“I may be grown up but I’m only seventeen.”
The faded blue chairs were in rows, as could be expected. The building was old and the air was littered with dust; just like you would expect. The light shimmied through the draperies and tapestries and slithered across the floor in tiny slits that cut the room into pieces. The dark worn floors boasted years of scuffs and scratches. They were no longer mahogany for they were nearly black with age and dirt. The whole place was frozen in time. Even the air was reminiscent of years gone by. When you walked in you could expect to find memories nestled in corners or peeping out from one of the many books strewn around. The place breathed nostalgic fumes. Some might have called it “stale,” but many others would prefer to call it “alluring” or “curious.”

This was not her case. The door ****** the life out of the place as it slammed shut. The reverberations could be felt throughout the entire structure. Her anger fueled her along at a violent pace, sending chills up the drapes and swirling the dust into tornadoes of chaos. The floorboards rumbled and squealed in sheer terror under her feet. If you were here you would likely have tread softly and listened carefully just because you hoped the place was talking to you. But since this is her story and not yours, that is not the case.
She threw her body into the nearest chair and the force almost sent her backwards. The girl and the chair hung in time for a single moment, teetering on the edge of balance, but nothing happened. She kicked her feet up on to the chair in front of her out of utter disrespect.

Each breath that she blew carried venomous thought. Every air molecule expelled from her nose was laced with despise until it fell to the floor, devoid of life. You could feel the place shuddering with every breath. Or maybe she was shuddering. But it wasn’t important.
The girl let one lonesome anguished tear roll off her face, but since she was too strong for crying, she ****** her body out of the chair with every ounce of hatred she had inside. In one swift motion she swathed her face with her shirt to obscure and erase the tear. She stood there, filtering the air through her shirt, refusing to acknowledge everything the place had to offer. She dropped the weight of her head into her palms and bit her lip against the pain. She pulled her face back only to check the shirt. She knew it would be stained. She knew because every other time before it had been stained. She listened for a moment before she glided across the floor toward the nearest window.
When she finally came to a moment of rest, the place sighed in relief. The dust rested and the floorboards managed to quiet themselves. The drapes relaxed and everything paused again, settling back into a time of long ago. The place embraced her like the wind embraces a leaf. It helped her along gently as she was carried away.

Not wanting to be discovered, and not wanting to overstay her welcome, the girl carefully hid her soul behind the heaviest drape and emptily marched towards the door. She traced her finger along the scorch marks that marred the wood. The scars ran deep, evidencing a strong fire that had ravaged the place years before. The door oozed sympathy as the young girl shared her pain. Her heartbeat pounded out her sadness and resounded through the door and back to her. She clutched the **** in her hand and pushed it open. She slid through to the outside. She did not look over her shoulder. She did not carry a glimpse of hope within her. The flame in her heart was extinguished with the closing click of the door. She was outside. She watched as the place got smaller as she walked away.

His name was Devlin. “Dev” for short. It could’ve been “Devil.” It should have been “Devil.” He was the one who called the shots. This was his game; his rules. She was just a player who could be benched at any minute; suspended from the league in the blink of an eye. He knew the world. He had been learning it for years. As if the world was something that could be learned; that could be acquired. He missed the most important lesson for he never learned how to love. He had mastered affection and words spilled off his lips like honey. But love was not yet something he had come to possess.

Regardless of his material possessions, Dev knew he was missing something. He didn’t know what it was or how it could be acquired, or if it could be acquired. He only knew that the gaping black hole inside him was consuming him. There was no fulfilling this insatiable hunger. There seemed to be no solution. Only temporary fixes could easy the longing but with every dose the hole grew deeper.

           She too, knew that beneath his smile there was blackness. Not emptiness. Just blackness. There was no value, no gradation. No. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to hope for. She would have enough black to cover the entire world if she had wanted to paint. But she was honestly looking to survive.


                Time had gone by, but only by the measure of light. Time had not elapsed to heal her wounds. She had covered miles on the feet of one thought. She had traversed only into one idea during her journey and yet she had already reached her destination. It was easy to fall to your subconscious when your body was tattered. When she stepped through the threshold she almost imagined the place. But she stopped herself because she didn’t want to take the chance of contaminating it.

                Her eyes were closing and the soft carpet looking appealing in all its graying and deterioration. The couch and bed looked inviting but that was suicide. She was fighting the urge. She had too. She had tried to purge her mind but one insignificant monstrous thought plagued her. “Don’t go to sleep until I get back.” Her eyes lingered closed for a moment. How beautiful and welcoming this blackness was. It was gentle and comforting. Her eyes jumped open. How long had they been closed? Surely no more than a few minutes. Fate laughed in her face once again. “I told you: Don’t get to sleep until I get back.”
                The first one was the most painful. Even though her eyes were blurred from pain she could still see the look in his eyes. She had to look. The simple thought of closing her eyes would earn her several more. She clutched the threadbare carpet with all the dignity she could muster and stood like a soldier before a firing squad. Every wince squeezed the tears in her eyes closer and closer to escape, but she held on through the miserable pain. It wasn’t even his hands that hurt anymore. No, it was the iron, or the bat, or even the brick that hurt. When it was his hands, he sympathized with the contortions of her body. He felt her pain. When it was some other object, there was distance between them. Six, five, four, three, two… She could time the blows. When he wasn’t so angry they came faster, just to put the girl in her place. When he was enraged, they came slower. Each hit was followed by an explanation or justification. “You have to learn the hard way.” or “How dare you get blood on your clothes?” The indignation in his voice made her sick. “Don’t look at me like that!” “I love you.” Over time she had learned to smile over time. To lessen the pain.

                …Her face was burning. Every fiber in her body wrenched with pain. Every breath brought tears to her eyes. The shaking was uncontrollable. She never should
have fallen asleep…

                You see on the inside he was just a child who never knew love. But that was her job. To love him. He was one of those “monsters,” or rather a vortex, something to be awed and feared. A display of powerful destruction. But that was the point. He was ******* up everything good while furthering his own self-destruction. He would eventually collapse in on himself. It was inevitable. It was not a matter of time. It was not some probability that fate would determine. It was not plausible to think, no matter what length of time you were thinking for, that time could, and would, heal all wounds. This was not something that would fade into the background and blend into a dull gray. This was not something that could be fixed by a miracle of God. There was no twelve step program with guaranteed results. The only thing that could happen was the elimination of time. If this happened, then there could be change.  


                She had figured it out some time ago. A long while back before she knew the place. The only answer was destruction. You might even call it ******. But since it involved no bloodshed or munitions or hatred, it seemed to be a good idea. Even the victim was ultimately willing to go through with it. The only factor stopping the girl was love. Her love for him. She did love him. She truly and justly loved him. She loved everything about him. She loved him for chaos and instability. The only solution was to destroy time. Without time, there is no way to measure. There is no structure. There are no rules. The only structure is what you make in your mind. That was the easiest way to escape, the easiest way to ignore the pain, to ignore the love.        


                  However much she thought about it, she never thought about it enough. The hours she spent on the floor in utter stillness were useless. When her breath was shallow enough, she nearly died. Her shirt was stained with blood. It was severed from her hip to her elbow. Her face was swollen purple and blue. Four of her ribs were shattered. Her left ankle was swollen. Her eyes were sealed shut by dried tears. Her lips were pale and chapped. She could not breathe out of her nose. It was filled with blood. Her pants were a rolled in a crumpled ****** mess several feet away from her. Her legs were patched with bruises. Her fingernails had blood under them.


This was love.


Eventually. Not relative to time. Not relative to the beating, but relative to her. She crawled over to her pants and began to restore her dignity until a foot crashed down upon her hand, jarring her body into a fetal position on the floor. She forced her eyes to stare at her hand turning from pink to white to purple. She hung her head in shame and hoped for mercy or forgiveness. The crushing weight of the foot began to ease the slightest bit. “You didn’t learn. You never do.” She stood perfectly still, waiting. The foot lifted. He pulled her to her feet and bestowed a kiss upon her forehead. “That’s why I am here: To teach you.” He took the crumpled pants from the floor and removed her bloodied shirt. Then with **** of his head he motioned to the floor. “You will learn the meaning of humble today.” She lay back down and tried to glean warmth from the carpet. She was cold. Desperately cold.

I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
thankfully not in a medical way
i don't have to pop pills everyday
to keep an essence of danger under control
and to stop my head doing backward flips and forward rolls
to curtail bad thoughts and contain OCD
wake up and think "what's happening to me?"
but sometimes i'm full of mazey bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts,
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
I say work i'm not even gonna give 50% percent never mind double
but i'll stay just below the warning threshold so i don't really get in trouble,
i do see my sick days as extra days of annual leave
but my bums on my seat most of the year and at least one Eve.
I'm always ducking and diving, i hide and they seek,
but i hit my targets every week.
They can say put down your pens,
strip your pencils of lead,
you can't stop me writing in my head
But you'll sometimes dictate what time i go to bed.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
Nearly every road i walk down i've got a ***** cat friend
there meowing never drives me round the bend
but if me owing then just a letter i'll send.
I’ll rescue  spiders from the bath, without any exception,
But I’ll clean their webs and evict them when I have a house inspection.
Giving up pork, on a parity with pigges at last
But then i broke my faste with bacon for breakfast
Watching lambs a gamboling there frolicking is fab,
but i'll see you on a plate later if i'm craving a kebab.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
Money and the capitalist structure baffles, no thanks, no ta
but before i go out a quick sub off Ma and Pa.
I'll pay for a taxi, i don't care about the amount,
while checking fervently the statement from my bank account.
Cash cannot be eaten it just gets you into Eton
but i'll rifle through my pockets for pennies to get an eat on
i don't adore you, i'll say your the means to an end
but then i spend some more and ask for a lend.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
I'll say anarchy  is everywhere, petition and abstain
then  read in the late edition who i think should take the reins.  
I scream smash the system without any regrets
but then start stubbing out where they deem no cigarettes.
I'll say **** big business they are always looting tons
while cutting out Asda coupons to get the soup with croutons.
i'll say **** materialism, to that i am adverse,
"ohh if you want to get me some trainers Mum can you make em Converse? "
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
One Saturday i found it hard to move
crying out for water, more than needing food,
stomach emptier than the packets in my pockets
Early winter scribble
spoiled by the ripple of rain,
deadened and dull
on a precious day,
the time I crave
passes through a husk
full of caves.
Each inhabitant curses
and burns
the stagnant soil under their feet,
I want something to eat.
I need to drink.
The cold slab of sink
lures flesh to rest,
unsatisfied
with retched offerings
flung from a scorched earth
so next Friday, a few beers and l I’ll hit the hay
Ten beers later, where’s the MDMA?
And my staunch resolutions go up my nose
Chatting through the night, striking a pose,
Music accentuated, stars sparkling hard
World’s discussed in magic back yards,
Focused and fraught in tumultuous thought
Ten cigs in an hour
An hours too short,
As the morning comes, I start feeling a mess
It slowly disintegrates the treasure in my chest,
Feelings of strength crumble to a feeble frame,
Spears in my head, WHOOPS I’VE DONE IT AGAIN.
You’ll stop this time, I curse and lecture,
Two bottles down next Friday etc etc,
I’m a schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember an uneventful Tuesday when i wasn't working
belly full of rice
and i saw you twice,
two times a day,
on a day in lieu,
time stood still,
smiling at you
i thought i'm gonna have to write about you,
so i park myself in a bar after a joint in Netto carpark
and start using words to build an arc
and if you you do wanna walk in two by two,
can i walk in with you?
Is it this green ride that's getting me high
or the regret i seen in the gleam of your eye
that as soon as we said hi we said bye,
as disappointed as the catcher when he dropped the rye.
If i may be so bold,
if you were cold
i wouldn't hail these stones
i'd pummel Jack Frost until he knows he's lost,
i'll leave all the lights on to hasten global warming
make Obama declare winter a season of mourning,
If you met an iceberg of Titanic  proportions
i'd cut through it quicker than the Ripper does back street abortions.
If you were in prism
i'd try to unrangle the science of triangles
so i could build you a pyramid with all the right angles,
my stomachs in knots;
the most tranquil of tangles.
Then i saw you get out of the lift
and i wanted to play you a rift
until you exposed your midriff
because you set me adrift from chains and shackles
my mind goes crazy and fills with cackles,
i crackle with lightning, my energy heightens
my heart tightens
and not cos of cholesterol
cos i think you're special
and celestial!
I got dreams from naught, my head feels taught,
i prised a lesson from your eyes,
love is the greatest prize.
But now that's gone, all things
pass evolution in transience
faces that were everything lost to balance
blue it merge
but seldom a residual surge
and your bark today was worst than your bite
it said something softly,
i sow the seeds for the sycamore trees
we can carve our names on next summer.
Under an endless stretching sky
you wrote you
and i wrote i,
the lights in our eyes don't lie
they are gateways to the suns inside,
our hearts couldn't hide from this brightening tide.
I'm a Schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember this guy from work, cooed to me
look at the **** on this page 3
he drooled over Nuts magazine like he belonged in a zoo
i bet he frequented strippers too.
He said seen this clip, it's ******* great,
it ad turn a couple of queers straight
it was these two twins with rouge lips being rude,
the way she chomped on her like food
and they defo loved it,there is  no doubt
it's just just ***** Eskimo ******* kissing snouts
and sharing with her sister the joy of getting licked out.
Wonder how they looked in the family car?
giggling about some exciting destination,
like all kids displaying a lack of patience,
“are we there yet” chorused with glee and duality,
dressed in the same clothes to ensure parity.
Ice cream for tea.
Maybe they might be way into drugs
or addled with addiction
lacking hugs
and sore from the friction.
Not liking the glare
feeling scared.
maybe?
He said nar they love it up them baby.
But then,
i have it
about 3 or 4 times a week
after the 5th time of hitting snooze,
or a heavy night on the *****,
or sometimes no beer,
even after a sonnet of Shakespeare
a sudden urge comes over me,
GET THE LAPTOP!
GET THE *******!
Then it's
Japanese teen lesbians spitting,
finger ******* wearing mittens,
****'s ******* Britions,
oap creampies
***** covered eyes
***** flicking,
extreme suction,
**** destruction,
Captain Birds Eye gobbing
Batman ******* Robin,
A ten inch plumber ******* in a kitchen sink drama
Robert de Niro unpeeling Bananarama
Marty doing the Doc
a gimped up Kirk whipping Spoc
Rita  ******* Norris
Gail licking Fizz
Sally doing Dev
and Kevin doing ki.............Kevin, get out of the room.
Back to
a **** doing a ******
a pre op pleasuring granny
two ***** one *****,
then i chuck my muck all over my tunic
flip over and continue reading The Female ******,
I'm a Schizophrenic Hypocrite,
i've gotta split.

Wet nose, four paws, and a wagging tail
follow right beside me on an uncharted trail.
We're exploring, but just what for?
National treasure or maybe folklore?
He doesn't know and neither do I.
On a day like this we don't need to ask why.
I stop for a break and he looks right at me.
"C'mon Dev. Let's make it snappy."
I can't disappoint those big brown eyes.
He never complains, frowns, or tells lies.
His only intention is to insure I'm happy.
So I stand back up and give him a patting.
We march on in search of who knows.
Through the highest highs and the lowest lows,
There is always an adventure just around the bend.
He's not only a puppy - he's my hairy best friend.

As I watch u sleep and hear u snore I can't help but adore
Just a child who may not be mine, I feel the love and obligation as it were true
Oh how I envy you, innocence I was once told
Is so pure, its ******* gold
A dead beat dad id like to beat dead
Doesn't care about one hair on your head
I may not be blood but ill give you my best
Give you rasberries and tickle your baby chest
Feed you and always care, your like a son to me. Ill always be there
I love your mother and you as well
Your gunna have lil brothers and sisters from me. I can tell
Your the coolest ******* kid I ever met
One thing I know ill never regret
Is being taught to be a dad, by lil dev

HIMALAY SE GANGASAGAR TAK DEV MUNI GAN KARATE SWAGAT BIN TERE DARSHAN APURN TIRATH VINATI HAI MA MUKH MOD MAT . NIT SNAN DYAN AARATI, SARASAWATI KI VIDA PUKARATI. MANAV SANG JALCHARO KO BHI TARATI              KYO AB SANSE HARATI.

Deconstructing a Kafkaesque
amphitheatre of the absurd,
Easy wallows she in their hypocrisy,
Son of a gun grabbed on
to the gold that fed his infant
self, doesn't dare let go, won't ever,
Dev breaks the bottle he hits,
scrounges, discards the last scrap,
the rat scurries in, devours, heads
back into the smoked corridor,
the auction goes on, so does he
showering petals and pity upon the
middle road more travelled, bumpy,
potholes full of acid and bile,
the stupidity of the tyrannical majority
and an underwater civilisation consumed
by mind-numbing, mildly shocking TV,
undercurrents of power drowned under.
Uppercase Him, uppercase He,
they hoist a red flag, set it afire,
stomp out the flames, wave a black
rag till the ashes turn to naught,
the Dionysian petit bourgeoisie proceed,
spew, *****, spew, repeat.
The voyeuristic rat has front row seats
gaze fixed, piercing centrestage
auction-house by day, amphitheatre by night,
the bids shall resume when
the morning bells toll, till then,
Dev's hungry for more,
the rat enjoys the show.

FINGERTIP
( for Shyam )

as a little child
I travelled

up & down the Ganges
its sister Yamuna..her brother Brahmaputra

their names
upon my tongue

my voice calling them
into being

awed by their sound
mantras for my mind

riding their waters
in the little ship

of a
fingertip

traveling only as a child
can

now
here I am

still that child
become this man

still offering
my devotion

from the Dev Bhoomi I come

tracing Shiva's hair
from here to there

"Ganga Ma...Ganga Ma!" I cry
herding the river

from Gaumukh
watching her

spread her fan
into the Bay of Bengal and beyond

still sailing the same old
fingertip ship

a bit old and
battered now

soon I will stand
on Indian soil

call all my childhood rivers
to me

bow as they
flow into me

their names
upon my tongue

calling upon
all the Gods to come

as
one

"OM!"

Traffic is really not such a bad thing.
It gives me a chance to think,
to practice chants,
to introspect about anger
& see how stupid people look
when they express it.

Imagine yelling & giving somebody
the *******
because you missed a light,
might be 10 minutes late to dinner.
This guy better get off my tail.

Om namo
guru dev
namo!

Om namo
guru dev
namo!

On namo
guru dev
namo!

I feel better now.....

When Michael Collins came, first from the courts of England,
which in low and lofty Londoun lately were helde,
while Thames there with treachery and treasoun did truly ring,
was Ireland ill split and beset with ignoble stryfe.  
Yet there a land lately formed was, where still folk lyve on mydllerde.

Though it is not in this warlike time of Dev that we our tale do set,
after these tymes of troubling stryfe, contentioun salted still the land.

Fine Fail and Fine Gael, then foes many yeres remained
till noblest amongst them, in qualities none lacking,
did do battle in old Dublin and vanquish the dred enemy.  
That mon who dreded nought, nightly then held his court in fair Dail Eirinn.  
Enda was called that man, and everysince has his noble courte endured.  

There, as Chrystmasse came, was assembled his cabinet fayre:
there Sir Wilmore the red, who waited on the grete lorde in readiness.  
There with grete courtesey, the kings coins to keep, sat Sir Noonan the balde.  
There Sir Reilly, learned in lore of leach and herb, who on erde had little left to lerne.  
Eek Sir Varadkar the gaye who granted was, the grete kinges horses to groome.  
Laste, the lovely layde Burton, who, the rede rose of Wilmore would long after carry.  

Other knyghtes numerous were there, but of these now, nought will I
tell,
for fallen to feasting were this fayre companye al and fayne would I not,
in tedious trials of descriptioun, your patience for to trye.

Your pardon, my friend,
If my rhymes did offend,
Your pardon, a thousand times o’er;
From friendship I strove,
Your pangs to remove,
But, I swear, I will do so no more.

Since your beautiful maid,
Your flame has repaid,
No more I your folly regret;
She’s now most divine,
And I bow at the shrine,
Of this quickly reformèd coquette.

Yet still, I must own,
I should never have known,
From your verses, what else she deserv’d;
Your pain seem’d so great,
I pitied your fate,
As your fair was so dev’lish reserv’d.

Since the balm-breathing kiss
Of this magical Miss,
Can such wonderful transports produce;
Since the “world you forget,
When your lips once have met,”
My counsel will get but abuse.

You say, “When I rove,”
“I know nothing of love;”
Tis true, I am given to range;
If I rightly remember,
I’ve lov’d a good number;
Yet there’s pleasure, at least, in a change.

I will not advance,
By the rules of romance,
To humour a whimsical fair;
Though a smile may delight,
Yet a frown will affright,
Or drive me to dreadful despair.

While my blood is thus warm,
I ne’er shall reform,
To mix in the Platonists’ school;
Of this I am sure,
Was my Passion so pure,
Thy Mistress would think me a fool.

And if I should shun,
Every woman for one,
Whose image must fill my whole breast;
Whom I must prefer,
And sigh but for her,
What an insult ’twould be to the rest!

Now Strephon, good-bye;
I cannot deny,
Your passion appears most absurd;
Such love as you plead,
Is pure love, indeed,
For it only consists in the word.

we can pretend we’re jack and sally,
simply meant to be.
but really we’re joker and harley,
a disaster bred to leave
or else just fall apart.
babe we’re always playing games
but never playing as ourselves
and in all honesty i’d keep playing
if you too are so compelled.

i remember when you called yourself
alice, strung out and imbalanced,
riding from one edge to another
with a half-hearted intention
of having your whole life tip over.
i remember replacing your self-imposed noose
with that grey scarf,
because you needed somewhere new to rest your neck.
i’d break into that old school with you again
without breaking a sweat
just to have your lips part like the red sea,
breaking apart for me.

my stomach always squirmed when you said
“London,”
always scared of your need for running
and being stuck in the mundane,
the past life of past-you,
a constant re-run, when you got recast
or maybe killed off, or our contract didn’t hold fast
and i watched you walk right out of my TV
i watched, frozen, when you passed by me.
i wanted to play peter and gwen
and follow you, fight jack the ripper
and swing from big ben every now and then
but beautiful blondes were always fated to fall again and again
as stan lee said.

do you remember
the year of dev, me in suits
and lots of la dispute?
a rough spot, i’m sure,
but worth it at the end
when i caught up your heart
as the credits rolled
dedications and dead roses
blossoming another season of love.

sometimes i think of cliched times
like prom or new years eve
and I had hoped, maybe finally a halloween
i hold old memory lane tight like its my job
i go 60 down my mind, and with my brakes, i can’t stop
the days where your smiles keep coming
never-ending,
up-end me.
i earn those split lips and some teeth
like currency.
but those days dance around my calendar
falling like rain in a California-dry July:
uncertainly.

the thing about me is i come saturated
with sorry’s and mixtapes
and i don’t think anyone’s every quite ready
for all of that.
but my mixtapes, like me
like to tend towards a surprise
every now and again.
like how you’re nancy from now on
or maybe that’s me, i’m convinced
you have to be reading my poems.
rhyming’s everything
gotta get that **** right
“she’s a wolf and i like it when she bites me.”

one more remember when
before i rhyme you to the end
remember when
we played ***** king and queen
at high school prom
i was always good at spooking the scene
but you were only really good at ever scaring me.
you aren’t the nostalgic type
so i guess that duty falls on me
here it goes:
dear diary,
my dear is as far as the late solstice sun
and the distance is far enough to wrap my arm
around the other side
of the earth, and tap her shoulder
or i would, if it wasn’t so cold there.
i wonder who she’s playing now
i wonder who she is today
i wonder
i—

’m not ready for our year to end, yet
but summer left
like 500 Days said
and we’re bonnie and clyde again
falling over each other trying to run from time.
at least we’re not sid and nancy
well, one of us is
but which one’s which?
it’s always come as a matter of circumstance
trying to pick who’s been vicious.

but you’re still my november girl
and i don’t want our fall
to end, or start.
this was both of us at our best.
leaves are counting down the days till
the sun stops burning so hot and the trees stop working so well.
on daylight’ savings do the clocks stop ticking?
and do we stop ticking too?
or just you?
can i stop ticking until winter’s bringing
spring again?
or am i busy living
in my memories, like a has-been?

snow is here and you’re not.
the winter forever.
but no broken plea for my honeybee.
the birds are far and few between
and the trees feel as naked as me.
i guess having them is a little less lonely
but it’s not fair we call them leaves
if every year they come back.
what should we call you?
you have a million names
but none of them fit on tight enough to stick.
i don’t know what they’re calling you now
but i still want to.

I love you forever, but forever can be taken so loosely these days, used as a malapropism on too many occasions, Let me divulge my intentions of the words love and forever, laid to rest to never be stirred evermore; side by side as our great ancestors are laid eternally next to their spouse even after life has left their bodies :
The world of words defines love as this:
”an intense feeling of deep affection”
and forever as such:
"For all future time; for always"
So might I tell you
"For always I have felt an intense feeling of deep affection and will continue for all future time"
Would you understand?
No, because it is not enough.
The dwellers in the world of words do not comprehend that which extends far beyond the strength of words, but I am persistent in showing you how deep my feelings truly are.
   Our lives are like two young daisies, just budding but whose stems are undoubtedly growing, winding around each other.
For you and I are personified in the seeds, and love is the water, the Great Creator being the sun.
Does that picture do it justice? No, still life images cannot contain love, that is constantly growing and moving in the depths of the beholder.  
So what of films that capture movement, a showing of what dwells in us?
Then we would be the greatest love story any eye has ever come across, with eyes afire at the sight of the other, with passionate kisses that make the audience swoon, and smiles that warm the hearts of everyone that receives it, knowing it is but a smile reserved for only the one I love, for my Heart.
But no, not even a film could Correctly explain the layered home of love.
For the inner workings of the Mind is an unknown world to the working of the physical showings such as film.
Like the thoughts and feelings inside me that tingle when your hands are holding my face, or when your hand in mine only feels right, or how badly I Dont ever want to leave when the clock has become my enemy once again, beckoning me away from the soul that makes mine worth anything. Or how overcome my thoughts and body are when my cold temperature is changed to warm when I am cuddled into the crevices of your shape I’ve engrained into my memory. Or the dreams that are a clear reflection of my every want and need…my Heart.
Yes I think that’s it, I’ll spend my hours when communication with you is unavailable thinking of ways to present my mind to you, filled to the brim of memories of us, my hopes and dreams of us. For my definition of Love is:
"a way of living, so strong it can overcome all obstacles, be it time or fear or pain, love can overcome". So my Heart, I love you, forever.
Always and Forever,
Dev

Devil I don’t want you.
Devil i don’t need you
Devil I wish I never met you .
I’m so crushed & right now?
I feel like crushing you .

Why Are You pulling me?
Why are you luring me?
Go away, leave me be
Please let me live

I don’t want you
I want to go far away
I know how much you torment
Whatever reason , I want you anyway.

I can’t do this
I can’t keep falling
I’m addict all over again

All I think of getting it
To get lit and feel numb each day
I’m sober & I hate
I’m reminded why it is
I seek an escape

Recursion

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Arriving in town , a bit lost and confused
But charmed I am , by a young begger girl
eyes dark as night
but twinkle like star light
she points me to my train
cheak to cheak sweat pouring down
I feel the relief of this firm platform

Lieing back I feel great storm in my head
And acheing screams from the forgotten land of my back
As healths lost land has been taken
I can only sit while this war rages ahead

But as every raindrop finds its ocean
And every storm passes by
A new rainbow lights up the sky
And all health regains wealth
And settles in self

Seeing the silent blessings of our great guru Dev
Falling softly amoung us
And glistening in the eyes of all my friends
Disarming the guards of my most cautious heart
That paves the way to a new open start

Finding myself humbled  
As great plans , Of great acomplishments
Roar in the hearts of many
I find myself disarmed and empty handed
As i can only offer my heart
But a heart set in his Guru
Will find ways to be fulfilled
So bring on the new
As we shall all be fulfilled

On this twisted black night there is only silence but for the cold abrasive winds that scream through these chilled limbs I cannot feel
Leaving my hair tossed into a mangled craze
I no longer see the path that leads me to safety.

But then I hear your soft calls break through these prison cell walls.
I feel your warmth embrace my fears
I reach for your grasp, desperate for security
My sweet escape

Sweet poetic lullabies you sing to me
I listen as the sun rises from your lips
The last chilled breeze releases itself among this warmed summers soil
I can finally hear the birds sweet song

Oh my sweet nightingale, you’ve released me from my cell
My soul is saved and a wonderful companion I have made.

For my thoughts were the cold impassive night.
And this tangled mess I wear because
I longed to pry these thoughts out of sight.
I no longer hush my pains to the back of my mind.
Because I realize now I’m unconfined.

And it’s because of you that now I know.
But if I knew... that I’d find you
I’dev suffered long ago.

(Palindrome)

"Su, position sum in Animus!"  
"No, it is opus"

"A morning, is a sign in Roma

put in way I am in Anima,"
I yawn it up

"Saw title bar off, or a belt it was?"

"I did wonder evolved demand
Or a rod named Dev?"
"Love red now, did I?"

"Evil stab, as a bats live"

I see no hope
no mirage to console
no stars to guide
no rainbow to comfort

moving in the valley
valley of grief
streams of tears
dewdrops of sweat
forward and forward
passage not ending
up above
skies shooting down the umbrella of dark clouds

at an unknown fraction of moment
i hear the thunder and flashes of lightning
to ignite hope again
for the showers of joy & peace
oh! that mirth is my dream
and i drenched in that dream

thrusting, hoping, living
that it ill be true one day


© 2014 Pitta S Dev

The Zombie came to Corrie.
First call Ken's place for a bit of brainy tea.
Later fancied a taste of something more mature.
Emily for supper.
Rita tasted mighty classy.
Tracy fought back.
Tony was a great big lummocks.
Thought he'd join Tracy in her zombie crushingly battle.
Kylie and Eva out on the lash.
Befuddled and pickled as Zombie teeth flash.
Dev fought independently in his corner shop.
Liz and Eileen mighty meaty.
Steve shook in defence of his mother dear.
Audrey,the dresser of hair got stuck in his teeth.
Gail, put up a fight with her tongue, David copped it in the ear, mother dear.
She'd noticed her new bedroom floor erupted.
World's end outside the bistro,
Callum's hanging out,
Looking for Sarah.
She's gone.
He wanted to share her with the others.
A really tasty morsel.
Callum's back.
(c)LIVVI

It's hard to pick one hero, for a true felt dedication
Fantastic people you all are, great words of inspiration
Choosing will be difficult, I may need my medication
The selection process is so hard, without the legislation

Let me see what I can do, I shouldn't really fidget
Big recognitions I would give, not like a little ******
My Daily Reading List I'd select, using a computer widget
A special girl that comes to mind, our leader known as Bridget

So very kind and beautiful, she's also known as shout
She keeps the group together, there's no shadow of a doubt
A very fair complexion, she's never down and out
All her words are supreme, a skill when shouts about

And then there is Syeda, well what can I say
Things would never be the same, if she every went away
Whenever she appears on screen, she's like a sunshine ray
Just like Bridget both of them, will brighten up your day

My main man he's quite a guy, the one who's known as Rick
His antics come second to none, he's one guy I would pick
He never gets too boring, or getting on your wick
Such a great fun fellow, who really is quite slick

So now we get to Devesh, he's a fantastic guy
When he's about the air is fresh, and he doesn't even try
Full of youthful knowledge, but he sometimes asks you why
Without you Dev lives would be plain, and a bit less high

A world without Maresa, I believe that I would quit
I don't want to be without her, not even a small bit
Such a charming lady, her sparkle makes a dull room lit
Without her presence, all our lives simply would not fit

A very distinguished fellow, is our Poet of Heart's
An excellent written quality, split into many different parts
For me his words of wisdom, will always top the charts
An accomplishment in many forms, including poet arts

Now there is quite a member, that makes me go ecstatic
Very pleasing to the soul, and so very charismatic
I'd love to say your excellent, your always so pragmatic
I think you may know who you are, of course it's Enigmatic

I get down to the music, but I'd fall just like a skittle
If we didn't have that crazy chic, that splendid Rock A Little
It wouldn't be a stable place, not meaning to sound fickle
We all need A Little Rock, or things would get too brittle

Our group would suffer a great loss, if we didn't have J C
Without him in the reading list, I don't know were we'd be
I know I speak for everyone, I know it's not just me
Everyone would be upset, coz J C A is nice to see

A gentleman of high regard, I just want you to know
Your a great guy I respect, I always will Pedro
With a personality so large, you have that certain glow
We all love it when your there, so don't you ever go

The voice of youths refreshing, It's not easy rhyming Rooster
Cogburn is your second name, I know it isn't Brewster
The music clips that you present, are such a happy booster
A clever poultry kind of guy, your just like Jeeves and Wooster

All the Roses that we have, such a lovely bunch flowers
Your beautiful fragrances emanate, a charm of beauties powers
I'm smitten by your intellect, I could talk to you for hours
A testament to poetry, hearts falling from high towers

Swathi, Mermaid and Imkahy, you set my heart on fire
You all shine like diamonds, like Pasiphea and Pure Dezire
Max, Melanie and Sooth, three souls that I admire
Heart's floating with Astrerai Goddess she's a beautiful high flyer

A dedication for the rest, that I didn't get to mention
I'm honoured by your presence, I hope your paying close attention
I wish to send you all my praise, this is my full intention
To all at the daily reading list, and any new extension

No one is less important, no one's better then the rest
You all deserve a mention, your all simply the best
Our group is quite fantastic, everyone has got the zest
So I'll honour every member, so please all be my guest

So many fantastic people, my head is in a mist
I'll always keep returning, because it's to hard too resist
Your all amazing writers, I hope you get the gist
All the people I admire, at My Daily Reading List

A person with a turban and long hair
That is how people locate us
But we are lot more than that...
It's our values and the teachings of Guru Granth Sahib
that make us shine bright!
As Guru Nanak Dev Ji gave us the value of Vand Chakko,
We can't discriminate because
Guru gave us the value of Langar
where everyone sits together to have food in Gurudwaras
without consideration of caste, creed, race or gender.
All we know is that the blood of all humans is red
And that reason is enough for us to treat everyone equal.
We have been nurtured with the values of Kirt Karan and Naam Japan.
That keeps us on the right path of hard work.
Gurbani flows in our blood.
Our Guru made us strong!
As Guru gobind Singh ji said," The one who goes through injustice is wrong but the one who sees injustice is worst!"
So neither we take it nor we see it!
Everytime we say Waheguru...we believe God is one.
Our beautiful long hair are a symbol of our faith...
Which are covered by tubans that are not only mere
pieces of cloth...
But make us Kings and Queens.

The Prince of Tripura
Prince of Music
Only child of Sachin Dev
A king amongst composers
Was born Rahul Dev
Toddler cried in 5 notes
Hence named Pancham
Livelihood in Music
Like fish to Water
Tabla and Harmonica
Learnt playing in order
Compose for movies
Ready for the struggle
Breaking in impossible
Dream remain a dream
Assisted father
A legend peak of career
To fill in the coffers
Nobody knew
What he had to offer
Insults swallowed
Rejections followed
Years in limbo
Acted in cameo
Waited in the wings till
Vijay Anand offeres Teesri Manzil
Supported by giants
Dazzling Score broke records from yore
Straight into people's heart like never before
Musician he was not
He was the Music
Talent Skill Genuis
All words in the dictionary
Couldn't fit his personality
Yet to find a word so true
To describe his music pure
No pinnacle
No Nadir
Music has a scale
He doesn't
Genre didn't matter
What was flowing was a river
Your ability to take
Was the music that came
Thinking and Doing
Duality hed overcome
Music written and scored
Magic Wand in hand
One stroke up  and down
Tunes piled up on the
Gramaphone
500 films
3 Decades
Immortality achieved
No point counting
Still flowing
Music still gushing
Immeasurable
Enough inside
No bar time or tide
Beethoven Bach Mozart
Monet Van Gogh Picasso
Forever remain their art
Likewise the Burman Craft

(pronounced – u jai yah)

The following haphazardly cobbled together some few years past (initially as a reasonable rhyme), nevertheless sustained discipline yours truly mather of fact doth cotton metaphorical gin still spins (yarn not gonna believe poppycock) within livingsocial as outcast of poker flats pun gent, whereby I strive to meditate successfully daily upwelling groovy sensation some hours doth last balloons within me buoying airborne courtesy spiritual blast.

Approximately three plus decades ago, I became ambitious to learn Yoga Asanas blow pesky mind chatter away (postures) despite inflexible body non coe whopper rating adamantly refusing to bend doe like (no just at the knee), but essentially flow wing stretches, while uncomfortably seated go wing to floor.

Mine physique experiences non Joe veal extreme difficulty involved simply seating stiff - NO can do sitting, whence, bony **** versus slightly more addy Poe posterior padding (viz junk in trunk) at present. The status quo mutter hoof act honest to dog cross my heart ambition roe bust lee expended to do more than sit on floor. Even slow lee sliding downward muscular flexion quite, a temporary restraining order i.e. TRO figurative and literal stretch.

Nonetheless, this persevering Lake wobegon soul lowered slender body, (when eye attended class) at Yo Yo ma intentional community within Sumneytown, Pennsylvania named Kripalu Yoga Community, where residents adapt macrobiotic diet under too till edge via auspices of cherished founder (Amrit Desai, i.e. Guru Dev).

Before entering sanctified space everybody removed their shoes often (now and again) guests welcome to partake regimen at said rue **** men tree idyllic retreat offering general public an opportunity true lee worth effort to experience this alternative lifestyle.

Though “U” might already be a pro unlike me, who didst barely progress as aye re: view memories toward greater flexibility minimally made one lasting whew benefit constituted of deep breathing asper you dull lies segue-way into light trance intended meditative zooming into mindfulness away from rat race. Even to this day, an effort gets made to set space aside time to transcend cares and concerns trace sing worry lines from uncertain future, and vase a versa if conditions favorable induce lightness – erase sing major concerns of being if perchance, face shill contortion asper body doth trite hoo easy and grace full flowingly, gently, harmoniously, indubitably lace limbs one into another - joyfully, kinesthetically, at comfortable pace.

Ewe experience lambent maneuvering naturally, optimally, peacefully, quietly, surreptitiously, et cetera into deep sleep of a hilly Edenic mirage tenderly controlling inhalation, and exhalation might seem silly, sans breathing hopefully remains sustained.

As a novitiate practitioner with ***** Wonka, this magical, modality (qua zee moat *** modus operandi) regarding, striving toward ultimately vast wrestled xfinity, yielding zestful fling away global concerns all the while grappling dutifully attaining jingling mystical state of consciousness, (perhaps mental experience a king dome all to itself, similarly venerated, vis a vis basically comprehend ping pong per positive phrases analogy, asper anyone who reads and understands this ring gull ling communique) as I attempt to describe mesmerize zing, mindset mosaic explicit words seem da fish hint.

Thus analogous self induce hypnotic cerebral deep minted experience possibly more clear to envision without stinting the reeder. Nonetheless, the conscious, deliberate guided “high” kickstarted courtesy Ujjayi breathing, which tint head breath comprises breathing technique employed in different
variety of Taoist and Yoga practices.

In relational mash mich hug gun flint sparking neurons to ascend Yogic exaltation, where mindset doth glint within casting glowing countenance whispering the ocean breath.

The length and speed of breathing aid did, controlled by diaphragm, strengthening braid did mental fiber which purposefulness of ujjayi without being fanatical, an effort gets made daily meditation teasing envisioned in laid within wafting warm waves (comprising grade “A” leased half hour, but no more than twenty four). If time constraints un war rented ala limited restraints disallow currying pour forth, the course fostering, inducing limned score arching relaxation merely practicing to open a door slow prolonged breathing bonjour can deliver (pizza pie) energizing feel akin to flying like Icarus above urban jungle roar.

while being quarantined
inside our own invisible bubble

Transcendent meditations
while athwart oblate spheroid
allow, enable, and provide
deft capability deciphering
snap, crackle and pop
accepted as mere static
to the untrained ear.

Each inaudible silent cerebral
deaf utterance doth ricochet
across avast heavenly expanse
broadcast far beyond the realm Hubble
telescope detects faintest sound
signaling when cosmos began.

Courtesy near futile results
after jogging me memory,
the following individuals
(unbeknownst if still alive)
helped diagnose mental faculties
concerning yours truly
approximately comprising last two thirds
of mortal male named Matthew Scott Harris;
Ray McNeil
OVR Counselor;
Paul Sachs
licensed psychologist;
Elba Dorley
her professional title unknown.

Unsure who if any among
three aforementioned named
specially trained persons
coined diagnosis (mine)
I accepted (until now),
and blithely communicate
Schizoid Personality Disorder,
and crafted oodles of previous poems
concerning said malady.

Nevertheless profound social anxiety
plagued my every waking and sleeping hour,
scuttling many (née countless) opportunities,
whether series of unfortunate events
encompassed academia or
string of abysmal employment endeavors.

Sequestration of self
most often housed
within bedroom walls
(defined narrow realm),
where alone within
emotional wilderness (mine)
branded passive aggressive lad
(appellation brainchild
of late mother dearest)
as the world turned,
he remained holed up
(except for bathroom needs
and meal times)
inside most secure space
since he exited the womb.

Back in the day Kripalu Ashram
Sumneytown, Pennsylvania location,
which intentional community
(no longer flourishing)
offered peace of body, mind and spirit
found writer of these words
relief from parents,
whose ultimatums couched decision
livingsocial among macrobiotic residents.

Although welcomed for brief hiatus
against domestic backdrop
of psychological torment and trauma
(yes verbally skewered
gratis those two people
who helped beget their sole son),
the tranquil physical environment
extensive acreage incorporated
wooded hillocks, which topography resembled
324 Level Road - boyhood home
(an abode long since demolished
to make room for vinyl city)
afforded consciousness expanding
sensory perception awakening.

Since spiritual immersion
fostered by Guru Dev (i.e. Amrat Desai),
(whose reputation sabotaged,
violated, and yanked off pedestal
by his own stealthy appeasement
unleashing hormonal secretion
granting call of the wild
concerning tenderloin temptation
read carnal concupiscence
(impossible mission to maintain celibacy)
flagged above iterated transgression
blatant barenaked lady
espied flagrante delicto,
amazingly enough, which fall from grace
explains reason residents abandoned facility.

Mindfulness philosophy toward existence,
especially listening to structures of silence
constitutes mantra that endured
since familiarity learning heightened vigilance
(more'n half my life time ago)
experiencing honing sensation
with laser like focus
that buffet five senses.