Nepal
The fourth poorest country

The Gurkah Welfare Trust
Installs fountains in the mountains
To help the poor Nepalese people
The water near the village is contaminated
So they had to walk 8 miles to fetch clean water

Thanks to the Gurkah welfare trust
There are fountains that provide clean water

"It is better to die than to be a coward"
That is the motto of the Gurkah fighter

After one year in the British Army
The Gurkahs put on a stone of muscle in weight

Why do the Gurkahs agree to die for the British crown?

It's simple The Gurkah says,
"We've eaten your rations, we've eaten your salt.
The obligation is binding."

I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp
a postage stamp, that is;
unique and proud, in my own class,
for I’ve carried queens and kings and emperors
(I still do)
and I carry Presidents and Poets and Rock Kings
and Pop Kings
and Musicians and Legends and Heroes
and Gods and Nations;
and I carry **** blondes
and old dames who’ve dedicated their lives to others

I’ve borne with no complaints
the weight of genius
and soldiers and founders of nations
and martyrs; and I do not discriminate
and with like gusto and color
I’ve carried tyrants and murderers and charlatans
and once-were-legends now the shamed;
and look, I can encompass the universe
and within the shapes formed by my perforations
I’ve held together flowers and birds
and all wonders of nature
I am each a poem, a work of art
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(What? You heard me the first time, did you?
Well, I’ll say it again for emphasis!) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud -
though, I acknowledge,
the image of Royalty or Heroism or Greatness has
not saved me from various knocks and hard presses
and the ******* bin!
But then, so have mighty royal heads rolled!
but look, hee…heee….heee…
I can be absolutely adorable,
and I just love, love it when you lick me;
and often too
I’m a collector’s item
increasing in value, and even with artistic merit -
though no doubt, there are countless with no idea
of how so darling precious I am
which is I why
I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(And what? Why do I repeat myself?
Well, there are thousands of copies
of one issue, aren’t there?) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud
and I’ve created worlds all of my own
with pen pals and commerce
and industries and clubs round me;
and I’m not alone, you know,
well-supported by relatives
like prepaid postal envelopes, post cards,
letter cards, aerogrammes
all of us served loyally
by unquestioning Gurkha-style postmen and women;
and I’ve brought hearts and minds together
and I do it in a day or days and or weeks
and if I feel like it, I even arrive decades later! –
and there’s nothing you can do about it!
And oh yes, I can see, you’re prone to neglecting me -
you ungrateful scoundrels! -
first replacing me with cold
Franking Machines,
and cheap, unimpressive, unimaginative franking marks
and with postage meters
imprinting an indicia;
and all of you now
deriding my world as snail pace
in your world of instant e-mails -
but I persist, and I still am of much use
for - listen carefully -
and I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud;
and if you, once in a while,
want to show me your loyalty –
come to a local post office and lick my royal ****!

.

He was a recovering alcoholic
She was a double shot of *****

He desired  her like an ex-smoker desires to smoke one last cigar before his lungs shut down completely, before he breathes his last breath
Like any smoker who would like to have the privilege to smell "Gurkha Black Dragon"

Their love was made of music notes no one got to hear
Music played only in their ears

Like moon and sun
Like day and night
They shouldn't collide
They can't meet

Mother nature would lose her balance each time they kissed
The universe did not approve of their love

A love story that should have never been lived, should never be written nor spoken about


.

Do you want to see
my collection of knives?
Jim asked
sure

I said
so he went
into his
ground floor flat

and I sat
on the grass
outside
his bedroom window

cleaning my
6 shooter gun
with my handkerchief
here

Jim said
have look
at this beauty
and he handed me

a narrow bladed knife
with an eagle
on the handle
and German script

on the blade
Meine Ehre Heisst Treue
what does that mean?
I asked

Dad said it means
my honour is loyalty
Jim said
I ran a finger

along the blade
it was still sharp
it's an SS knife
he said

I handed him
back the knife
and off he went
to get another

this one
had a curved blade
be careful
of the blade

Jim said
it's very sharp
I bet that's taken off
many a head

he said
sliding his thumb
under his throat
what kind

of knife is it?
I asked
it's a Gurkha
combat knife

he said
he took
that knife away
and brought back

a knife with
a knuckleduster handle
what the hell is this?
I said

taking the knife
into my hands
and turning it over
it's an Aussie

fighting knife
Jim said
could have
slit open a ***

he said
I tried not
to think of that
but looked

at the knuckleduster handle
and imagined
a man's hand
and fingers there

at one time
I handed Jim
back the knife
and he went

back inside
there were voices
coming
from Jim's room

and Jim's old man
came to the window
and said
don't tell no one

what you've seen Benny
Jim should
have known better
and backed off

into the room
I looked
at my 6 shooter
in my lap

Jim came
along the grass
back from the flat
sorry about that

he said
Dad has this thing
about knives
and such

he helped
open up
Belsen camp
and saw too much.

i did one stint from one "village" to another,
Ostrowiec was the reds' heartbeat
of communist innovation, steelworks you name it,
army contracts,
that was sodomised in the tipping submergence
of Titanic... i did a stint in a capital,
Edinburgh,
most of my contemporaries didn't venture
as far, closer to home, closer to the bread
and the washing-machine -
now they're living prolonged middle-class
lives (apologies for the Marxist
auxiliary vocabulary - i see a future in you
in the orbit of canonised journalism
worthy of a Hendrix comet - gush gone
the next type) - of course the first Gurkha sentiments
are the ones teaching us that Europe is
the holy grail - it's actually a ****-hole with
quiet a few people actually insane...
who are given representative power
via democracy, with democracy constituents
aimed at 30% representation,
a third! a third! imagine chimpanzees voting
as if they were getting arrested:
micro the universe with ink blotches on
the thumbs and the question:
'who bent the bananas?! who bent the bananas?!
we had a joke you ruined it
a banana in the pocket... who bent the bananas
from Pythagoras to Euclid? who?!'
30% turnout when once 100% fought,
whether stonemason or farmer -
if this is democracy i'm not really pessimistically
pensive over an attack on autocracy by it,
but still warring in places like Vietnam will
not make democracy the conqueror,
sometimes natural communism works
if it's structured on a tribal level, i.e.
'you scratch my back i'll scratch yours',
tribal levelling is a case for a dishonesty concerning
money, nails can't be hammers with money present,
the time it takes is the economic prowess of
the elitist democratic function,
quasi-religious meaning
why would nihilism's testimony first craft moral
questions rather than economic questions
to gain approval and the audience of artists' revenue
for even asking?
hey headlines! everything else is optional!
as i said, from one village to another,
a momentary stint in capital Edinburgh and London,
in London i was asked to be crucified -
21st century England, one student said i should
be crucified because i was not supporting Palestine
while enjoying some student theatre...
in Edinburgh i don't know...
i asked for the position of the film society's vice
president role and never made it to the platform
of speaking to intro a film...
but a student telling a student he'd be crucified,
in england, war of the roses rekindled?,
it was too much much for me...
education can grow goosebumps and comb-overs
should i care... idiots educate themselves
these days, Birmingham nearby (no river, no flow),
crucify all you want -
          this is England, half-way house of Syria...
the famous 21st century not so famous now -
Zionist plots to submerge - what the **** can be
deemed as political and correct? Henry the 8th?

At this moment we are trying poetry again
When the Gurkha guard paces up and down
Hitting the night with his rhythmic stick
As his shrill whistle pierces its silence and
A distant dog protests its snout at the dark sky.

We use it as a pain balm on our temples
Of low self-worth and high aggrandizement
When we refuse to take our glances away
From the short term low walls interrupting
Our blue skies with painter stroke birds frozen
Above the rocks that rose from sleeping shrubs.

what the helllllllllllllll i m Gurkha i m fcking royal Gurkha rifles British fcking army man

royal Gurkha rifles British fcking army man

i m soo happy i remember  i m a ronpa as in Gurkha something similar