#eastern
Every morning
my father takes seven different vitamins
with the concentration
of a man repairing history manually
Omega-3
magnesium
vitamin D
quiet disappointment
He believes survival
is mostly chemical
Honestly
after the twentieth century
that seems reasonable
At breakfast
he reads headlines
with increasing suspicion
like someone checking weather reports
for signs of invasion
The kettle whistles
A neighbor starts drilling into the wall
at exactly 8:13 a.m.
the building continues
through pipes
through routines
through mineral supplements
My father swallows another capsule
with the exhausted dignity
of a country refusing to collapse publicly
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 12:55 PM UTC
My father believes
all problems can be solved
by either:
soup
silence
replacing the batteries
To be fair
this covers more situations
than psychology does
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 10:39 AM UTC
without believing in time
He trusted screws
small tensions
things that resisted collapse mechanically
History, meanwhile,
behaved like weather
crossing borders
without removing its shoes
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 10:00 AM UTC
He staggered to the med-line
and wept bitterly from his soul
for the hope, he feared, he'd
never find to fill that gaping hole.
Somewhere in the sands of time,
a boy plays at his father's feet -
when happiness didn't cost a dime
and he danced to a different beat.
But that was years ago -
the song had ended much too fast.
He refused the meds, walked real slow,
and cradled his playful past.
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 11:13 PM UTC
All should try and see it before they go
there's much to gain by doing one must know
for their own benefit and all the rest
and who can't say that only God knows best.
When the days ahead now seem filled with gloom
which can't be removed even with a broom
for there's just so much ignorance around
that keeps many people stuck on the ground.
They're not able to see the Light of day
when it arises from the Eastern way
for the difference that exists between
at looking in or out is not foreseen.
When one's able to see that Inner Light
the darkness inside also becomes bright
for the mind then gets to be renewed too
more so than all one's self effort will do.
If one gains a pure mind, body and heart
together with the help of Grace's part
for without it one can't remove the veil
that most people otherwise see and fail.
When one forsakes attachment to those things
which they're attached to, then liberty brings,
for one can train their mind to look within
and pierce that darkness to score a win.
Harnessing the power of the senses
and using it to focus mind's lenses
for one may then enable their third eye
and see other worlds within if they try.
When one follows the way and they merge in
the Inner Light then the goal of life win
for that's the main purpose of human birth
and the reason why we're here on this earth.
______________________
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 11:00 AM UTC
The inebriation of exhalation as the wild beast burns it's gut.
A trampling hoof that guides aloof this creature's weathered foot.
Time again a gait that fails
the weathered engine derails.
The other follows, a steady pace,
pursuing subtly an unfamiliar face.
Their paths crossed not without reason
though looking now it cannot see them.
What past has taught the future taunts with,
its exhausting, this furious pursuit of treats.
It helps the creature to it's feet.
What east feeds, west shall feast on.
The water offered, soon enough gone.
And though the west one was defeated,
it smiles in gratitude, almost sweetly.
But deep inside, the fire burns
the lessons learned are lost
as winter comes with a hunger born of frost.
Binary beasts, slave to each other.
Two wayward children split from their mother.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:25 AM UTC
kites riding the eastern breeze
inner child hiding in the canopy of leaves
singing to the tune of the birds
lies being highlighted by the omnipresent sun
bring to light what you buried, sweeter than my metaphorical cherry
you cannot escape what you have done, you must remember the ones you have shunned
even if it's only to take note of, what not to do
even if it feels too much, I know you could
even if the world is too rushed, you know what to do
going down the wormhole, deep dive
my memories come in handy, high five
to save my sanity as I live life
getting my light underneath the full moon
Oct 22, 2021
Oct 22, 2021 at 10:47 AM UTC
from o'er eastern hills
a brightly glowing moon's face
rose in late eve skies
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 3:53 AM UTC
I used to make this exotic Indian dish.
It combined so many spices—like cardamom,
coriander, and a hard
pulpy substance called tamarind that I
soaked in hot water and used only the juice.
It was a giant Middle Eastern stew.
It was half science and half art.
It was math at its best,
generally, I despise math.
It smelled so foreign and exotic,
it contrasted with the wife and 2.3
kids placed neatly around the dinning room
table, waiting on
the finishing touches,
sprigs of fresh
cilantro tossed atop each bowl.
An Indian bread called naan was dipped
in the stew—it was wonderful, amazing.
The wine—smiles—laughter,
I can still smell it and taste it.
And now,
on lonely winter nights,
my take-out tandoori chicken
smells like a T.V dinner.
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 2:41 PM UTC
Demented
Was this evil
Witch
When she snatched girls from the
Streets
To havevthem sacrificed and
Possessed
By the jinn
When will she end her
Evil spree
Of taking innocence
And committing them
To Satan
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 5:59 PM UTC
After a year I took you to the Eastern Sierras. Home.
Last time I was here these mountains seemed bigger, in pictures my face was thinner.
Walking in my granfathers footsepts I spoke of my family, I spoke of these canyons, you spoke of your dreams, and you spoke of us.
Black coffee in our matching cups. You make it strong; like me I said.
With the high sierra granite surrounding us we removed our bandaids and wondered where the scars went.
Everyone knows a broken heart is blind. At least that's what Jack thought me. After pondering it for quite sometime I think that I would like to give you mine. I think you see me.
Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 6:53 PM UTC
Crossing the eastern stream,
I met a friend.
His shell, hard as he slowly
traverse across the water.
Crouching down, I asked him.
Oh turtle, why do you move so slow,
Yet never stop inching forward?
May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 5:18 PM UTC
मलाई सोधियो
किन भाईटीका अन्तिम दिनमा मनाइन्छ?
मैले भन्दिए
परापूर्वक कालदेखिनै
पूर्वीय दर्शनमा
हिरोको प्रवेश अन्तिममै हुन्छ ।
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 6:58 AM UTC
For though we might,
We cannot fight the wind;
Try as we may,
The mist eludes our grasp;
Shadows defy our clutches,
Rainclouds form,
The sun and moon rise and set
Despite our will;
Controlling nothing,
Still we do not see,
And frame our lives with an order
That is illusion,
Timetables and inventories
Of ignorance;
Labels and times and convenience
We set in stone that crumbles
Like sand before the winds
Of Impermanence;
Change is the symphony,
And fluid the score
Of this dharmakayic waltz,
And though we dance
We fancy ourselves but
Onlookers to the show;
That when the crashing finale
Resounds -- as it must --
We stop our ears and wail;
Not seeing, deaf to the choir
That has but turned the page
To sing a new song;
Our own melody ended,
We fade only to be played anew
From the string of another bow;
The song goes on, rising, falling,
And Bliss is the one
Who follows as the Piper leads
With Namu Amida Butsu.
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
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)
(❤)
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
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
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
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 ...
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 10:12 AM UTC
Vapid people
dribbling vapid shxt.
A society of fxck-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.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
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.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
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*
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
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 hell, 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.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC