Sunday, December 12, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
फ़ार ऑफ़ flying
Fear of Flying
Having spent a week in Israel and seen the inequity and arrogance
of the way the Palestinians were treated, I had a breakdown and
sent to a psychiatric hospital. When feeling better a male nurse
was flying with me to London. The nurse had a great fear of flying
I persuaded him to take valium he was to give me. He got quite
giddy, I ordered whisky for both of us. He insisted on singing Yiddish
songs and fell asleep. I told the stewardess not to disturb him as he
had mental problems .For safety he was hand cuffed and I moved
to another seat. When we landed he had to be wheeled into
the terminal and it took me some time to tell them that it was no
longer my duty to look after him anymore. The nurse was carried
Into a cell while I caught a plane to Liverpool.
Having spent a week in Israel and seen the inequity and arrogance
of the way the Palestinians were treated, I had a breakdown and
sent to a psychiatric hospital. When feeling better a male nurse
was flying with me to London. The nurse had a great fear of flying
I persuaded him to take valium he was to give me. He got quite
giddy, I ordered whisky for both of us. He insisted on singing Yiddish
songs and fell asleep. I told the stewardess not to disturb him as he
had mental problems .For safety he was hand cuffed and I moved
to another seat. When we landed he had to be wheeled into
the terminal and it took me some time to tell them that it was no
longer my duty to look after him anymore. The nurse was carried
Into a cell while I caught a plane to Liverpool.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
फ़िवे न्यू haiku
Haiku
A lost dog
Sees itself in a rain pool
Overcast sky
Haiku
By the pier
Cats wait for the fishing boats
Sunny morning
Haiku
Under a tree
A white sleepy donkey
Summer heat
Haiku
Hare spoors in snow
Suddenly turns ruby
Silent sky
Haiku
Corrugated flurry
Glitter as transient pearls
Memories.
A lost dog
Sees itself in a rain pool
Overcast sky
Haiku
By the pier
Cats wait for the fishing boats
Sunny morning
Haiku
Under a tree
A white sleepy donkey
Summer heat
Haiku
Hare spoors in snow
Suddenly turns ruby
Silent sky
Haiku
Corrugated flurry
Glitter as transient pearls
Memories.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
थे stream
The Stream of Consciousness.
A laughing clown filled the heavenly screen, a grin full of malice.
Behind him bearded men were eating children, wine and blood
ran down their chests, they were having the time of their life.
Democracy is great they chanted: freedom to exploit the weak
and poor. They were friendly offered me a child’s soft arm and
thigh, But I shook my head and walked on I had to find my way
home. And there it was shining red on a hill in afternoon light.
The apartment block had no entrance rope hung from windows,
my flat was on the third floor. I tried to climb up it was vital for
me to get home, but half way up I lost the grip, too feeble,
I slid down and my hands burst into flames, I put my hands into
a bucket of water that turned into wine, which I coolly drank.
A fire engine hasted by I tried to hail it to borrow their ladder,
but they had no time to stop so many other fires breaking out.
I walked to the everlasting river, sat on a stone and listened to
Its universal language. Then I let go and became the river.
A laughing clown filled the heavenly screen, a grin full of malice.
Behind him bearded men were eating children, wine and blood
ran down their chests, they were having the time of their life.
Democracy is great they chanted: freedom to exploit the weak
and poor. They were friendly offered me a child’s soft arm and
thigh, But I shook my head and walked on I had to find my way
home. And there it was shining red on a hill in afternoon light.
The apartment block had no entrance rope hung from windows,
my flat was on the third floor. I tried to climb up it was vital for
me to get home, but half way up I lost the grip, too feeble,
I slid down and my hands burst into flames, I put my hands into
a bucket of water that turned into wine, which I coolly drank.
A fire engine hasted by I tried to hail it to borrow their ladder,
but they had no time to stop so many other fires breaking out.
I walked to the everlasting river, sat on a stone and listened to
Its universal language. Then I let go and became the river.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
monuments
Monuments
They have gone now not a trace left but hazy memories.
Leaves are getting yellow there is no denying fall is here.
I’m the sole survivor standing on a plateau of nothingness
where dust of wasted years, blows in the wind. But it was
the wasted years that brought you here, a voice whispers.
I shall not now climb the Eiffel tower from the outside in
honour of the army of welders; whom are all but forgotten.
The name Eiffel lives on, but the man himself lost his crown
when trying to construct the Panama Canal. This long hall
I must walk so many doors on each side, I will not enter any
of them to see what’s inside, my curiosity is gone I need not
know. My object is to reach the end of the corridor where
I see shadows, perhaps the great man Eiffel is there, if not
I hope they are, the welders of the monument made of Iron.
They have gone now not a trace left but hazy memories.
Leaves are getting yellow there is no denying fall is here.
I’m the sole survivor standing on a plateau of nothingness
where dust of wasted years, blows in the wind. But it was
the wasted years that brought you here, a voice whispers.
I shall not now climb the Eiffel tower from the outside in
honour of the army of welders; whom are all but forgotten.
The name Eiffel lives on, but the man himself lost his crown
when trying to construct the Panama Canal. This long hall
I must walk so many doors on each side, I will not enter any
of them to see what’s inside, my curiosity is gone I need not
know. My object is to reach the end of the corridor where
I see shadows, perhaps the great man Eiffel is there, if not
I hope they are, the welders of the monument made of Iron.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
स्लीपिंग mouse
Sleeping Mouse
In front of me, on the track that leads into the bushes, a tiny field mouse.
Picked it up and put it in the palm of my hand. The mouse was brown and
white, absurdly cute when it curled up and fell asleep in the morning light.
Eyes, lungs and heart, like me, so what’s next? I couldn’t stay here with my
hand outstretched waiting for it to wake up from its slumber, nor could
I take it home. Behind me I heard the shepherd with his sheep and dogs,
Put the mouse in my pocket. When dust had settled and the baaing stopped
I put my hand in pocket to pick it up, only it wasn’t there anymore. To have
a mouse in the palm of my hand, is one thing, but to have it crawling about
inside my pants? I took my trousers off. I took my shirt off. I stood there
naked as Adam in Paradise, no mouse. As I slowly dressed, butterflies flitted
making the woods enchanting.
In front of me, on the track that leads into the bushes, a tiny field mouse.
Picked it up and put it in the palm of my hand. The mouse was brown and
white, absurdly cute when it curled up and fell asleep in the morning light.
Eyes, lungs and heart, like me, so what’s next? I couldn’t stay here with my
hand outstretched waiting for it to wake up from its slumber, nor could
I take it home. Behind me I heard the shepherd with his sheep and dogs,
Put the mouse in my pocket. When dust had settled and the baaing stopped
I put my hand in pocket to pick it up, only it wasn’t there anymore. To have
a mouse in the palm of my hand, is one thing, but to have it crawling about
inside my pants? I took my trousers off. I took my shirt off. I stood there
naked as Adam in Paradise, no mouse. As I slowly dressed, butterflies flitted
making the woods enchanting.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
थे डे इ किल्लेद Jesus
The Day I Killed Jesus
A flock of white doves flew over my house, heading due east, if they were flying to
Israel fat chance, and if they landed on the Gaza strip they would end up in a pot.
Last time I saw a white dove was in 1956, when I accidently killed one, I had made
a bow and arrow and shot into the air and hit one. Our neighbour came, pulled
the arrow out of quivering bird and gave it to me, but kept the dove. The aroma of
roasted bird wafted along the street. We sat eating fried mackerel with turnips,
“why didn’t you take the bird home?” My mother asked. “But it was white and it
might have been an angel” I said.“?Never mind the colour, we are talking about
food,” she said. My sister went even further insisted it was Jesus in disguise, and
I had to give her my chewing gum to atone for my sin. White doves of peace with
a palm leave in their beaks, how romantic, war is undying, peace is just a breather
and festive balloons as military brass bands play.
A flock of white doves flew over my house, heading due east, if they were flying to
Israel fat chance, and if they landed on the Gaza strip they would end up in a pot.
Last time I saw a white dove was in 1956, when I accidently killed one, I had made
a bow and arrow and shot into the air and hit one. Our neighbour came, pulled
the arrow out of quivering bird and gave it to me, but kept the dove. The aroma of
roasted bird wafted along the street. We sat eating fried mackerel with turnips,
“why didn’t you take the bird home?” My mother asked. “But it was white and it
might have been an angel” I said.“?Never mind the colour, we are talking about
food,” she said. My sister went even further insisted it was Jesus in disguise, and
I had to give her my chewing gum to atone for my sin. White doves of peace with
a palm leave in their beaks, how romantic, war is undying, peace is just a breather
and festive balloons as military brass bands play.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Bullfighting
Early morning on the flatland between Portugal and Seville a cockerel crews,
its hoarse wakeup call carries for miles. Vaqueros are already on the grassland
separating bulls form a herd; the bulls are five years old and have been chosen
for the bullfight. Within a week the selected bulls will be dead, slaughtered on
an arena of sawdust and sand, they have been allowed to roam free for years.
Most animals only live a few years, mostly in a pen, and never see grassland
before they are killed. How can meat eaters demonstrate, call for the abolition
of bullfighting? This sport, the only one, where an animal has a chance to kill its
assassin. I’m on a bus heading for Seville to see bullfighting, yes, I do admire bull
fighting; if lucky I might see one of the chosen bulls kills the toreador.
Early morning on the flatland between Portugal and Seville a cockerel crews,
its hoarse wakeup call carries for miles. Vaqueros are already on the grassland
separating bulls form a herd; the bulls are five years old and have been chosen
for the bullfight. Within a week the selected bulls will be dead, slaughtered on
an arena of sawdust and sand, they have been allowed to roam free for years.
Most animals only live a few years, mostly in a pen, and never see grassland
before they are killed. How can meat eaters demonstrate, call for the abolition
of bullfighting? This sport, the only one, where an animal has a chance to kill its
assassin. I’m on a bus heading for Seville to see bullfighting, yes, I do admire bull
fighting; if lucky I might see one of the chosen bulls kills the toreador.
Friday, August 6, 2010
न्यू tanka
Tanka.
Ruby, he gave her
Unclean as coagulated blood
Looked like stones
Rocks should come in a nice box
She gave them to an orphanage
Tanka.
Ruled by the toffs
Social welfare, banks preserve
If you are poor
The state don’t want to know
Find a soup kitchen, my friend.
Ruby, he gave her
Unclean as coagulated blood
Looked like stones
Rocks should come in a nice box
She gave them to an orphanage
Tanka.
Ruled by the toffs
Social welfare, banks preserve
If you are poor
The state don’t want to know
Find a soup kitchen, my friend.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
ascent
The Ascent.
I walked on the vast plateau the everlasting wind of time had blown away
the sand and exposed millions of skeletons and the memory of man from
whence his brain was the size of a peanut. It is bigger now, filled with
images of pornography and war. I came to an oasis, but its water was full
of coagulated blood, but I must drink it or explode into atoms at dawn.
Stronger I walked on, crushing ancient rib cages gleaming in moonlight.
A vast iceberg blocked my way it sparkled as a diamond, decorated with
religious promises of salvation, but I had to climb up and over it if I wanted
to know what was on its other side; emptiness or the final axiom?
Since I’m human, and have no choice, I reluctantly began my ascent.
My hands were cold and my heart fearful.
I walked on the vast plateau the everlasting wind of time had blown away
the sand and exposed millions of skeletons and the memory of man from
whence his brain was the size of a peanut. It is bigger now, filled with
images of pornography and war. I came to an oasis, but its water was full
of coagulated blood, but I must drink it or explode into atoms at dawn.
Stronger I walked on, crushing ancient rib cages gleaming in moonlight.
A vast iceberg blocked my way it sparkled as a diamond, decorated with
religious promises of salvation, but I had to climb up and over it if I wanted
to know what was on its other side; emptiness or the final axiom?
Since I’m human, and have no choice, I reluctantly began my ascent.
My hands were cold and my heart fearful.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
वेयर इस alex
Where is Alex?
He was a famous snooker player, who squandered his fortune
and talent. They all loved him to bits, they said, at his funeral.
His daughter read a poem. Drugs and alcohol had reduced him
to beg, in pubs, challenge amateur players for a game, getting
enough money for more booze and cigarettes.
A free soul, or a man ruled by his vices? A happy go lucky chap
who did as he pleased? Not a man beset by his failures, alone
on the darkest night? Five hundred mourners, florists made
a killing. He had lain death for a week in his flat, and no one
had bothered to ask: “Where is Alex?
He was a famous snooker player, who squandered his fortune
and talent. They all loved him to bits, they said, at his funeral.
His daughter read a poem. Drugs and alcohol had reduced him
to beg, in pubs, challenge amateur players for a game, getting
enough money for more booze and cigarettes.
A free soul, or a man ruled by his vices? A happy go lucky chap
who did as he pleased? Not a man beset by his failures, alone
on the darkest night? Five hundred mourners, florists made
a killing. He had lain death for a week in his flat, and no one
had bothered to ask: “Where is Alex?
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
अ तिन ऑफ़ sardines
A tin of Sardines.
Mother by an assembly line putting tiny sardines into tins,
a machine did the rest, a squirt of oil and a lid stamped on.
Sardines side by side, in total darkness, wait to be eaten.
But first of all the sardines had to be smoked, the smoker
my mother’s lover, he visited her every Sunday afternoon,
and I was sent out to find a place that sold ice cream, even
when it rained. Rusting sardine cans, littering the wayside,
don’t walk barefoot in the grass at summer time. Mother
by an assembly line, putting sardines into tins, the smoker
had another girlfriend now and I got no Sunday ice cream.
Mother by an assembly line putting tiny sardines into tins,
a machine did the rest, a squirt of oil and a lid stamped on.
Sardines side by side, in total darkness, wait to be eaten.
But first of all the sardines had to be smoked, the smoker
my mother’s lover, he visited her every Sunday afternoon,
and I was sent out to find a place that sold ice cream, even
when it rained. Rusting sardine cans, littering the wayside,
don’t walk barefoot in the grass at summer time. Mother
by an assembly line, putting sardines into tins, the smoker
had another girlfriend now and I got no Sunday ice cream.
Monday, July 26, 2010
ब्राजीलियन cafw
Grey Hospital and a Brazilian Café.
The hotel where I stayed served lousy coffee, insipid and milky.
I knew there was a Brazilian café nearby, on my way there walked
past the closed down city hospital. Grey walls dripping of uncured
diseases, graffiti and dead windows. Convert it into an office block,
but who wants to work there, a place haunted by cynical doctors and
indifferent nurses who stalk the halls at night waiting for their shift
to end so they can get out from this place of horror, and patients
they have lost interest in and can do nothing for. Tear it down and
throw the debris down a gully. At the Brazilian café the coffee was
strong and healthy; the staff, young, moved as dancers to the music
in the background. There is much of Africa in the Brazilian soul,
passionate, courageous; yet, sometimes, viciously moody.
The girl who served me coffee, smiled with lips and eyes, her skin
dark, glowing… fit. And the sad hospital faded into oblivion.
The hotel where I stayed served lousy coffee, insipid and milky.
I knew there was a Brazilian café nearby, on my way there walked
past the closed down city hospital. Grey walls dripping of uncured
diseases, graffiti and dead windows. Convert it into an office block,
but who wants to work there, a place haunted by cynical doctors and
indifferent nurses who stalk the halls at night waiting for their shift
to end so they can get out from this place of horror, and patients
they have lost interest in and can do nothing for. Tear it down and
throw the debris down a gully. At the Brazilian café the coffee was
strong and healthy; the staff, young, moved as dancers to the music
in the background. There is much of Africa in the Brazilian soul,
passionate, courageous; yet, sometimes, viciously moody.
The girl who served me coffee, smiled with lips and eyes, her skin
dark, glowing… fit. And the sad hospital faded into oblivion.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
थे एदुकातेद stranger
The Educated Stranger
His dark eyes no longer smile, always well dressed,
he walks rapidly through town; speaks to people
but only briefly, and mostly about the weather.
Often he disappears for weeks, drives from town
to town it is as he is looking for something that he
will only know what is when he finds it.
His family, travelling folks, a close knit society he
accidently broke out of when he was persuaded
to seek higher education, he became different.
Travelers journey and he saw his people disappear
In a haze of road dust. A natural business flair,
he made money so he could retire early, and live in
a big house. His eyes scan the horizon, looking for
the irretrievable.
His dark eyes no longer smile, always well dressed,
he walks rapidly through town; speaks to people
but only briefly, and mostly about the weather.
Often he disappears for weeks, drives from town
to town it is as he is looking for something that he
will only know what is when he finds it.
His family, travelling folks, a close knit society he
accidently broke out of when he was persuaded
to seek higher education, he became different.
Travelers journey and he saw his people disappear
In a haze of road dust. A natural business flair,
he made money so he could retire early, and live in
a big house. His eyes scan the horizon, looking for
the irretrievable.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
रेड necktie
The Red Necktie.
He woke up, fully dressed but minus his tie, on a lumpy hotel bed
It was a down and out sort of local, the last semi civilized place
before sleeping rough. It reeked of sadness and stank of depravity.
He switched on the TV news, during the night a woman had been
brutally strangled with a tie. His heart sank, he sweated, stabbed
by fear but he couldn’t remember a thing, total black out; yet he
vaguely remembered angry voices and someone running in a back
alley. Should he ring the TV channel and ask what colour the tie?
Or should he call the police and give himself up? His tie was green
with black dots on. There was rumbling from an old fridge in
the room, he opened it in the hope of finding a cold beer…. No beer,
but wrapped neatly around a bottle of whisky, a red silk tie.
He woke up, fully dressed but minus his tie, on a lumpy hotel bed
It was a down and out sort of local, the last semi civilized place
before sleeping rough. It reeked of sadness and stank of depravity.
He switched on the TV news, during the night a woman had been
brutally strangled with a tie. His heart sank, he sweated, stabbed
by fear but he couldn’t remember a thing, total black out; yet he
vaguely remembered angry voices and someone running in a back
alley. Should he ring the TV channel and ask what colour the tie?
Or should he call the police and give himself up? His tie was green
with black dots on. There was rumbling from an old fridge in
the room, he opened it in the hope of finding a cold beer…. No beer,
but wrapped neatly around a bottle of whisky, a red silk tie.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
हाउ तो व्रिते अ novel
How to write a Novel
I like to write a book, any book as long as it has my name on the cover.
A one day course, how to write a novel. The course leader, a published
writer, wore a long dress but I could see her ankles, they were beautiful
and much younger than the rest of her. Dyed, red hair, face very pale,
presumable from sitting in all day writing how-to books.
Beginning, middle and an end, yes, like life, capricious in the middle,
the ending tends to write itself. Sudden endings are best, run over by
a bus, or a train crash, where cell phones go on ringing in the broken
interior. Then silence. Long ending are best being avoided, hospital bed
pages after pages, endless days, exhausted relatives.
Lovely ankles, did she paint her toenails red? She wore flat shoes
sensible for any woman over fifty. Classroom empty, they had all gone
out for lunch, I went to the pub and stayed there. Beginning, middle and
an ending, what more is there to know?
I like to write a book, any book as long as it has my name on the cover.
A one day course, how to write a novel. The course leader, a published
writer, wore a long dress but I could see her ankles, they were beautiful
and much younger than the rest of her. Dyed, red hair, face very pale,
presumable from sitting in all day writing how-to books.
Beginning, middle and an end, yes, like life, capricious in the middle,
the ending tends to write itself. Sudden endings are best, run over by
a bus, or a train crash, where cell phones go on ringing in the broken
interior. Then silence. Long ending are best being avoided, hospital bed
pages after pages, endless days, exhausted relatives.
Lovely ankles, did she paint her toenails red? She wore flat shoes
sensible for any woman over fifty. Classroom empty, they had all gone
out for lunch, I went to the pub and stayed there. Beginning, middle and
an ending, what more is there to know?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Paris
Paris’s Five O’clock Shadow
Paris metro was a scary place full of robot people with glued lips.
Many ghosts they walked right through me and up stairs. I don’t
think robots or ghouls had teeth. I did see Senegal workers
knocking down a wall, they had white teeth and smiled. I know
the man who helped modernize the metro, he is a red beard and
often smiles despite he just married off his daughters, or is that
the reason he smiles, they could have ended up unmarried sit on
a sofa and never giving him peace of mind. I got lost it was night
when I stumbled up and out of this manmade conflagration, far
from the centre of Paris. In streets were women swam about,
they smiled and I felt like a halibut lost in shark infested sea.
Ten years ago one of them might have lured me into a cove lit by
a 40 amp lamp, I would have spent days worrying whether I had
contracted a venereal disease; there is something to be said for
impotence. If I were a bishop my parishioners would be safe.
Found a bistro; good food and wine much cheaper than uptown.
Louvre? I have seen the postcard, who wants to see Versailles,
this gilded whore house for depraved royals.
Paris metro was a scary place full of robot people with glued lips.
Many ghosts they walked right through me and up stairs. I don’t
think robots or ghouls had teeth. I did see Senegal workers
knocking down a wall, they had white teeth and smiled. I know
the man who helped modernize the metro, he is a red beard and
often smiles despite he just married off his daughters, or is that
the reason he smiles, they could have ended up unmarried sit on
a sofa and never giving him peace of mind. I got lost it was night
when I stumbled up and out of this manmade conflagration, far
from the centre of Paris. In streets were women swam about,
they smiled and I felt like a halibut lost in shark infested sea.
Ten years ago one of them might have lured me into a cove lit by
a 40 amp lamp, I would have spent days worrying whether I had
contracted a venereal disease; there is something to be said for
impotence. If I were a bishop my parishioners would be safe.
Found a bistro; good food and wine much cheaper than uptown.
Louvre? I have seen the postcard, who wants to see Versailles,
this gilded whore house for depraved royals.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
थे widow
The Widow
When my best friend died we, his wife and I, went up a hillside and
strewed his ashes about. The wind was against us and some of his
ashes landed on my lips. Going down from the hill, his widow was
very tender, clung to me. Back in my house we made love or rather
she made love to me. Inexhaustible, she wanted to do everything
even things I didn’t know about. I, being a man, enjoyed it, but in
the back of my mind bells rang. Finally she fell asleep, I got up had
a shower and sat in the living room watching TV. When she woke,
I drove her home, she didn’t speak, neither did I. A few days later
she took a plane back to Britain and I never saw her again.
When my best friend died we, his wife and I, went up a hillside and
strewed his ashes about. The wind was against us and some of his
ashes landed on my lips. Going down from the hill, his widow was
very tender, clung to me. Back in my house we made love or rather
she made love to me. Inexhaustible, she wanted to do everything
even things I didn’t know about. I, being a man, enjoyed it, but in
the back of my mind bells rang. Finally she fell asleep, I got up had
a shower and sat in the living room watching TV. When she woke,
I drove her home, she didn’t speak, neither did I. A few days later
she took a plane back to Britain and I never saw her again.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
अ मोमेंट तो remember
A moment to Remember
This night is too beautiful to behold, moon and silence. My heart aches.
Know I will wake up at dawn and regret that I can’t take it with me.
It will all be erased one day and I shall not know that I ever lived. I have
nothing, cannot own anything but my own ageing body, all I can do is to
enjoy the rare moments of fulfillments. I hear a plane high up see its light,
full of passengers going home and back to work. Why would anyone want
to leave this place? Across the road, in a darkened house, a man lies dying
racked by pain he can’t even shave himself. He sees not the full moon.
My life consists of moments, not like takes at a film studio that can be done
over and over again till it’s right. Some moments are too sad to behold.
Do not think of this now, I will drink another cold beer, smoke a cigarette,
look at the stars and dream.
This night is too beautiful to behold, moon and silence. My heart aches.
Know I will wake up at dawn and regret that I can’t take it with me.
It will all be erased one day and I shall not know that I ever lived. I have
nothing, cannot own anything but my own ageing body, all I can do is to
enjoy the rare moments of fulfillments. I hear a plane high up see its light,
full of passengers going home and back to work. Why would anyone want
to leave this place? Across the road, in a darkened house, a man lies dying
racked by pain he can’t even shave himself. He sees not the full moon.
My life consists of moments, not like takes at a film studio that can be done
over and over again till it’s right. Some moments are too sad to behold.
Do not think of this now, I will drink another cold beer, smoke a cigarette,
look at the stars and dream.
Friday, June 25, 2010
कास्कैस Portugal
Cascais, Portugal.
First day of summer both winter and spring, full of rain; we are visiting her mother’s
resting place, a hole in a wall with a glass door that has a flimsy lock; easy to break in to
but who would want too? Her mother, born in Kinshasa, Congo, but upheaval forced
her to leave; now she rests in Cascais, Portugal far from her native land. The bible on
top of the coffin is full of tiny holes soon the book will be a pile of dust
While my wife pray I go for a walk, beautiful day and Cascais has a lovely bay. There are
sailboats and a few yachts in the bay one of them belongs to Prince Albert of Monaco,
he likes Portugal, the local paper enthuses. Indeed, aren’t we lucky? She joins me, says
“I don’t like boats and I don’t like the sea, my first husband took me on a sailing trip in
lake Lugarno, I was so sick they had to set me ashore.” We turn our back to the bay,
her mother and walk back to the car.
I remember a winter night in the North Atlantic Ocean, giant waves came crashing on
deck taking the railing and lifeboats away. Three ships sank that night with irrelevant
cargo onboard. No survivors. “Yes dear, the sea is a monster if it doesn’t takes your
body it takes your soul.”
First day of summer both winter and spring, full of rain; we are visiting her mother’s
resting place, a hole in a wall with a glass door that has a flimsy lock; easy to break in to
but who would want too? Her mother, born in Kinshasa, Congo, but upheaval forced
her to leave; now she rests in Cascais, Portugal far from her native land. The bible on
top of the coffin is full of tiny holes soon the book will be a pile of dust
While my wife pray I go for a walk, beautiful day and Cascais has a lovely bay. There are
sailboats and a few yachts in the bay one of them belongs to Prince Albert of Monaco,
he likes Portugal, the local paper enthuses. Indeed, aren’t we lucky? She joins me, says
“I don’t like boats and I don’t like the sea, my first husband took me on a sailing trip in
lake Lugarno, I was so sick they had to set me ashore.” We turn our back to the bay,
her mother and walk back to the car.
I remember a winter night in the North Atlantic Ocean, giant waves came crashing on
deck taking the railing and lifeboats away. Three ships sank that night with irrelevant
cargo onboard. No survivors. “Yes dear, the sea is a monster if it doesn’t takes your
body it takes your soul.”
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
थे seas
A Poem from the Seas
I once saw, where the horizon ends, a ship plough the sky.
White tears on pale blue, and I saw the waiting darkness;
I knew, before any others, it would be a starlit night.
Look, I said, but it was too late, the ship had cast anchor
behind a cloud loading mist for Dogger Banks, and take
onboard discarded dreams to plug the dikes of Amsterdam.
Sunflowers on mythical sea and red flying fish, my ship is
bound for the Saragossa Sea with a hold full of old sailors,
it’s here they come to stalk in the fog of the forgotten.
I once saw, where the horizon ends, a ship plough the sky.
White tears on pale blue, and I saw the waiting darkness;
I knew, before any others, it would be a starlit night.
Look, I said, but it was too late, the ship had cast anchor
behind a cloud loading mist for Dogger Banks, and take
onboard discarded dreams to plug the dikes of Amsterdam.
Sunflowers on mythical sea and red flying fish, my ship is
bound for the Saragossa Sea with a hold full of old sailors,
it’s here they come to stalk in the fog of the forgotten.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
थे देअथ ऑफ़ जोसे saramago
The Death of an Author. (Jose Saramago)
Jose Saramago has gone. Communist, truth seeker
and atheist, never liked by church and state.
When he won the Nobel peace prize of literature,
he was embraced by the Portuguese people, even
by those who had never read his work.
For a fleeting moment the light of fame, shone on
the nation. Alas, he died when football fever was
on its highest, his demise was hardly noticed. But
future TV programs will, no doubt, exalt his virtue.
In time there will be a statue of him in the corner
of a dusty square.
Jose Saramago has gone. Communist, truth seeker
and atheist, never liked by church and state.
When he won the Nobel peace prize of literature,
he was embraced by the Portuguese people, even
by those who had never read his work.
For a fleeting moment the light of fame, shone on
the nation. Alas, he died when football fever was
on its highest, his demise was hardly noticed. But
future TV programs will, no doubt, exalt his virtue.
In time there will be a statue of him in the corner
of a dusty square.
Monday, June 21, 2010
बिरद migration
Bird Migration
I see no birds today
Need them for my loneliness
Wonder why they flew?
The birds which left
Built me a nest of feathers
A bed of eiderdown.
Birds are transient
Open the door of any cage
See them fly as dreams.
I see no birds today
Need them for my loneliness
Wonder why they flew?
The birds which left
Built me a nest of feathers
A bed of eiderdown.
Birds are transient
Open the door of any cage
See them fly as dreams.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
आईटी इस ओनली cultural
It is Only Cultural (Afghanistan)
Afghans hate America, it’s a cultural thing mostly.
US, is a democracy, they want to bring peace,
stability and obesity. Wall Street in Kabul,
the rise and fall of shares eyes glued on screens.
Everything is priced and private and Afghanistan
is theme park. Phony Taliban black beards and
fake guns. Folkloric dressed they dance to the tune
of modernity and middle class trivialities.
Afghanistan, reduced to a pretty postcard, maxi
burgers bars and jeans, until self disgust wins and
Afghanistan goes back to its tribal ways.
Afghans hate America, it’s a cultural thing mostly.
US, is a democracy, they want to bring peace,
stability and obesity. Wall Street in Kabul,
the rise and fall of shares eyes glued on screens.
Everything is priced and private and Afghanistan
is theme park. Phony Taliban black beards and
fake guns. Folkloric dressed they dance to the tune
of modernity and middle class trivialities.
Afghanistan, reduced to a pretty postcard, maxi
burgers bars and jeans, until self disgust wins and
Afghanistan goes back to its tribal ways.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
senryu
Senryu
Bowed forest
Bent by the northwesterly
Boars thrive here.
Summer woods
Swimming elks in a tarn
Seem philosophical
The forest’s bear
The honey pot found
The rabbits smiled
Dawn’s forest
Deadly chilled serpent
Dazzled by the sun
The sun amid trees
Tried to set a stage of love
The breeze blew pollen
Bowed forest
Bent by the northwesterly
Boars thrive here.
Summer woods
Swimming elks in a tarn
Seem philosophical
The forest’s bear
The honey pot found
The rabbits smiled
Dawn’s forest
Deadly chilled serpent
Dazzled by the sun
The sun amid trees
Tried to set a stage of love
The breeze blew pollen
senryu
Senryu
Bowed forest
Bent by the northwesterly
Boars thrive here.
Summer woods
Swimming elks in a tarn
Seem philosophical
The forest’s bear
The honey pot found
The rabbits smiled
Dawn’s forest
Deadly chilled serpent
Dazzled by the sun
The sun amid trees
Tried to set a stage of love
The breeze blew pollen
Bowed forest
Bent by the northwesterly
Boars thrive here.
Summer woods
Swimming elks in a tarn
Seem philosophical
The forest’s bear
The honey pot found
The rabbits smiled
Dawn’s forest
Deadly chilled serpent
Dazzled by the sun
The sun amid trees
Tried to set a stage of love
The breeze blew pollen
Monday, June 7, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
atlanter
The Atlantic
Thought I was over it now, the call that is my destiny;
twice I have tried to be a part of the sea,
but I failed swam to the surface inhaling life giving air.
I have moved inland, far from the sea,
where there is a puny lake and it dries up in June.
I have no son or daughter that will visit me
at the old people’s home.
No one to fuzz over me tell me not to smoke or waiting for me to go.
The sea is my friend.
My youth was spent there, alone at night standing on the deck,
of a ship, talking to the ocean, listening to its warm hum;
I resisted wanted more of life I think.
I have been wrong now that I’m old and have lost my dignity,
holding on to life when every
stab of pain tells me I’m there.
The sea has retreated I know it waits for me to know when it
is time to go home.
Thought I was over it now, the call that is my destiny;
twice I have tried to be a part of the sea,
but I failed swam to the surface inhaling life giving air.
I have moved inland, far from the sea,
where there is a puny lake and it dries up in June.
I have no son or daughter that will visit me
at the old people’s home.
No one to fuzz over me tell me not to smoke or waiting for me to go.
The sea is my friend.
My youth was spent there, alone at night standing on the deck,
of a ship, talking to the ocean, listening to its warm hum;
I resisted wanted more of life I think.
I have been wrong now that I’m old and have lost my dignity,
holding on to life when every
stab of pain tells me I’m there.
The sea has retreated I know it waits for me to know when it
is time to go home.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
अ डे अत थे beach
A Day at the Beach
Lunch at a restaurant near the sea, sun drenched and blue,
“I couldn’t take my eyes of you,” as the song goes. Twice
before the sea had tried to drag me under, but now it was
friendly and I could not resist its pull.
Friends warned, me do not go into the sea, I disregarded
their plea stripped naked and began my descent. Police
came, they spoke softly, had big towels hiding my nudity.
They dressed me like I was a shop window doll, and since
I was seriously sober gave me the car keys, they had my
name and I was warned not to visit this beach anymore.
It was the 17 of May Norway’s day, but they had all gone
home and I was alone singing the national anthem on
Nirvana’s darkening strand
Lunch at a restaurant near the sea, sun drenched and blue,
“I couldn’t take my eyes of you,” as the song goes. Twice
before the sea had tried to drag me under, but now it was
friendly and I could not resist its pull.
Friends warned, me do not go into the sea, I disregarded
their plea stripped naked and began my descent. Police
came, they spoke softly, had big towels hiding my nudity.
They dressed me like I was a shop window doll, and since
I was seriously sober gave me the car keys, they had my
name and I was warned not to visit this beach anymore.
It was the 17 of May Norway’s day, but they had all gone
home and I was alone singing the national anthem on
Nirvana’s darkening strand
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
थे कीपर ऑफ़ थे peace
The Keeper of the Peace
Behind high walls cypresses’ stand dignified and tall,
the iron-gate leading, in to a silent Paradise, is open
white marble and names in golden letters.
In here traffic noise dies down, a perfect spring day
comes to an end. I feel at ease here, have no regrets,
this place will one day be my home.
The gardener smokes a cigarette, fine Turkish blend,
tickles my nose, wish I could smoke too. With a big
key he locks up and wishes me safe journey.
Behind high walls cypresses’ stand dignified and tall,
the iron-gate leading, in to a silent Paradise, is open
white marble and names in golden letters.
In here traffic noise dies down, a perfect spring day
comes to an end. I feel at ease here, have no regrets,
this place will one day be my home.
The gardener smokes a cigarette, fine Turkish blend,
tickles my nose, wish I could smoke too. With a big
key he locks up and wishes me safe journey.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
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