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I
Am human
I
was
born,

I,
For reasons
I
Don't
Know,

I
Am conscious
I

Want what is mine.

The only planet I might
ever touch with my toes
in my lifetime, the only planet
that our children may
ever, is in constant flux
as humankind fights on high
between the minds that
can't decide on the price
of life in this land of freedom,
minds on high that can't
decide if a government
should protect its citizens' best
interests or preach
individualism until the best
is a corporate Wild West.
Until when? The time
Has come.

It is.
You can see it.
Look what you've built.
Gaze upon social implosion and cry.

I
Am nothing
With
Out
This
Blessing

I
Am a part
Of
the
We
as the

Us.

You want to see God?
Feel your face with your hands.
Look at yourself in the mirror.
Assess what you've become.

At some point in time,
The value of commodity
Became The value of a human life
At some point in time,
The value went intangible
Became the money We need, when

Our leaders all fritter Fiat funds
For access to guns and bombs.

(Bigger and Better, Baby)

(❤)
Who am I?

(Who am I?)

Who am I,

but a sound of tomorrow?
i wonder, at what age
you became out of my reach;
i wonder, if i even
tried reaching for you

i know that history leaves its mark on everyone
(but not many have been hurt by the tracks
left behind in the dirt
like you have)

you can sit there for days, weeks, months
while we contemplate your fate,
tossing the choices in our hands
like dice

you hear the word expendable
mumbled in countless conversations
and wonder, at what age
you became in our reach

you think of the family you left behind
and hope they will find their way to tennessee
to a better life that is  
quiet. peaceful.

will they miss your selflessness;
your keen, incisive way with words;
the bumps and hills of your rough skin;
the smell of your perfume?

i miss your evergreen smile;
your poetry;
your skin against mine;
the wonder in your eyes
First Draft
Jayantee Khare Jun 2017
Eastern winds
blissful
but rare...

Eastern winds
ecstatic
but destructive...

Eastern winds
violent
blow the minds...

Eastern winds
dark clouds
roar loud....

Eastern winds
chilly
but soothing...

Eastern winds
followed by
thunderstorm...

Eastern winds
sign of rain
ease of pain...

Eastern winds
sweep everything
in no time...

Eastern winds
reminding me of
happy time ...
I wrote it just now when we had first Eastern wind of season followed by monsoon rains...lovely..ecstatic.. blissful like God..
Beau Grey Apr 2016
Vapid people
dribbling vapid ****.
A society of ****-eyed,
drunken infants
debating politics memorised
from Fox News.

We, the awakened,
plastering social media
with doll-faced mannequins
captioned with some Eastern Philosophy
we read in Cosmo,
enhanced with a filter
titled "Who The **** Is Lao Tzu?"
Comments read: goals af.
(Insert emoji here)

And praise the Indigo Children!
It's a true gift indeed
to talk about activism
until blue in the face.
My, what a spiritual hue, are you.
Are you?

A generation of craft makers,
weaving their way
through the alcoholic labyrinth,
drawing the Hungover Man
from a Rider Waite tarot deck,
for another episode of Dull and Duller
next weekend.
I'm not as cynical as my writing.
undefined Jan 2016
the sun hid behind the clouds
causing the 9am sky to be a dusty blue
with rays of sun peeking through every now and then
it was mid-winter and the air was crisp
it smelt of the new year, full of hopes and dreams, love and life
the two of them were found sitting at a little table at a room-large restaurant
in the crowded, busy city center
she wore a pale yellow shalwaar kameez
with a light brown pashmina shawl draped around her narrow shoulders
to protect her from the frosty wind which blew back her dupatta
he still had sleepy eyes and unmade bed hair
she'd dragged him out of bed a little too early
it had been a long night, and it had taken a lot of strength to leave his blanket in the early morning hours
but looking at her eccentric face right now made him realize he'd leave anything to be with her right now
she asked him what he wanted to eat
and he was pulled out of the trance, staring into her green-brown eyes reflecting in the morning sun
"jo tum kaho" he smiled that little side smile at her, letting her order for him
the smile she had fallen in love with on the very first day
8 months ago, in the middle of summer when fate intervened and crossed their paths
she called the waiter and ordered two cups of chai and asked him to bring her parathas straight off the stove
"and keep them coming!" she yelled after the waiter who walked a few steps away to the tiny corner kitchen wide enough for a single man, maybe two
"keep them coming?" he looked at her, a little skeptical
"trust me on this one" she smiled widely at him, "if you can't eat them, i will"
that made him laugh, he knew she wouldn't be able to handle more than two
but he just smiled & nodded, anything she wanted, anything she desired, he couldn't help but grant her
she kicked off her khussas and scrunched her knees on the plastic garden chair
closing her eyes and inhaling the winter air
he looked at her and thought to himself
she is my breath of fresh air
and somehow, call it a sixth sense, she noticed his eyes on her
"kya dekh rahey **?" she pouted her lips
"bus...tumhey" he laughed
she hid her face in her dupatta
"stop it!" she giggled
he leaned over the table and pulled her dupatta away, lowering his voice as he said
"you're beautiful"
she caught her breath, lost in his mahogany eyes- strong, protective, loving
the waiter interrupted them, placing their order on infront of them
"yay. khaana's here! she yelled
to be honest, she was thankful it had come
she felt embarrassed by the grip his gaze had on her
and she was a little hungry too
she reached for a paratha, immediately pulling away and ****** her fingers
"it's too garam" she made a face
he split the paratha, unflinching, and gave her half
"i'm still stronger than you." she said
"i know." he made a kissy face at her
she wanted to reach over and kiss his pouting lips
but she she pretended as if she as unconcerned and began her food
a paratha and a cup of chai later she put her hands on her stomach
"i'm full"
he looked at the three parathas infront of them, the waiter bringing the fourth as per the order
he shook his head
"tum bhi na."
he told the waiter to parcel the rest of the food as he took the last sip of chai
the caffeine worked its way through his body and he stretched away the sleep
"you're full? chalo, okay, i had planned on ordering gulaab jamuns for dessert. i guess i'll have to eat them alone."
her mouth opened in shock, then, realizing he was joking, she smiled cheekily
"i always have space for a gulaab jamun or two."
he laughed, wondering how she managed to make him fall deeper in love with her as the moments passed
they sat under the shade of the gulmohar tree and ate their dessert in silence
taking in the beauty of the weather, of the city, of each other, of the moment
and as the sun reached for the sky, higher and higher
she reached for his hand
gentle, kind, warm
her touch sent a buzz through his body
"i love you" she whispered
he could only stare at her delicate pink lips as she spoke
realizing he had found within her an everlasting future
he smiled at the thought
he'd never thought he'd fall in love with such a silly, gulaab jamun-loving girl
but now, it seemed like she was the only star in his night sky
his shooting star
his hope
**his love.
the weather is too lovely to not write about a little winter romance! x
-
shalwaar kameez: eastern clothing
pashmina: fine cashmere wool
dupatta: long scarf
"jo tum kaho": whatever you say/want
chai: tea
paratha: eastern fried bread
khussas: traditional eastern shoes
kya dekh rahey **: what are you looking at
bus...tumhey: just...you
khaana: food
garam: hot
tum bhi na: you're really something!
chalo: okay then
gulaab jamun: eastern dessert
gulmohar: royal poinciana tree
undefined Dec 2015
her churiyan clashed
submerging in the red, orange and green
of her sharara
as she spun round and round
a blur of striking colors
her laughing face hidden
among those of her cousins
as they danced in a circle
each girl wearing colors of the rainbow
smiles like the sun brightening their faces
their bare feet decorated with mehndi
as they spun on their toes
letting their hair follow them like velvet curtains
the pitter patter of their restless feet
becoming one with the music around them
the elders of the family
throwing rose petals and clapping
watching the new generation
bless the married couple
with laughter, colors & life
the girl with curls in her hair
pulling down the bride-to-be
off the stage and onto the dance floor
her fiancé nudging her and watching his future
twirl with the young girls
as families became from two to one
he looked upon his love with eyes full of wonder
as she pushed back her dark hair and hid her face
refusing to dance
but even the blushing bride couldn't stop the girls
from convincing her to join them
they took her by the hands
and let the music guide them as they threw their arms in the air
swaying to songs about boundless ishq
and the stars which shine upon those who fall in the arms of endless love
the bride's red gharara shimmering under the lights
complimenting the red in her cheeks
the sparkle in her teeka bright
but never brighter than the twinkle in her euphoric eyes
her mother teared watching her baby all grown up
and her father looked at her as his success
seeing his only daughter so full of joy
others onlooked
as the girls embraced their youth
and with the bride created a circle of joy
for that moment,
the love was shared between them all
they forgot all about their heartbreaks
and the everlasting love which never lasted
they forgot all about the boys with pretty eyes and even prettier lies
as they rejoiced over the love of their loved ones
with a little inch of hope in their own hearts
that someday someone would look at them
as the smiling groom did the stunning bride
passion. surety. serenity.
*pyaar
wedding celebrations in the family always leave you wishing it were you who was going down the path of eternal happiness & love.

churiyan: bangles
sharara/gharara: eastern wedding attire
teeka: jewelry item (head-piece)
mehndi: henna
ishq: highest degree of love
pyaar: love
ConnectHook Sep 2015
ཆོས་ཀྱི་རྒྱ་མཚོ་

Bards of the bardo, hear my lay;
ye glacial Himalayas, sway.
Raise a warming toast in sake,
while my mystic muse gets cocky.

You who seek enlightenment
unto whom these lines are sent
open wide your spirit’s portal
(you – who are not yet immortal)

as we weigh a departed soul
and hurl a vajra – let it roll
with tantric thunderclap appeal
while startled Bodhisattvas reel.

Turn from the heights with sober eyes
and under less celestial skies
let us scrutinize the preacher,
pop-star and Tibetan teacher:

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche
(born in a manger – so they say)
grew up deep in Eastern mountains,
fed by esoteric fountains.

Soon he became a monkish abbot
painting thankas, chanting sutra
in a saffron-colored habit
high above the Brahmaputra.

Later, the teacher headed west
suckling Maya‘s milky breast
selling used mantras on the way
to devas who came out to play.

Eventually, in Colorado
he rocked the Rockies, thrilled the Beats
Bringing to his own weird bardo
bolder moves and tipsy feats.

Crazy wisdom’s drunken master
clothed in smartly elegant style,
steered disciples toward disaster –
partying gleefully all the while.

He tantalized the Tantric flirts
by seeking Buddhahood up their skirts;
preaching, as their morals sunk
from The Tibetan Book of the Drunk

Meditating, glass in hand
life of the party (of the ******)
the master mingled with dakinis
deep in the bardo of red bikinis.

Leaving behind a score of tulkus
empty bottles, broken parts
books of empty words that fools choose
after charlatans steal their hearts,

Trungpa Rinpoche went down
shaman of shame, hung-over clown
and tried to mend his Karmic puncture
where the left-hand paths make juncture:

Axis of the All, he spoke
a massive Himalayan joke.
Chogyam’s sacred shambala
brought last laughs to the last hurrah.

When his Dharma-dream was ended
Trungpa woke in ****, a snowball;
karmic punctures still unmended
prisoner of the Bardo Thodol

Should you doubt the truths I tell,
the facts are documented well.
Crazy, isnt it? What we’ll take
from vajra-vendors on the make.
Limked version with images:
https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2015/04/11/vajra-cast-from-golden-heights/
unnamed Dec 2014
With a resplendent Eastern bride,
Like a houri at my side,
With a resplendent Eastern bride,
Like a houri at my side,
O dear Morpheus, for thy rest be no disturbance in thee?
For thy sole ideas be neither order nor structure in flow?
Fear I sense for thy sacrèd inmost sanctum closes its eye.
This is a Sijo that I wrote one morning after having trouble sleeping. Its language is mostly influenced by William Shakespeare (hence the grave accent).

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
With gestures increasingly erratic with every strike
And punts as constant as ink gliding across ivory
Our vigilant artisan gathers his wisdom on combat's eve.
This is a little Sijo that I wrote to reflect my long-term love for Eastern culture. I felt inspired to write this after watching too much of "Two Best Friends Play Yakuza 4."

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
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