I heard someone say
Science is a noose,
Society a stool,
And philosophy
The dubious
Kick.

Well I'd say:

Society sets the rope,
Stool,
And gives the kick.

Science saves my life
Before I hit
The end of my rope.

And philosophy helps
Me cope
With the reality
That everything
I'm told to believe
By society
Was meant
to set me free,
while secretly
They said,
"Ah, Schucks!
Let's hang'em instead!"

You loved your mother.
And she loved you.
Hugged her mothers constantly.
Even when she playfully stated to get away from me.

Too much hugs.
But that's what love does?

You loved your siblings.
When they probably wrecked your nerves.
Then that's what younger ones do.

But they stood up for you.
When others wanted to tear at you.

Obviously, we know your mother did.
And I did too.
God, we miss you.

I just want to write

Until there are...

    No words left unwritten,
      No feelings left unhidden,
        No voices left unspoken,
          No hatreds left unforgiven.

Because this is my avenue to express...

          hope and despair,
        happiness and sadness,
       loyalty and betrayal,
      fantasy and mystery,

    And everything in between.
  All in one **poetry

There in a corner is a messed up kid
But no one knows
They never speak or rise their hand
You will never hear a word
They keep to the shadows
So no one sees them
However
They see you
They hear you
They notice everything
But they will never step forward
As they are frighted of what
Might happen if they step
In others way

Pour out your heart and soul,
and others read and say… so?
That's the way it goes,
when one is a writer.
Agonize over just the right word
and others read right over it.
It's absurd, the life of a writer.
Why do we do it? They ask.
We answer, Why do we breathe?
Oh, to be a writer.

CR Binion

Nothing is really mine except Krishna.
O my parents, I have searched the world
And found nothing worthy of love.
Hence I am a stranger amidst my kinfolk
And an exile from their company,
Since I seek the companionship of holy men;
There alone do I feel happy,
In the world I only weep.
I planted the creeper of love
And silently watered it with my tears;
Now it has grown and overspread my dwelling.
You offered me a cup of poison
Which I drank with joy.
Mira is absorbed in contemplation of Krishna,
She is with God and all is well!




O my King, my father, nothing delights me more
Than singing the praises of Krishna.
If thou art wrath,
then keep thy kingdom and thy palace,
For if God is angry, where can I dwell?
Thou didst send me a cup of poison and a black cobra,
Yet in all I saw only Krishna!
Mira is drunk with love, and is wedded to the Lord!




The heart of Mira is entangled
In the beauty of the feet of her Guru;
Nothing else causes her delight!
He enabled her to be happy in the drama of the world;
The Knowledge he gave her dried up
The ocean of being and becoming.
Mira says: My whole world is Shri Krishna;
Now that my gaze is turned inward, I see it clearly