"brahmin" poems
Myself caught in the heatwave sunlight, brown eyes
furrowed in the sun, scarf loose on my neck/
the transcendental Denpasar morning-birds
are playing their melodies in my head still,
three years post-Indonesia.
All of my soul to India now,
sky the pink of painted elephants
on Jaipur dawning,
my afterlife was somewhere here
perhaps two generations ago, chances are.
Vijay Raghav Rao and Alla Rakha
playing the Tabla/via earphones/treading the
Funary Box City (Kashi) future Spring
hands held together keeping calm pace.
Looking about, my twenty-two year old face
catches humid wind
S
I
L
V
E
R
S
H
O
P
tattered bike leaning on the gated guest house entrance
PERENNIAL AZURE SHIVA SITS CROSS LEGGED/
COBRA NECKLACE IMITIATONS ON THE GODDESS THROAT/
MEDITATING SHIVA/
dulled from years and corrosion.
Brahmin center of the market street
flapping it's tail,
sweat beads from my forehead bleeding
to oily pavement.
At last the months have come for the river Ganges,
April penumbra/savage thunderclap
while school children uplifting the heart
AND MIND
are ROARING in their laughter
the CONTINENTAL DISCORD OF JOY
sleeping with their eyes open
while others are too tired for the Earth.
Sidney Bechet floating swan songs during
the black hour cremations/
“Bechet Creole Blues”
CATERWAUL IN THAT VOID
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF DEATH/
LUNACY OF LIFE
(I've arrived at the simultaneous crossroads
of both)
searing flesh in open air pyramids/
Manikarnika Ghat,
Asia F
L
O
W
S
through dreams
like inevitable prophecy
and as ash blends with stars
the CITY seems fulfilled
and mystifying
in it's
(((((RESPLENDENCE)))))
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
I ASKED if I should pray.
But the Brahmin said,
"pray for nothing, say
Every night in bed,
""I have been a king,
I have been a slave,
Nor is there anything.
Fool, rascal, knave,
That I have not been,
And yet upon my breast
A myriad heads have lain.'''
That he might Set at rest
A boy's turbulent days
Mohini Chatterjee
Spoke these, or words like these,
I add in commentary,
"Old lovers yet may have
All that time denied --
Grave is heaped on grave
That they be satisfied --
Over the blackened earth
The old troops parade,
Birth is heaped on Birth
That such cannonade
May thunder time away,
Birth-hour and death-hour meet,
Or, as great sages say,
Men dance on deathless feet.' 0084
4.5k
I had really hoped
To forget you, once and for all
However, it seems you are always hovering around
Like an annoying little mosquito
Ready to **** the blood
Of anyone and everyone in your vicinity
And looking for that perfect window of opportunity
To mock my shortcomings
Which apparently do not exist
For your precious little "best friend"
Who has a smug smile on his face
Ready to defend you at the drop of a hat
Of course, it will only be a matter of time
Before you tire of him as well
Because, people exist merely for your needs
Which are about as realistic
As Telugu action movies are
Therefore, it is a huge irony
That you were my first female friend
Of course, I am not sure you understand
What friendship truly means
Because, you promise one thing
And then proceed to do the exact opposite
May God help that unfortunate soul
Who truly cares for you
Because s/he will be in for a rollercoaster ride
Which will never end
Until your delusional fantasies are satisfied
By the time that eventually happens
S/he would be dead
Anyway, it was you
Who wanted to be friends with me in the first place
I, being a naive idiot
Readily accepted your offer of friendship
And was with you
Through thick and thin
However, you cut me off
When you needed me no longer
I apologised to you a number of times
Not because I did anything wrong
But because your inflated ego required a massage
Alas! To you, I was nothing more than a problem child
Whom you wanted to mould
According to your whims and fancies
I was never an independent human being
Who could make his own choices
And live his life on his own terms
Your own Brahmin sensibilities matter more to you
Than a friend who genuinely cared for you
Unlike "Mr Smug Face", whom I had mentioned earlier
You destroyed my self-confidence
And turned me into an insecure wreck
God knows how many more people exist
Whom you've treated as "use and throw"
Just keep one thing in mind, though
There will surely be a time
When the tables are turned
And it is you who will become a lonely wreck
Then there will be noone
Who is ready to rush to your aid
Because, you will be forgotten; once and for all
As you deserve to be
May 4, 2023
May 4, 2023 at 12:35 AM UTC
From where I sit in this bicycle rickshaw
everything is in motion.
Balloons, massed into colourful clouds,
ride in the rickshaw just ahead.
Brahmin cows walk by, unconcerned
by the tiny cars speeding and honking.
People of every age and description
walk towards the stalls and shops.
From where I sit in this bicycle rickshaw
pale pink sari fluttering around me,
all is completely still and silent,
even as everything is in motion.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near,
Shadow and sunlight are the same,
The vanished gods to me appear,
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.
2.6k
In India, we need feminism
Because, it stands for equality
Before you start losing your calm
Please allow me to clarify
Feminism means not, women dominating men
It means equal rights for both men and women
And of course, women empowerment
Now, let me be blunt
India is not and has never been a great place for women
Our society enables male **********
In almost every sphere of life
Which ends up creating a lot of strife
It is time to change all of that
Hence, is feminism so important
Because, women need to find their voice
And for that, they must have a choice
To do what they desire
Without invoking the society's ire
So, it is time to dismantle our Brahminical patriarchy
Only then, can we really reform our society
Because, gender and caste go hand-in-hand
We cannot destroy gender inequality with a magic wand
It is necessary to strike at its very root
Which, essentially, is caste
For instance, why do so many rapes happen?
Because, they enable upper caste male **********
****** harassment and **** reinforce the caste structure
Thus, does the Manusmriti continue to influence gender
And proactively hinder women empowerment
Again, this is why feminism is so important
But it also needs to be intersectional
And include women at all levels
Of our wretched caste hierarchy
In order to achieve gender equality
It is necessary for Brahmin and Savarna women to take a pause
And allow Bahujan women to make uniformed choices for themselves
Instead of dictating terms to them all the time
Also, men need to be part of feminism
After all, inclusiveness is the very core of feminism
It transcends gender, *** race, religion and caste
Was not Babasaheb Dr. B.R. Ambedkar one of India's greatest feminists?
It is thanks to this beautiful soul
That, at least in theory, are men and women equal
As far as our country is concerned
Therefore, feminism is something we greatly need
But it can be successful only when it includes everyone
Thus, in order to make India a much safer place for women
Everybody must adopt feminism
Because, it is equivalent to humanism!
Jai Bhim!!
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 12:18 AM UTC
how can i ever forget
those penetrating moist eyes
before we bid our final goodbyes.
ringing in my ears now,
are mellifluous incantations
flowing from the synchronized lips
of brahmin priests at this open air temple.
here,
i, as budhanilakanta
adorned with marigold flowers,
recline on a celestial snake,
pondering the blue print
for the next cycle of creation.
one hundred eight lamps
are waved in arcs
as salutations for me,
witnessed by humble devotees.
a spectacle to match
the fireworks of the Milky Way.
but it’s your chosen silence for now,
which resembles the night sky.
as i search for a melody
deep within me,
your face is the pure dawn i seek.
your haunting voice,
the raga, i yearn to hear.
can’t we immerse in the simple joys of human life?
can’t we just add a few more chapters to our cosmic love story?
© 2023
Apr 29, 2023
Apr 29, 2023 at 11:33 AM UTC
Raja Dahir, the Brahmin noble king of Sindh,
Defender of his realm and his subjects,
He stood steadfast against the Arab invaders,
Determined to keep them at bay.
With sword in hand, he fought with valor,
Leading his troops into battle with fierce pride.
But despite his valiance, he could not stand
Against the pyrrhic of the Umayyad Caliphate.
During his reign, culture flourished,
Music and science flourished as well.
But these achievements were not meant to last,
As the Arab forces soon did dwell.
In the end, he fell to their sword,
His kingdom conquered, his people enslaved.
But his spirit lives on, a symbol of resistance
Against foreign ********** and oppression.
Raja Dahir, our hero, our guide,
We honor your memory and your sacrifice.
May your legacy live on forever,
As a beacon of hope for all who fight for freedom.
Dec 31, 2022
Dec 31, 2022 at 11:28 AM UTC
A cold winter noon
Perched atop a new ruin,
Toothpick stirring a remix bhajan,
Rocking in a lame chair, there I am.
Taking in the sun,
Thinking of the world, the poor
And sipping on my ***
‘’Ayele kanda, batata’’
Ah, there goes my line.
Why doesn’t the idiot shut up?
We can’t anymore buy onion and potato.
A lonely koel perches on the antenna
Clears its throat and tries to sing,
Hoot! Out of my sight you noisy thing.
Give me peace and let me think.
One more sip, the line comes again,
The down trodden!
A girl of sixteen was ***** and killed.
Who will punish the bustards? Such a shame.
A mother of two violated,
Shorn and paraded naked.
Served her right, the five magi hissed
Her threadbare boy shouldn’t a Brahmin have kissed!
The stocks went down; the Taj has gone brown,
Down with the rightists, down with the leftists,
Down with the middle-east, down with the Pakis,
And the Chinese, a foreign hand, don’t you see?
Rocking in the lame chair,
Taking in the sun,
Thinking of the world
And sipping on my ***
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
**
An elegant queen of my own heart,
Once revealed and whispered,
I am Brahma*,
a beautiful Brahma;
a well built; structured women; a Goddess
mentally; physically; celestially;
but years after, a defeated
women of beauty;
a conquered prey of Men’s lust,
She is All-Seeing, All-Powerful,
She is All Queens, All Mothers;
And Creator’s right hand,
the Ruler’s Sweet heart
and the women of all
that have been and shall be at all times!
**
By
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
www.williamsmaveli.com
______________________________________________________________________________________
NOTE:
* Brahma is a Hindu Goddess and is one among those " Thrimurti's" (Three Persons); This word is originated from Sanskrit, meaning to "Praise" in English. Brahmin is a Hindu Caste in India.
________________________________________________________________________________________
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
Enough is enough
We have watched
We have heard
Every year, every month
Every week, every day
Every hour, every minute
Thousands and thousands
Of untold horrors
In every state
In every city
In every village
In every nook and corner
Of this monstrous country
A supposedly secular country
A supposedly democratic country
Enough is enough
How much more can we stand?
For how much longer
Do we have to put up
With this Brahminical terror
Unleashed by the state and legislative
By the judiciary and police
By the corporate and media
Don't you dare hide
Under the garb of patriotism
Under the garb of secularism
Admit it, this is what you wanted
Right from day one
A Savarna-Brahmin India
Free from Dalit-Bahujan resistance
Free from liberty, equality and fraternity
An India ****** would have been proud of
Jan 22, 2020
Jan 22, 2020 at 12:12 PM UTC
you invite
the cut,
you know you do
bloodlet come
dust off those bad humors
that have already won
one
incision
on the inside of inner-thigh,
nicely
neatly: remedies indecision for a wee bit
doesn't it?
confirm that silly string
and pipe cleaners
aren't reeeally your insides
lifely! lifely! qualifies your moves
in this
thing
this
****** sadwhirenoughenough
you jus
Buddha the hurt afterward
but emptiness of being always keeps
a few of your you's and me's around
ricocheting off far unkempt corners
like me, the pigeon
and you, the squirrel
...
look, they've already won, my love;
no,
they -always- have already won
so, plz, don't k?
jus don't
don't assemble upright-me as your
night-n-shiny handle
don't fix me la-la opposite his hard gleam
his trite inky blah bodkin Brahmin to my Bodhisattva
i can't, won't do it anymore,
my core torpid
Luke Skywalker warm
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
Each clay model was fast asleep
Frozen in slumber deep
But I had a promise to keep.
My doll I promised would have her say
And on this summer day
Her I mustn’t fail.
She had to have a clay model.
There wasn’t a thing wasn’t there
Men, women, birds and even a curd seller
Bald Brahmin, English pair
Village belle in flowing hair
Men flirtatious, women loose
At small price pick and choose.
Lost in the potter’s terrain
She was back a child again
The afternoon was almost spent
When ended her playful moments.
I picked the fortune teller
She chose the curd seller.
On the way what I had to say
Hope she remembers till last day
*At the potter’s having seen them all
Found none crafted like my lovely doll.*
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
Well, so they tell us-
the political gladiators and
heavy weights. That in permanent
servitude we must remain.
They create a void in our stomachs,
which they momentarily fill with
what they carted away from us.
Just for their self will and whims
for another leap year's tenure to
be entrenched.
They widen the capacity for evil
of the canines they have intentionally
starved.
For a bone's morsel, the canines
viciously their draconian orders
execute.
Just for their masters' sit-tight
bid to be guaranteed.
Restrained with the servile chains
of their desperate overlords, they bark
ravenously at the oppressed,
who have come to liberate themselves
at polling units.
Each time the unworthy is by the
ballot box overthrown, the ravenous
canines at the hands of feeble
patriots gnaw.
A pound of flesh they take
from the down-trodden kingmakers,
to usurp the power they have
in good governance vested.
The umpire with filthy lucre gratified,
raises the hand of the fraudulently
triumphant political Brahmin,
who for another leap year's tenure
subjugates his dalits with utter
deprivation; ASUU strikes, poor infrastructure,
incessant power cuts, poor health delivery,
persistent insecurity, unemployment
and the cancerous bad governance.
With fat cheeks and stiff neck
that is well sunken into a robust torso,
he regularly raises the sides of an
African attire of elitist renown,
set once more to amass more spoils
of political office for a privileged
family dynasty.
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 6:53 PM UTC
I'm the unholiest of nights
I am nocturnal antichrists
I am the intifada phantom
Blacking out the Israelites
I am the netherworld Rohingya
To Gautama's paradise
I can indulge in my salvation
For a fraction of the price
I am the spice of life aboard
Malagasy pirate ships
I am the pyramids of greed
Built atop the cracks of whips
I get on nerves of your Nirvana
I'm the burning Book of Mormon
I'm a hundred years of war
And famine, plagues and locusts swarmin'
I am 47 ronin
To the Hiroshima priest
As they Shinto Harakiri
I am rising in the east
I am the fracture in the caste
Of the Brahmin’s brittle bones
I am the wrath of jealous deities
On Mount Olympus thrones
I'm the cult of personality
The Satan's circle level
I'm the hammer and the sickle
I'm the patron saint of rebel
I'm the heathen Eden extremist
The radical depiction
Of Muhammad's severed head
Adorned in crowns of crucifixion
I'm the Xenu Voodoo Guru
I'm the omniversal cosmic view
The lord of space and time
And now my thetan horde awakens you
From sins of your mortality
I know them all too well
You place your faith in heaven
But I make mine here in hell
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 3:04 AM UTC
Brahma
BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
I am the hymn the Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
Abandon all hope
Ye who enter my domain
For once you go in
There's no leaving my brain
A relic of the darkest age
Gothic bells of Notre Dame
My atheistic serenade
My faithless roaring lion cage
My phantom of the opera stage
Masked and cloaked
In acid soaked
Smoke and mirror soul stockade
No Houdini escapade
Could escape artist my pain
From haunted houses locked away
Museums of natural mystery
Exhibiting my guilt and shame
From buried ancient history
Priceless are these artifacts
Of worthless self-discovery
Yet still displayed for all to see
As a suit of armor
Or a tomb of Tutankhamen
Where I have bested Rama
To be born again as Brahmin
Where you find me now at play
In nightmares of my new dream caste
Alone in every way
One can be stuck inside the past
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 1:58 AM UTC
beam me up, Scotty!
hundred percent proof Gaelic,
drawn from a shaft of wheat,
near Glasgow, or in the Canines
mountain range - strange that
so few mountain ranges are called
Canines - all weathered protruding -
man perfected the mountain,
constructed a mountain improvement
in Egypt... but reduced it to a status
of tomb, every stone a man dead,
and inside the womb of fancy
gold, no books... just gold and a
zombie flesh, papyrus rotten -
imagine waking up in the afterlife looking
like a ******* mummy - i'd rather wake
up like the Brahmin stated: elemental,
fiery, ****** off - yeah, i know, the part
where we get to be part of the geological
history, compressed, burnt in diesel...
i don't mind the "covered in cow-shit"
that much, surfs up on the Ganges;
**** alba corruptor primus*.
that's how Latin translates - the verb before
the adjective - in Anglo-Saxon
the arithmetic is white man, prime corruptor.
**** the poem was about ****** Muslims...
well, i have a pair of aces and we're
rightly gambling solidarity...
Jalaluddin Rumi... and Omar Khayyan...
they were piss-heads, winos and worse off
than the last Tsar of Russia, hashish smokers...
poets, defilers... what else?!
i'm not going for a citation, that's too scientific,
just trust me on this one, no one sober in
the right frame of mind writes words like that,
sanity and sobriety doesn't work like that,
you can stack supermarket shelves with
packaged goods, but poetry? nah, no regime,
all spontaneity - the similar thrill of theft -
you steal blanks and write whatever is jeopardy;
i swear to Allah the brimstone knee-bender,
if your people don't start dipping their soul
in the fiery water of the second to none Styx
that's εθαε i'll be worried - dudes, you have
a reputation for pristine Persian poetry...
i'm done.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
Akkosaka Bhāradvāja--
The brahmin--found the Buddha one day
And railed against him, throwing harsh words
And abusive insults the Teacher's way.
The Buddha calmly said, "Dear brahmin,
Answer, please, my question to you:
You are a guest and your hosts offer food;
If you don't want it, what do you do?"
"I don't accept it," the brahmin answered.
"In that case to whom does the food belong?
To the hosts, no?" asked the Buddha.
"Tell me: am I right or wrong?"
"The offered food belongs to the hosts,
Of course," responded the brahmin surveying
With curiosity each word that
The great Master was wisely saying.
The Buddha said, "Likewise, if you do not
Accept the insults of those who blast you,
Their unwanted "gifts" stay with them,
While you are unscathed; you put it all past you."
The brahmin, moved by the Buddha's words,
Reflected on the meaning and sought
Deeper understanding and wisdom
From all the lessons the Teacher taught.
If others try to hurt you with words,
Give their nasty comments short shrift
By staying unruffled, unperturbed--
By resolutely refusing their "gift."
- by Bob B
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
Swami Krishna's eyes flashed
lightning bolts illumining his round, brahmin
raincloud colored face.
Igniting logs in the huge fire pit
for our ancestral puja
he chanted ancient vedic hymns,
it was a beautiful offering on
this venerable Sunday morning.
Rites for remembering ancestors
is a tradition in many cultures,
not so much in the west.
Swami Krishna elaborated on its
importance:
We thank them for the good,
for laying the groundwork and support of
our lineage.
We remember them with
love and gratitude,
he stated, wrapping the yellow and red
priestly shawl closer to his body.
Strong, musky, acrid, odor of wood burning
stung our nostrils
one by one, ritualistically we added
ghee, incense sticks, flowers, herbs
and rice to the auspicious serpentine
flames
I could sense my mother near
spicy whiff of curry and channel no. 5
mixing with clouds of smoke
A secret door slowly opened in the heavens
as a procession of ghostly relatives
took their place around the blazing havan
It was almost high noon
and Surya, the Sun God
halted His brilliant chariot
driven by 7 rainbow hued horses
Hovering mid-air over our holy gathering
He raised His Golden Hands in Blessing
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
I think that someone wrote into some palm leaf
a manuscript, a gift, a contract.
After my parents wedding,
while they were still in India,
they found out that my dad’s father
and my mom’s grandfather
worked for kings administering temples
and collecting money for their king
from the farmers that worked the rice paddies each king owned.
My dad, a son of a brahmin’s son,
grew up in his grandmother’s house.
His mother was not a Brahmin.
My mother grew up in Malaysia
where she saw the children from the rubber plantation
when she walked to school.
She doesn’t say what caste she is.
They both left their homes
before they left for college.
He went to his father’s house, then college. He went to work, then England, then Canada.
She went to India then Canada.
They moved to the United States around Christmas 1978
with my brother while she was pregnant with me.
My father signed a contract with my mother. My parents took ashes and formed rock,
the residue left in brass pots in India,
the rocks, so hot, they turned back to lava miles away
before turning back to ash again,
then back to rock,
the lava from a super volcano,
the ash purple and red.
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 12:41 PM UTC
though he looked calm
he was worried all the way
as his sons carried him on their broad shoulders.
the dead brahmin, finally smiled
as he was laid
on the funeral pyre
made of finest sandalwood
from the forest around.
that was his last wish to his sons,
you must use chandan and nothing else.
don’t give me to some low-cast corkwood
even before sum of my deeds is calculated,
i know, on the pyre, it will burn me, to the hell.
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 5:39 AM UTC