The worlds games will not matter
If you play it
Without defense
Without offense
With nothing left to shatter
Or even that oddball called monsieur blatter

Miss Moon:

She's hid long enough
It's about time she reappeared
Rounded and full
Lustered and cool
I'm not asking for a boon miss moon
Just a sight
A break from this misty wet hype
I'm sorry
You see
I'm the sentimental type


I get the Fine Tooth Bristle Brush
What's leftover
Thinning Scalp Beaver


I'm empty
No, don't bother filling me up
I'm dancing and it's airy
Looking something like a fairy


We are here
Looking for a lost status
The authority is over there
Enforcing superficial matters
On the ground there's a circus and it's divine
I don't know what's going on and I'm feeling bovine
The man on the speaker is thinking out aloud
And this is what comes out:
-It don't matter where one wants to go when one is really aware that no matter where one wants to go the first step begins right here where you are whether it's going backwards towards the future or forwards towards the past you still gotta start here where you are already absent as its unfolding right here where the curtains continuously unveiling as it were-
When he was done announcing a man died of discipline
Another fell gravely ill to proceedings
And the general populace got infected with rules and regulations
The man, with a smile on his face, said inconvenience caused was regretted
Deeply without shallows
Making announcements on gallows
It felt as thought it was always expected

Costly Maintenance:

New hang ups keeps running into old dressing downs
Going to the tailor
Who cuts him yet another piece from the same new cloth
Telling him to mend in
Stitch up and patch up
Button up those holes
Zip up and belt up
Go to the barber
Get a haircut
Trim up and shave up
Do dandy
Go to the cobbler
Sole in and nail up
Heel in and polish up
Be handy
Keep coming back
Keep going back
Knowing theres no business like show business
And no exhaustion like maintenance

Sudden Familiarity:

I met an old friend
In a new experience
For 15 minutes
We were young again

When Waterfalls:

Non exclusive
This stream flows


It's certain
That nothing is
It's definite
That nothing is
It's planned
That nothing is
It's perfect
That nothing is
It's ok
That it is so
And so it is
That nothing is
And everything seems to be
Where clarity is the confusion
And confusion the clarity
With more than a feathering touch of polarity
And a whole lotta weighty hints of ambiguity and disparity
Conspicuously missing hilarity
That most leveling equanimity

Like Old Transistor Radio Waves:

Had a poem in the back of my mind
And a haiku on the tip of my lips
Doesn't matter
What's not important
Will always scatter
What is
Will always come back later
If its not happening now
Don't fetter
Whether its a brief postcard
Or a lengthy letter
Let it all scatter
Doesn't it already feel much better?

What Cable?:

TV's on
I'm off
It's status quo

Standing in a Queue:

I'm trying to prove too much
So much so that one of these days I'm gonna give in and hands up
From lack of evidence
And alibis and witnesses
The day came and the judge read my crimes
Life is a metaphor for life and reality an example he said
And life he repeated thumping that hammer
And as many solitary confinements as is required
Until he breaks
And can safely rejoin the general populace
In harmony and productivity he added
Me I'm still serving time
Crossing bars on the wall
Forgoing escape
And all notions of freedom
And reality seems to unfold in variance and in accordance with the examples one sets or follows
Not that it matters in the end
Although the metaphors seem to
So life begins and ends
And metaphors go on
Hand in hand
With examples
And with nothing left to disprove

Have Some Supe- Redux:

This is Thimphu
Where there's a c(l)ock that towers small and big
Playing host and giving time
To Supe and his gig
His band and his gang
He's hot
Even when he's not
He's got his music
His muse
And his mimes to go with silent chimes and giggly crimes
If you miss him here you'll find him at Mojo doing his magic
If you miss seeing him on stage it ain't tragic for you'll hear him on air in the valley
Advertising radio
Chewing doma
In stereo
In audio
Supe don't need no WiFi
Of Air
He's fair yet rancid
In calm commotion
And in dirty transit
He's local
He's going global
He's vocal
And he's focal
And if you still keep missing him turn on the Telly
Watch the film promos and there he'll be hiding his swelling belly
Playing hero
Never zero
Yet if you miss him still here's a fill
He's down on the Expressway
Opposite the Vacant Square
In front of a claustrophobic hill
He'll even let you in if you be pretty and fair
A besetting mare
He'll stud you
Transforming you then and there
We are aware
It's a nice loop
For he's Supe
No dupe
Maybe a dude
Never shy
Just drop in and say hi

(Writ at Musk with a little help from yer fans Me, Mitra & Karma Wangchuk Sonam. Read out aloud by Deki)

Blowing Balloons:

Let's type in hype
Watch it grow
Build up a myth
Start believing in it


I resisted
I failed
There's a circus in town and I'm the clown
Come around
There's no ticket to this picket
It's free as you'll see
We had lunch
He's a businessman and I'm a brunch
For dessert we ate our successful misconversation and stared at the cake
In long short breaks
The valleys are rife
The hills are getting conquered
The mountains are getting closer
It's just a matter of time
Before we move up top
I once kept the diary
The days and weeks and the months were scary
Like you had to fill them all in or you were just like Harry
And that is not a slur
No sir
I like Harry
Very very
He's bespectacled
He won't marry
He's a dear old friend

Urban Thimphu:

The bazaar is open and the goods are on
The streets are never closed no not even at dawn
You could be in a drayang or you could be in a hut
It doesn't really matter because these things can never be shut
I came home in a train and I'll probably leave in a bus
Even if I had flown in a plane it doesn't amount to much
I'm not talking about money and I'm not talking about peace
These two may look like strangers but they are identical beasts
The feast you see is the turd you crap
The buffet you devour is the shit you flush
It doesn't really matter which is what
In the belly of kichichiri everything's stirred up
I got voices in my eyes and tears in my tongue
Foot in my mouth and brains in my hump
The head keeps conjuring and the mind goes numb
It doesn't really matter as long as you know a finger is also a slender thumb
I used to be high and now I'm slow
I used to trouser in and now I gho
It doesn't really matter as long as there's an arrow with the bow
I maybe sober but it's not over
Not until I show up in a turtleneck pullover

Talks A-Lone:

Haiku's gone
Poem's blank
Friday's done
It's just me and this wrinkled plank
But there's a cup of stirring coffee
And stubborn nicotine
And in the background there's also children's nursery rhymes
There's also the sun and morning bird calls
And last night's good old times
It seems nothing's ever null
And it all flows from the void
There's life left in the gaps
And those gaps are closing in fast in unknown maps
There's also Saturday
And there's also Sunday
And it all starts today

Sucking a Juicy Gossip Called the Strawman:

Did you hear about the guy who owns the groundbreaking groundnut factory?
He was caught in the act
Breaking nuts
Against the law
The sleeping populace woke up when their nuts were threatened
So they went a-protesting
The khabbarkakkas wallahs took a-noting
So it got a pressing black and white chhapping
The chhapp was read by AC Chowdhary
And AC Chhodhary updated Justic La La Lady
La La Lady loved groundnuts
So she said
Give me my peanuts
Or you'll go back to breaking your groundnuts
Moral- leave Baddams and Mumfulllays alone

A Minute's Ceasefire:

In searching praise
Personifying craze
The crow went caw
Calling out from the trees
In one, twos and threes
Busy as a bee
Hardly ever free
Isn't it weird how movingly locomotive this forum feels
That when you log out you space out in non animated stills
That when you log on you feel the imaginary thrills
That you accept those piling bills
Apply the wrong skills
Mechanically stuff in your mouth your meals
Status by status stack up the cellular kills
Go deaf on tragic screams of frightened shrills
This boy was washed ashore
On a beautiful beach
In an inviting sea
Where he laid in soft sands
Where he could have built castles of play and playful dreams
Ran on the shore
But the little boy is dead and gone
He is no more
If it wasn't tragic it would have been magic
Who do you blame in a game of name, shame and fame
I've logged off but the grid grips and holds
There's an eye in the sky and it's not the lord's
Your salvation is a word
Your freedom is a myth
Your liberation is a sword
And the pen is blunt and bent
And the heart is a pump and a hump and a dump
Yet it's a dream within a dream dreaming a dream without a dreamer
Where a mindless mind wrestles an egoless ego
And non existent subjects battle hallucinatory objects
And dark blind alleys stage mortal combats betwixt the relative and the absolute in an infinite reincarnation of epic rage of dualistic tendencies
Putting numbers on the fatalities
Running enacting watching staging nonstop circular cycles of circuses
Where irony laughs
And paradox grins
Knowing nothing is lost
Dwelling within
Residing without
Paying the changing temporary price
But not the ultimate cost
Regaining what you never lost
Realizing you're the boss
Having transcended the crescent, star, lotus and the cross
Recognizing rainbows as beautiful dross
And remembering the wisdom of Willy Shakes'- my kingdom for a horse; my kingdom for a horse

Laptop Love:

Open lies
Walks and talks
Tells me it's left the herd
Done the graze
Left the meadows
Stopped mixing his dung
Gone far flung
Gone solo
No Hans
No Bolo
Just plain old solo
It doesn't matter
Does it
Yer proclivities
Who cares
Your mare
She wouldn't dare
Pay the fare
Not in the end
Maybe around one bend
But not in the end
You could borrow
You could lend
Just for one more bend
But not
If you did you wouldn't be here
Neither would I
Nor any one of us
We are all
And the


Going up
See you when I'm down
And out
Where most of us are
The great leveler
The ground beneath our feet
And a happy Wednesday
If there's such a thing

To Mr Buk:

Dear B,
The buck died with you. Nobody bucks up anymore. They've lost their buckles. The pants are hanging on to the hips. Aided by the ass. The drunks are still around. They drink and drown. There's no contemplation. There's Miss Conception. Popular. Glam. Sham. And poison. Without venom. The expressions are dry. It's a world of zombies. You gotta pity the fools. Mr T was spot on. Pity the fool. There's also drugs. In excess. No INXS. No thunder. No lightning. No sparks. No Eureka. Plenty of flashes. They call it swag. No panache. No chutzpah. You get a stick in your mug and photograph the holograph. Put it on the Web and hope the world gets stuck in it. Entrapped. It's like that old B. Bravery has a brand new redefinition. Cowardice. It's lauded. It's shrouded in mistaken identities. Everybody's got names. Lots of names. You cannot tell who's who no more. The virtual world is alive. Reality is flat. Dry. That's the perception. The grand view. Last resort. Twisted. Bullshit is sacred in comparison. The stink is all around. Inescapable. Running noses. Cynics are running the show. Those not running it watch with mouths gaping. Saliva dripping. Itching to participate. Take center stage. Mike in. Loudspeaker out. Spread that doubt. Infect. Inject. Disease the crowd. Sicken the population. Convince them it's medicine. The bastards are everywhere. I carry a gun. Bullet it with non-participation. Go Gandhi on their nihilistic asses. Non-co-operate. Make my own salt. March with sticks of no-violence. Gotta learn to spin Khadi. Or hemp perhaps. Make Swadeshi. The eternalists are here too. Looking for a happy long definite-infinite ending. It's always once upon a time. Impermanence is breaking down the door. They're gonna be scared, startled and dumbfounded.
I like them better than the nihilists.
And virtual realists.
Will be in touch.

Orchard Orchestra:

This man made apple orchard is the stage
There's a live theater here
I got Miles Davis blowing a trumpet
He's jazzing it up next to a Samsung flower
The one that goes puff in your face
In the air
Producing more Samsung flower heir
I hear
Dragon fly choppers
Like the opening scenes of Apocalypse Now
They drop down for the nectar
There's no Morning Napalm here
Or late afternoon bomb
Sacred Paro sky's clouded
A peek to the heavens opens now and then
Mahakala appears briefly
Flying as Ravens up and above
Darting through here and there
There're no scrolls in their claws
Winter's a couple of months away and everyone knows
Bees are busier
They're about to churn ambrosia
Butterflies seem matured
Elsee the German Shepard is gone
Probably looking for more affection
The flowers are pink, white and gold
The marijuana is green with promise
The grass is ripe for the cow
And the bazaar sticks out on the paddy fields
The paddy fields looks like Buddha's patched robes
The late afternoon sun's lighting up part of the clouds
The rays are bursting through
There's illumination and there's some hue
The old houses are trying to become new
And the new houses are being decorated old
There're scars on the hills
And the sound of change charging through
Rain drizzles and falls
Like flower petals and gentle waterfalls
Sun's still partly shining through the clouds
The physical conditions are right for a rainbow's pause
A turtle dove just shot through
This bird is late for the party
The gathering of the hale and the hearty
Now rains a drench
Must find a roof
And maybe a chair or a bench
Continue watching this spectacle
As safe as safety can be
Sitting right in the middle of this wet and dry trench

Grass Grooves:

There's a jam session jazzing up and down in the woods and the insects are playing. The birds have left the building. As evening darkens and deepens it's gonna get wild. If you can hear it enjoy the music


Cat calls
For a pat
And now


I'm home
In a house built with earth, wood and stone
And mother made food
I'm home
Sound and sheltered
For now
Relaxed and unbothered
Breathing in the ease
Breathing out the peace
Befriending new disease
But it wasn't always so
You see
Through these Bhutanese windows I'd look
Down upon the valley and the brook
Wondering where the hills went and whence the mountains looked
So I left
Without trails, tracks or a map
Just a gut push from within the lap
Walking on a hunch
Carrying a carrot and lots of sticks
Going places
Looking for myself
Forgetting breakfast
And even lunch
The road goes on
And that's the life
Where the edges cut and bruise is the sharpened knife
The stuff of life
If there're stop overs in houses, homes and mothers meals
It's a blessed seal
Where there're none
It's still a blessed deal
Between earth, wood and stone
And flesh, blood and bone

Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!


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