I softly tread down marble halls,
my bare feet echoing on white stone floors
that have seen millions of souls
just like mine.

I pass over the stoop
that has felt the endless touch of foreheads
prostrate in humble reverence.

I stand silently by an altar,
coins and offerings scattered at my feet
before this monument that is
the silent ear for so many unknown prayers.

I can almost hear the silent supplications
of all those that have come before,
endlessly echoing from these golden walls.

This place spoke to each of them
just as it speaks to so many today,
just as it speaks to me.

Though my knees do not fold
and my lips do not kiss the marble floor,
though no muttered scripture falls from my tongue,
though the songs on the air remain a mystery
and their lyrics tell stories I do not know,
though I bring no offering, leave no coin
at the petaled base of the altar,

even so,

my mere presence here
has bound me both to this sanctuary
and to these strangers.
To their prayers.
To their alms.
To their songs.
To their hearts.

Every heart
that has been bathed
in the golden light of peace and charity
is forever brightened
and strengthened and soothed.

And now, my heart is counted among them.
Many hearts,
One love.

After all, we're not savages. We're English.
And the English are the best at everything.
                                                     ­       (Piggy)
The hovelled huts
Near  school house ditches
Hardly sheltered starving children.
Emaciated, pale and ghastly,
Three million lost.
Exports defined them,
Imports denied them,
The world was told their hunger
Was the wrath of God.
For seven hundred years
Untolled Rachels wept;
Twice as long
As Jews were kept
Enslaved in pagan Egypt.
This was Ireland,
Not Auschwitz.

Beneath the banners of
Labour and Freedom,
Toiled the innocents.
Eyes burning from hot peppers,
Bodies weak and wrecked
From boarding;
Skin separated by flogging
Thousands of Cypriots.

Over soup and sandwiches
A demarcation's drawn,
So Hindus now face Muslims
Seeking their new homes.
Three million displaced
During lunch,
Brain salad served up on a hunch
By a line
Drawn by one man.
This wasn't Treblinka,
But Pakistan.

Millions fenced in labour camps
In what they called  
The Dark Continent.
The torture was horrendous,
With random executions.
Think the worse, you're still not there,
Think ravenous dogs and mutilation,
**** and human degradation.
Eyes gouged out, ears cut off,
This was Kenya,
Not Warsaw.

Sir Winston wore
His crocodile shoes,
Feigning the blues,
While blocking friendly supplies;
Letting three million hungry die.
His callousness was cruelly matched
When delivering Mahatma's epithet:
“Has Gandhi not starved yet?”
This was Bengal,
Not Dachau.

Their ****** count adds up.
Their new policy was errant:
Imprison all the peasants.
It was racist to the Nth degree,
A million desperate detainees
To exile when they're freed.
But half died on their knees
In Malay,
Not Buchenwald.


The Boer War and Apartheid
Were blessed with Royal Assent.
In Amritsar Brits opened fire,
To cut down Innocents.

This isn't just in history,
It's happened all too recently.

Argentina's watery graves
Gurgle from The Belgrano,
Sunk by Royal torpedoes
For a rock of sheep.
Such was the work
Of a band of brothers,
To fly their flag
Over Falkland waters?

There's no denying
The atrocities
Of her maternal
Ferocities.
The Spinners
Wrapped their glories
Furled in Jack's war stories.
The winners
Have detoured their crimes,
Enjoin us denouncing
**** times;
But the sun hasn't set
On Empire fires:
China, India, Kenya, Aden,
Ireland, Africa,
All invaded.
All degraded.
Imperialism is not benign,
The legacy lives on
In Palestine.

Under pretence
Of flag and king,
The English are
Best at everything.

El Mirador

The Sikh man on the the rooftop balcony,
tells me if I have any problems in this city,
to come and see him,
and he will deal with it,

he’s serious,
and he’s loving,
and his black eyes reflect,
against the black streeted city,
in a way that leaves no doubt,
upon my incensed mind,

we are in,
a Belizean town,
on the Guatemala border,
it’s late the moon is there,
as She always is such a trusted companion,

the balcony smells,
of humid resentment,
there is a sleepy nostalgia,
blowing through the air,

everything looks misty,

tomorrow I depart for Flores,
then to El Mirador,
the largest pyramid in the world,
waiting for me to explore,

I have a few days,
found some extra time,
between flying to NYC,
then flying to Milan,
to find my way to El Mirador,
it’s a six day hike from Flores,
this is something that’s calling me,
told you before I’m a traveler not a tourist,

I’m packing my bags,
getting ready for another trip,
my business is straight,
and my 5th book is almost finished,

which gives me a few days to breathe,
to hike into the jungles in respect of the pyramids,
and I was packing my bags and getting everything ready,
when I decided to take a break and step out onto the balcony,

where to my surprise I found a man,
sitting in the dark,
resting in the infinite,
space of time and thought,

and when I discovered him,
he began to speak,
he told me he’d come from Amritsar,
and that he was a Sikh,

Seek and Ye shall find,
so I go with God,
and get back to getting ready,
for my trek to El Mirador.

— ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆ —

The H Trilogy
Volume 1
7/7/16
∆

A circular motion
of everything
centripetal force of what
keeps the world together,
yet the weak spots
where hatred is spread
innocent misled
there mobs gather
unbridled
uncontrolled
some sit and stand
others walk and talk
some enjoy
others ploy
some come and go
others break the flow
then the machines fail
for moans and cries....
( Badly moved by the Amritsar Tragedy)

Her muses are rather bazaar
From afar
To an Akbar they are
Saraswati’s sitar
For the river is vivid expressions of life
In a culture as distant
As discordant strife
When the songs are of mango trees
Sweet as can be
And her temples of riches
Are fertile and free
But still poverty seen
Inundating the banks
So much so in fact
That the monkey gods pray
Where the rhinos once drank
And I must bear witness to all the existence
Persistence resisting the suffering tone
For mine is so om that unknown is my home
But the homeless who roam like Dalits in the streets, still need places to sleep
And a harvest to reap
From the zamindar’s farm, could feed all of Uttar
Which is still so bazaar from afar to Akbar
That I wander the Thar as I wonder who are, All the bearers of Blue Star and Amritsar scars
Still polluting and looting
And shooting their brothers
And turning the tears of the Mother the Color
Of coal ash despair from unfair lady lovers
Still Partitioning them against one another

The children of Agni
Still tend to the fields
But they yield to what Shiva’s
Deals hope to conceal
By the bushels of bullets, pork barrels of grease
In the crease of the fingers
And trigger’s release
Of the anger, the rage of this Bengali cage
Made of famines of war
And the textile slaves
With the wage loomin’ over
Their shoulders in pain
From the Kashmiri soldiers
Still diggin’ their graves
And in chains are the children who bear the unfair distribution of loot
Still polluting the air
And I try and I try, and they stare and they stare
But I’m running in circles and getting nowhere

Just making a stand for this Hindustan sand
A mere man of unplanned patrilineal clans
Tryna’ offer a hand to the paving of roads
Without hellish intentions for humble abodes
‘Cuz I know, I’ve been shown where the wild things are
And now my state of mind is the state of Uttar
When I still see the zamindars driving in cars
And the Amritsar crimson Blue Stars from afar
People burning but still full of love and a spirit
That sings of the Ganges, each night you can hear it
It’s clear, without fear and sincere in its praise
For the guru I am, come to learn of their ways

No one's going anywhere no time never soon
so you might as well get used to watching four walls
in your room
or
you can google trip around the globe,

up to now
I've been to Curacao and blue bay beach,
to Bogota and Amritsar,
tomorrow
I'm heading off again,
anything
to get me out of this room and away from the rain.

Listing Listerine as a pathogen, oh yeah!!!
Holidays are here smearing **** on walls
Slamming upon my hand the door of a car
Enticing Sikhs to brashly assemble in Amritsar

Listing Listerine as a pathogen, oh yeah!!!
Holidays are here smearing **** on walls
Slamming upon my hand the door of a car
Enticing Sikhs to brashly assemble in Amritsar