Sir, most honorable one…
It is not in fear or disgust
or in disappointment or revulsion
no, Sir, it is not of such causes that I have
sought the solitude of these hills and rocks and trees
and the lake that whispers ever, even as I lie down to sleep;
but O most revered passer-by -
in the hustle and bustle of our lives in the capital
and in our cities, even there I found an embracing silence
that I could not ignore;
and I saw the shallowness of activity
and I saw the ambition of superficiality;
and let it be what word philosophy or ritual or religion
may call it, whatever labels Organized Thought revels in -
that Silence I found nameless and formless -
and even in the midst of activity
I found inactivity
But Sir, as you ask,
the Impatient saw Rebuke in my Silence
the Virtuous found their Guilt in my Quiet
the Enlightened glimpsed their Darkness in my Stillness
And so it came to be that natural outcome,
society receded from me
Most Honorable Sir, it was not I that left it…
And ah, here you find me now,
insignificant, part of the whole, still, and as content
as the dust that you might find on a blade of grass
amidst the natural wideness that is here…

Come, come, come
I’m only a young boy
I just came to pluck an azalea
on this fine, lovely day
and you - Oh, you came
shouting at me
and you threatened to call
for the men and the servants
to give me a beating

Come, come, come
I’m only a young boy
I just came to pluck an azalea
and you started beating me
and you struck me on the chest
with your soft left hand
and then you let it slide down
And then you pounded me on my shoulders
with your gentle fists
and then you let them slide down
And now we are in this azalea dance
O this impromptu Dance of Azalea
between you and me
Your hand in mind
You in mock-aggression
and I now in complete realization
O this improvised Dance of the Azalea
just you and me, as we go round
and round

And what the end in your eyes?
I see, I see, I see it in your eyes –
a quiet corner below the rocks
a gentle spot, softened by grass and flowers
Oh you teach me this Dance of Azalea
Come, come, come
I’m only a young boy
I just came to pluck an azalea
and you teach me the art of love

you know, dear moon
in the previous place
I used to see you
every night you wanted to;
see you out the window kitchen
or even as I went up the stairs to bed
or I would step out into the garden
and there you’d quiver in the sky
and shine in the river
and there was just you and I
and not a thought in my mind
and you’d even wake me
with your gentle fingers over my face

but now there’s no high window
to let me catch a glimpse of you
and the shuttered windows will not let you through

if I step outside,
the street lights are too bright
and the crude houses rudely prevent you

it is rarely I have a glimpse of you now…
is it any wonder, dear moon
I am nowadays described as grim-faced…
*and now-a-nights, what about you?

1
just a stone’s throw
from the gates to our village
is the washing place
at that secluded turn of the river
with scattered rocks
rocks some giant children of times long ago
must have played with and thrown about
as our own children
scatter sand about in the open grounds


2
and here at the washing place
here the young mother
sits on a rock
and plaits her hair
with her infant by her side;
and perhaps two women
wash and beat some clothes
and opposite, another
does her share of the work
her lower garments
rolled up to above her knees
and she wrings the clothes,
washes and wrings the clothes

And above, on the highest rock,
above on the rock lies our Village Pervert
always ready, always hiding
peeping down at the women as they work
Oh, our Village Pervert –
what shall we do with him?
we’ve thrown stones at him
the village kids spit at him
the men put him into the water
for over half an hour
the Village Elders have counseled him
and he has been refused food
and his parents have driven him out of home
But still he will not change
and he will be there on the rock
always eager to watch the women at work
always just a look at white flesh of an arm or leg
*Oh, what shall we do, what shall we do
with our Village Pervert?

in those days
I scrambled like a rat
ran like a tiger, slithered like a snake
and I walked in the halls of awards
and achievements
and I made connections and I aspired
and I built from one link to another
and the ambition was the reality
and I ran swiftly, as the horse
and then time dealt its blow;
and here in seclusion
with the mountains in the elbow of the clouds
and the pine and dragon rocks all about me
here I am amidst its voices and stillness
and its melody or cacophony as it chooses
and here silence is become the reality
and often
often, when what is inside the mind surfaces
and time gone lingers awhile like a scent on a bush
*I stop to see what lies within
beyond one’s circumstance and conditioning

it’s a wild life
of magic and tales
of light and radiance
dreams and darkness
firebird, firebird
will you bring it all for me?
firebird, firebird
will you transform all things for me?
what we dreamt yesterday
was once reality, what we never imagined
is current, and eats us day by day
desires fade and palaces appear
demons roar, and sirens kiss us
and induce *******,  and bless us with erections
firebird, firebird
let all whispers come real
firebird, firebird, firebird
let time stand still where I want it to be
clouds are rocks and earth is liquid
my flesh burns and the Princess of Far-off gyrates
Mean King objects and the Jester holds court
Kingdoms collapse and new ones come in their place
dreams, dreams, dreams die
and are re-born in the Heavens in Our Heads
*firebird, firebird
burn the ground
and let illusion and reality be one
firebird, firebird, firebird
let despair be hope, and love be lust
one the other, the other the one

1
poor Rachael
married for love
Now twenty years through
and ignored by the hubby
who’s given up work
and sits at home drinking all day
No more kind words to Rachael
never a gentle look,
but just sarcasm and imbecilities all day
Will not even come out for a walk
with Rachael;
no desire for fresh air
just sits there drinking and farting -
Poor Rachael, she never comes back
to fresh air or a kind look






2
Rachael is out today
with a mission to make her life pleasant
“A pet is what I’ll have,”
she says to herself
and she’s in a pet shop now
looking at an exotic bird

3
“That there,” says the shop owner
“is a bird rare and unique;
let me demonstrate”
And straight he says to the bird:
“Zasala, the table!”
And Zasala flies straight and swift
to the table – and appecks* and demolishes
the table as swift as you can say “***!”
“Zasala, the broom!”
And Zasala flies straight and swift
to the broom – and appecks* and demolishes
the broom as swift as you can say “****!”


“I’ll take it," says Rachael, with a smile
Poor Rachael, she hasn’t smiled in years


4
“Darling,” says Rachael
the moment she gets home
“Look what I’ve got –
an exotic bird, Zasala!”


And straight Rachael’s clueless husband says:
*“Zasala, my foot!”