A woman in heaven caused the fall of man,
Even though the apple was plucked by her man.
A woman in Troy caused a ****** old war,
Brave men fought for the honour of possessing her.
A woman in Judea gave birth to a baby boy,
Whose tongue caused upheavals that's felt to this day.

A woman in a bikini is a poster for her own liberation,
While in a burka she is a symbol of her own oppression.
She must be the cause of her own sexploitations,
For her assets fulfil the ogling market's expectations.

When she's *****, it must be her fault in some way,
For as she passes by, her brethren look the other way.
A young woman is responsible for her own lynching,
If she dishonours her brethren for her lover's calling.
As a child she is the cause of her own infanticide,
For she is the bearer of ill-omens and misfortune.

Has anyone ever asked her if she wants to be a poster,
Or a commodity, or a bearer of their burden and slander?
Beware how you treat her, for she is above all a mother,
Whose hands may cradle the next saint, thief or ******.

Why do artists **** their arts?
Journalists obey corporate bosses.
Doctors peddle drugs for status.
Lawyers work for robber barons.
Bankers' havens for barons' taxes.
Kings start wars for hefty profits.

Charity's done for the sake of publicity.
Vanity today is a thriving industry.
Shopping's done with borrowed money.
Bankruptcy levels; not seen in history.
From hazardous things; profits aplenty.
Poisoned wells we leave our progeny.

These lunacies have a common cause,
To win 'the rat race'; at any **** rate,
Even earthly mother, we brutally ****!
How much is enough, to be content?
Pharaoh's wealth was greater than most,
But while he drowned, it saved him not.

Instead, strive for a righteous life,
Bonded to mother, free from desire.
For we're not islands, or rats in a race.
And when we stand on Judgement Day,
Our wealth that day will have no say,
Our deeds that day will lead the way.

Have you seen the Master Magician around lately?
He who shows you a mirror with his right hand
While he picks your pocket with his left hand
He whose tongue tells you tales of a bogeyman
As his eyes induce you to part with your keys
He who wears the most beautiful of masks
To hide the psychopath that lurks within

Have you seen this Master Magician around lately?
He who will empty your pockets and ask for more
He who will become the master of your home
He who will convince you: *“its all for your own good!”

Like in a ballet of Bolshoi
She dances round and round
Lost in a galaxy of glittering stars

Like a shaman by a feverish fire
She goes round and round
The sun for her warmth and glow

Like a smitten little puppy
The moon goes round and round
Her for love and in utter devotion

But in the midst of it all

Like a whirling dervish
She spins round and round
In a dance of venerating trance

To the Grand Choreographer;
Never seen, but always conducting

When 'the few' get more and even more
When 'the more' get less and even less
Until all that's left is just 'not enough!'

When the law becomes brazenly unjust
When the poor are trampled underfoot
Until “justice!” becomes hallowed text

When Free-thought is replaced by bigotry
When dissenters are silenced violently
Until 'liberation!' is whispered angrily

When enough there are with “nothing to loose”
It is then that a revolution becomes possible
It is then that a revolution becomes inevitable

I have searched for your face tirelessly everywhere.
Though I've failed in my quest, I know you're there...
I have seen your beauty in the full-moon's glow.
I have seen your immensity in the celestial flow.
I have seen your precision in an atoms procession.
I have seen your passion in a poets obsession.
I have seen your bounty when a rain rejuvenates.
I have seen your mercy when a seedling germinates.
I have seen your restrain when injustice prevailed.
I have seen your wrath on great cities razed.
Though I've seen you not, I've seen your essence,
I have felt your love and your nurturing presence.

Nothing is the cost
To utter a word.
But,
If the wrong word is uttered,
At the wrong time,
Great might be the cost
Of that word.

Maybe they feared a revolution
Or maybe it was just chauvinism
But for whatever reason
They would not let his voice be heard
By the suffering masses
Of the decaying metropolis

But his voice was heard somehow
In a land far far away
Where everything was seen in black and white
But the people longed for the rainbow's delight

His haunting voice filled their void
His piercing lyrics became their spear
His aura became their guiding light

Like a miracle unexpected
A revolution occurred
And the rainbow emerged

Meanwhile,
The Sugar Man still drifted unheard
In his grey urban wilderness

I wished you could've met my beloved
Mary-jo-anna while she still lived among us
Imparting on us her wisdom and wondrous ways

Her eyes could see through any secretive soul
Her fragrance would soothe any pensive nerve
She'd make every meal a gastronomical delight
Her embrace would cradle me to a blissful sleep
Her mind could cure the most torturous disease
She'd make every tune a sensuous delight.

Life was wonderful for us indeed
When Mary-jo-anna was still among us
Imparting on us her wisdom and wondrous ways

But she fell foul foul eventually, of our Big Brother
For she showed the people his hypocritical ways
Exasperated! he conspired with the village elders
To drive her away, with lies about her “devious ways”

She's now an exile among the sages, hidden away
Imparting on them her wisdom and wondrous ways
While our village degrades to hatred and hypocrisy
Under the thumb of Big Brother's oppressive ways

The people are awakening to what they have done
And long to have Mary-jo-anna among us again
Free among her people and free from ridicule
To impart on us her wisdom and wondrous ways

When I witness a child
being blown to shreds
by a smart bomb sent
by the superior race

How do I justify it?

What crime can I accuse it of
What ill fate can I blame it on
What scripture can I quote from
What politics is it guilty of

How do I dehumanise it
How do I make it impersonal
How do I wash my conscience of its blood
How do I prevent myself from asking...

Would I be indifferent if it was my child?

The Creator is the creator of all things,
He's even the creator of false gods.
These gods come in myriad shapes,
We see them around and within us....

In celestial things, that astound us,
Or on Earth, in nature's creatures,
Or in stones, sculpted by hands,
Or in gold, whose lustre blinds,

Or in superstitions, just invented,
Or in some rituals, quite perverted,
Or in mere mortals; merely elevated,
Or in some cult; hypocrisy infested,

Or it may be our desire, always craving,
Or it may be our fear, always curbing,
Or It may be our ego; always exacting,
Or it may be our fancy, never ending.

Why do we seek these gods so false?
'Cause trust we lack, in Him who provides for all,
'Cause our destiny, we seek to control, above all.

Why did He create these gods so false?
'Cause of darkness, we learn to appreciate the light,
'Cause of falseness, we learn to appreciate His Might.

It was a day in the village, like any other day
The sun was bright, the ground was baked.
A man came wandering down the dusty way -
His face was wrinkled, his clothes were soiled,
And under the big banyan tree he sat himself.
Seduced by the shade and weighed by fatigue
He fell fast asleep, with his hunger growling.
A farmer passing by felt pity for the man,
And left him a portion of his noon-day bread.

As the farmer dug deep, later on that day,
His barren field would yield a *** of gold!
In delirious disbelief, he took it to his wife.
The word spread like fire: near, far and wide.
A crowd soon gathered to envy and inquire -
“What did you do dear man, to deserve the ***?”
Thinking back to the events that day, he said -
“I gave an old man under the tree my bread.”
“He must be a wandering wizard!” they said.

The man awoke to see the bread, later that day.
Thankful and pleased he began to eat it away.
Soon it was gone, but his hunger still lingered
And it growled in anger  - “give me more bread!”
Just then he saw a mob approaching ominously;
“They'll lynch me, for they think I stole the bread!”
The mob duly arrived, but carrying more bread.
They jostled each other to solicit the old man -
*“Take my bread and give me a *** of gold instead!”

A man once came to a teacher of great renown
And asked…
“What is the greatest function of a teacher?”
To which the teacher replied…
“To Motivate”
“But surely” the man replied...
“The greatest function of a teacher must be to teach!”
To which the teacher replied…
*“If I only teach them all that I know,
Then they will only learn all that I know,
And think they have learnt all there is to know.
But if I motivate them to seek knowledge,
Then they will learn all that I know,
And still thirst for more; much more than all I know.”

When was the last time you gave her a rose
For no reason other than being beautiful
When was the last you gave her a kiss
Without expecting something in return
When was the last time you held her hand
To let her know that you'll always be there
When was the last time you caressed her skin
To make her feel like the woman that she is
When was the last time you made love to her
As though it may be your last time together
When was the last time you warmly embraced
To let her know how much she's worth
When was the last time you made her blush
With a compliment worthy of the jewel that she is

I have a guru who comes to me from time to time
To teach me things I tend to forget.
Once he appeared as a wrinkled old coolie
Who carried my bag into a crowded train.
I gave him a generous fee which he did not count
And left, as I sat there feeling quite self-righteous.
Moments later, he returned jostling through the crowd
Teary eyed and hands joined to inquire in silence -
If I had made a mistake
Or if there was something else he could do?
For I had paid him far more than what was due.
In an instant I shrunk to the size of an ant
In front of this giant of a nobleman.

When I fee I'm rich, I see someone richer.
When I feel I'm poor, I see someone poorer.
When I feel I'm a poet, I read a real rhymer.
When I feel like an idiot, I look in the mirror.
When I am cheerful: “enjoy it, while it lasts.”
When I am cheerless: “bare it, it will not last.”

Your 'Top TRP' news team has just learnt that
A consortium of fanatics and hypocrites now claim
That the proprietorship of 'God' is now with them
And will spew hatred on anyone disobeying them.

Our unnameable “reliable” sources tell us that
Anyone desiring to worship 'God' “more perfectly,”
Henceforth, must follow their rules quite strictly
Or floggings will be handed out quite promptly.

Our brave insider informants have divulged that
At last have awaken our pious priests and scholars
To discuss these “disturbing new developments;”
But they're upset most about lost revenue streams.

The atheists were seen rejoicing and saying that
There is no need any more, “for us to self-promote
While our competitors repeatedly self-mutilate.”
But have they forgotten, Stalin also preached hate?

Our unquestionably reliable survey tells us that
We are angry, sad, glad, disgusted and also clueless
In roughly equal measure. But most are just curious:
“How all this bla-bla will effect commodity prices?”

There was however, an 'odd' man who said that
God is Love and God does not hate. Will turn to rust
He who chooses hate. *“Not in someone's deep pocket
Will I find God. But God I'll find, always in my heart.”

When asked
why she did not marry
the Duke of Westminster?

Coco Chanel replied:
There have been many
"Duchesses of Westminster,"
But there is only one
Coco Chanel.

Unproven theories boss over Science
Science has become the new religion
Religion has become a hub for hypocrites
Hypocrites want to become our leaders
Our leaders want to pillage our land
Our land is stripped bare of its wealth
Wealth is now worth more that people
People are abandoning their intelligence
Intelligence is now becoming artificial
Artificial is sold as though from Nature
Nature for most is ‘as seen’ on television
Television encloses our new reality
Reality thus, has become devoid of Passion
Passion that we need to find the truth
The truth about ‘what is’, and ‘what is not’.

From my perch that's high above
I survey the vastness that's below;
The great sprawling urban “utopia”
Tis a jungle with no hint of nature.

I see a maze of concrete and asphalt,
Neons and walls of synthetic colour.
I see a great haze of smoke and dust
Kicked up by them migrating hordes.

Built by and for the human master,
All other species are mere scavengers.
Here we are supreme and defy nature
Now that we are at evolutionary peak.

But then I spot a strange anomaly
On the roof of a derelict structure.
Weeds grow roots into its fissures,
Year by year they go more deeper

Is this a sign, I begin to ponder,
Of greater reversals yet to come,
When “utopian” bubble finally bursts
Under the weight of our arrogance?

Why fear death, for your death is certain,
Why fear the unknown, for your fate is known,
Why fear the dark, for the light is within,
Why fear ignominy, for your ego's a prison.

Overcome your fears and you will be liberated,
Love without constraints and you will be exhilarated,
Submit to The Supreme Will and you will be exalted.

There was once a jolly old lady, who loved her life,
She'd seen much in life and loved to brag about it.
One day the doctor said “You have terminal cancer!
Not much to do but say your goodbyes forever”

This lady loved her life and would not concede,
So she searched near and far to find a cure.
With great difficulty she found a man who mixed
Some herbs that killed her encroaching death.

Restored to her vibrant self, she began to boast:
“I snatched my life from the very jaws of death!”
Not soon after, on her way to boast to a friend
In her car; an accident! And she was very **dead!

Click, click… how many ‘likes’ have I got?
Does it really matter when the day is done?
How long can it inflate my ego?
How big a number will it take?

Is it not better, that I be not bitter
If I get just one ‘like’?
Is it not better, if the one ‘like’ I get
is moved for the better?

Dark clouds are gathering ominously above
They cast a murky hue into the air around
Infusing into the heart a seance of gloom
They threaten to unleash torrents of rage
Mercilessly they’ll shread all they confront

Will my roots stay true against their rage
Or will I give in to their relentless pull
Will I remember that torrents don't last
Once the clouds have spent their load
Will I remember that beyond the clouds
Is the shining sun with all her warmth
Will I remember that the clouds will part
For the bluest of skies, bright and calm

In the midst of darkness,
The Straight Path is true, illuminated, blissful.
Realm of the temptress,
The darkness is deceptive, mysterious, sensual.
Strong are her temptations,
To explore the forbidden, as curiosity weakens the will.
So to loose ones bearings
In these alleys of darkness, is not a failure of the soul.
Its in our nature, this weakness,
For our curiosity is a magnet to mystery, even those foul.
But to revert from this darkness,
To the illuminated path, is indeed a triumph of the will.

God once asked his faithful servants
a perplexing question:
“Who will lend me a Beautiful Loan
Which I will double
And multiply many times?”

The servants looked hither and thither
and at each other in puzzlement:
“What could we possibly lend to The Creator
Of mankind and of the unseen
Of the Earth and of the Heavens
And everything in between?”

But one among them wept in tranquil delight
For he understood what was being asked:
It is the act of giving without expectation
From ones material wealth,
From ones precious time,
From ones accrued knowledge,
To alleviate the suffering of others.

Dark clouds are gathering ominously above
They cast a murky hue into the air around
Infusing into the heart a sensce of gloom
They threaten to unleash torrents of rage
Mercilessly shredding those in their path.

Will my roots stay true against their rage
Or will I give in to their relentless pull
Will I remember that torrents don't last
Once the clouds have spent their load
Will I remember that beyond the clouds
Is the shining sun with all her warmth
Will I remember that the clouds will part
For the bluest of skies, bright and calm