Lakshmi

Lakshmi is a
Goddess of Fortune

She is lovely and graceful
And represents liberation from the cycle of life and death

She sits upon the Lotus Flower
And floats on water
The Lotus represents spiritual perfection
And being seated upon a Lotus
Represents transcendence and detachment
To the material world.

Lakshmi is always 16 years old
16 is the number of Perfection
When the moon reaches its 16th day, it begins to decrease
Such as in humans, at the 16th year
The first element of decay begins to appear.

on moonstone slab Manmata flames again
from out of ashes rises, gloating unfinality of Shiva's dance
reincarnate offering of endless Self
in Lakshmi's avatar
a fateful prince's heart to lance

and lanced his heart her visage did,
                                                     though with vaster pinions fully pierced was she, in depths
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                 without rivalry~

his lust was sharp to invite solitude,
but easy to conceal,
he imagined cupping her against him,
scoured memory of upward glimpse,
inch  by  inch
with added imagery, invention moulding her
beneath his grasp
from forehead curls along
glowing skin and eyes
to curving, palatially appareled ******* . . .
her open lips . . .  her hips
--but after, merely to dismiss
and even sleep a bit
and quip inside at irony
to be at mercy
of a girl in flowers
when he with arrows demons lay to rest
(though she would, within the selfsame hours lose her wits ;)

in cityscape descried the triad:
gold dome gifts for sky
in shining generosity
Mithila's people overflow with joy
exuding free abundance carelessly--
jewelry loosed on playful street
from overkeen embrace, is left to lie;
loss in ever-present wealth nigh obsolete

musth of elephant, froth of steed,
floral garlands tangle, line and mix
for clouds of honey-bees to lick their feast.
a bustling of virile acrobatic populace--
symphonic mux of chaos tressed,
metropolis of idylls coalesced;
drums, races, grinning faces flinging courtship,
smirking merchants under wigs
bathers splash exotic fish to flit and weave
while ballads sift for higher pitch of love

from elevated terrace ladies prance
and watching from an inner spire
the princess spies her prince--
emerald shoulders, lotus-petal eyes
Vaikunta hidden from their mortal sight
but straining recognition there,
a union ageless as the stars
inspired suddenly another first:
Rama's transfixed stare she feels and meets,
strangers locked entwining glances
--fated simultaneous-- electric heat   like
from a planet sparking for the taste of outer space --
the lightning burns its mark ensouled
in blooms beyond her ripe, anthophilous form,
verdant visions planted in the rays of light
between two instant loves
to slip inside the eyelid entrance
and evermore impregnate with a glory ill,
as separation wills,
to colonize throughout with other Being there
phantasmal yearnings of entrancing elegance
--from dawn of time instilled, akashic script
of binding hurt with joy in love's embrace
condemn desire to a writhing term
when not imbibing such togetherness
a worldless crypt preferred

and so as swift as gymnast flip to fall
the heart is gushing toxic lack,
epic ventricles the viscose tug
in fluid inspiration wrote of Sita's
sudden addict gnashing inner plight
while slips the sight interred within the crowd,
as if a sorcerer the cosmic sea to play her destiny:
the waves inside enraged to overwhelm
the sudden coral crust beneath the swell
an unmarked seaside's lavish drown unto the land
and reeling send this fragile ******
into wilting, her floral haze to drooping fell...
        in revelatory crash of passion's oceanic weight...
attendants pamper uselessly
--from swoon to mood irate
to wait until the next appearance of her mortal god
the only one to sate the shameless need
entwining up within a clenching wrack of milky fits
from bed to sweaty bed they take the burning maiden~
the outer sea inflow in calming dusk meant nothing to the agony of new romance
                       sequestered in hymenic fire, dawning brilliant
                                                       ­                                omni chakral pierce in rays,
                                                                ­                                                              tot­ality relentlessness
and therein descry a wholeness
  yet unregained
a hopeless birdsong careless as the wind
in caring strokes of pollen redolence
for forest ears an endless vibrate mate
of elemental ease the simmer float
upon the dukkha broil paths embroidery of karmic
cookery the godly recipe invoked,
gibed her without cease,
****** flare eternal guna coals to stoke
and spite her with their peace,
for her attainment only next to he
the moon communes the message blinding clear
amid the ghee her girls would light in care
to soften her despair -- but only aggravate her state --
and so by dim refracted moondrops set,
in only gemlight, Sita basks in pain
her gaze entrained by night obsessively
while overhead the crescent hook beams
freely in to fertilize her all-too-chastely girdle there,
petals wilting under body pressed to slab of stone
as mounting groan on groan intones her writhing questioning
of whomever he could be to cast her moaning so
a deity in maidenhead unwitting of such otherlife
left by endless, anthrocosmos' whim to ache, and alone
in wonder scream abandonment from aether poise
confusion reigning noisome nescient choice


















.

as she
was dire
with heath
inside her
desire where
flattened scape
or aberrance
anywhere heathen
to her
debt and
foremost in
liability but
Lakshmi sheer
while glamour
laid deepest
cacophony in  
world today

My body is a temple
My bleeding is divine
My womanhood is spiritual
In ways that an intolerant devotee like you cannot understand
So when you barr me from entering Sabarimala
Remember that you can't stop a goddess
Saraswati is wise but her rage is wild and merciless
Lakshmi will create earthquakes that will devastate
Durga will pierce your heart with her spear
Parvathi will leave her abode and run into the streets
Kali will destroy you in unimaginable ways
They reside within us
We will cut our feet on your shattered glass
We will shout till our voices become hoarse
An army of neglected women will create a tsunami
Till you're on your back, crying
Till you give up your apparent 'religion-saving'
Helpless, wailing
And bleeding

Oh! mother where are the snow falls of yester years?
Where are the great king Ashoka and the world master Sankaracharya?
Where is the ujjayani that was immersed in the literary effluence of
The great dramatist Kalidasa?

Where is the light that shone from the piercing eyes of the warrior
Queen Rudrama Devi and the Goddess Durga?
Where are the snow falls of yester years?

Where is the buzzing sound of the bees that came from the corridors
Of the great king Shajahan? Where are the echoing sounds of the war monger
The sword Thikkana?Where is the gallooping white horse climbed by the unconquerable warrior queen of Jhansi Lakshmi Bai?
Where are the snow falls of yester years?

Where is the fire that emanated from the broad shoulders of
The inimitable king and connoisseur of art, Sree Krishna devaraya?

What happened to the living breaths of Balachandra, the young warrior
And brahmanaya, The great warrior and social reformer?
Where are the snow falls of yester years?

Where are the kings, the great poets, the warriors, the chaste queens?
Where have they gone?

Where are the foot prints of the golden wings of time that fanned and fled?
Oh! Mother, Where are the snow falls of yester years? Where are the snow falls of yester years?

God loves, sustains
and protects
all of His devotees
regardless of the
name chosen
to praise Him

inside my global prayer wheel
all the names of God
are humming

I am Allah, I am Jesus
I am Krishna, I am Buddha
I am Jehova, I am Jah,
I am Durga, I am Ahura Mazda
I am Quan Yin, I am Mother Mary,
I am Lakshmi, I am Shiva, I am Brahma
I am, I am, I am, I am, I am, I am....
...................You

well the left is dead, and the left turned into tartan, i guess the islanders
are gearing up to a male patriarch where ***** go free with jealousy
rather than queened freely;
i know the left died, but to have it third day resurrect
in scotland, i'd never think the tories flavoured
outside of plum plucked blue;
only when a politics is unappealing to quote no vote,
is a change of monarch at hand,
and then why such the left disappear almost completely?
it's one thing for tyranny to leave a listening airy cleft
where once thought reigned tyrannically un-dialectical,
but it's another cased scenario to suddenly
lever a man to contort into a female face on either
photograph or coin, so we leave the wonders of chillingly
easy rhymes of song from the 1960s to the 21st complex,
and we leave the reign almost feeding a reprimand
for the multi-cultural having no artistic endeavour
in a counter. multi-cultural will not provide a counter-culture,
given the scenario of tyranny to aggregate all into taxable citizens,
perhaps that's rome shrunk into the vatican for the alphabet to survive,
perhaps why latin is "dead" and perhaps why poetry is dead,
because the only walky talkies are women in retirement;
forget dialectics even, remind yourself of dialogue first!
in the end, like the pre-socratics, i'll be a snippet of words
to bruise myself on fame post-mortem;
of course i live in readied tyranny, no one votes
and the left of politics was taken my northern nationalists...
in the end, thank **** at least that happened!
the king wears a kilt!
and? better my youth be a foolery in the realm of vocabulary
than prancing in tutu and bra on a table in ibiza;
yes, i'll be courteously french while i age in the silent winery:
that place where you won't even hear a corkscrew.*

the politics is long, i'd rather live on nn the faroe islands,
but it reminded me of a charles in henry's nursery rhyme:
charles the first survived, slow motion:
beheaded, in ****, later did some philanthropy;
conspiracy almost ******, gaffed choking on a peanut peel, never married -
entered the nunnery via public opinion that'd never allow a scandal or a ****** birth.

intelligence is uncomfortable,
let's leave it to the pigs
or play dead among the dogs,
or levy it with questions in gushing recurrence;
intelligence is uncomfortable,
let's utilise it with someone saying:
i rather speak to someone 100 prior or 100 years after.

or as later proved: among the citizens an uncomfortable censor
was a woman, that's the thing:
misogyny and homosexuality are almost alike:
gays love to talk to women but loath to butter up a sour bread dough,
misogynists loath to talk to women but love to **** 'em;
where's the middle way buddha? where's the middle way?
socrates turning into a misogynist disguised in homosexual accents
in old age? the old man got away with acceptable norms in old age,
almost, they figured out his **** pure and minded his cranium crucible divergence
from: young boys readied for pedophiles spoke more flowers
than my wife while cooking compost of fruits!

ah! i live in a spicy tomorrow, gearing up to charles the third's
reign with talk of the amputated left limp either side of the diaphragm
equator, hence the scot nationalists,
whereby we have beauty anorexic strutting eager for a faint in a cabbage patch,
and we best test tube in pigmenting alkali,
writing songs about life, not poetry of that ideal: "from the cosmos"
of autobiographic detail of metaphysics to exclude evil from a humming choir;
or as i took to my father in sepia:
beauty in anorexia, language in bad grammar and even more a terrible spelling
that never experienced the lines of detention to conform,
and then all the moral freedoms to not think about
and when thought about, quickly attached to **** smear
girly literature;
but do i go around talking of my easily-read literature?
so why this italian pole girl ruining my diary of saved orientated ordination?
she jealous or just illiterate the she-troll of all?

misogynists are like homosexuals, although the prior have no politico thumb,
we love ******* the brains out, we hate being boyfriends
from magazines or the psychology sections of saturday newspapers editions;
plus we like our own company, which is hard to grasp;
i mean, we love women within the membrane of ****** temperatures twinning,
but that's hardly the right temperature for conversation akin to vishnu and lakshmi.

My Aphrodite, My Bast
I call you “The Goddess”
My Cerridwen, My Diana
The Goddess of what?
My Freya, My Gaia
You ask me what I love
My Hera, My Isis
The ancients had many aspects
My Juno, My Kali
I worship all of yours.
My Lakshmi, My Maat,
Even if deadly...
My Pavarti, My Rhea
I did not create you
My Themis, My Venus
But I adore your creation.

I inhale into my back bend as my mother and pregnant aunt do the same.

my mother’s toes begin to wiggle on their own

my aunt, eyes closed and belly full, mumbles along with the mantra

words that are unfamiliar to me

yet are home.

Keith prefers to be called Di Laoshi

but I call him Keith in private

even though he compliments me on my characters

and wants to send me to Beijing.

I smile because

xiexie is easier to pronounce than

wo bu zhidao.

my teacher

named for a province in Spain says

he has adopted himself.

the yoga DVD instructs to

drink from the well,

so I

call to Aunt Lakshmi

Di Laoshi

Master Ozuna

and I do.

Last night when I came home, I noticed a very delicious
fragrance enveloping me. The jasmine was not in bloom,
so I knew it couldn't be that stealing through window drafts,
and the incense sticks were long extinguished.

Was it Lakshmi? Her divine fragrance perfumes the three
worlds and I sensed an unusual lightness in the atmosphere.
This morning I still detected a unique aroma, though not as pronounced.

I went outside, in the backyard, to let the dog out and observed two orange speckled butterflies dancing near her doghouse. I shooed them away protectively.  As I did this, they moved over to another location, but one hovered near my hands.

It fluttered around my hands for a good minute. I was able to hear,
witness and breathe in the amazing oscillation of it's fragile wings.
Gorgeous mosaic patterns glittered between the rays of sunlight bathing
our golden communion. I could clearly see its ebony face peering curiously up at me.

Soon a third butterfly joined the party, and a trinity of sweetness pulsated close. After a while they all took off in different directions.

Later, I reflected while swinging in the garden jhoola how wonderfully connected we all are.

This Unity transcends the mental, emotional and physical barriers, preconceptions and dimensions of our ordinary awareness.  

Love has a lot to do with it, respect, peace, truth and right conduct too.

I fell short of matching all of the stars in space with the raindrops that made its way to Earth
Instead, I matched the stars in your eyes with the old pain's last breath and otherworldly love's first
The clouds have opened back up for business, booming thunder and zooming lightning
Somewhere there, the flash of your smile
The beat of your heart
The coolness of your waters that quench my thirst for you

It's natural to look at nature au naturale
Like Italians and Nigerians talking with hands as expressive as Deaf lovers relay romantic verses
Clear, nimble fingers that massage my soul within the cumulonimbus and nimbostratus
Fueling, flooding, fostering the gods' apparatus


You
The final form of unfinished paintings
Give birth to worthwhile wishful thinking
On my mind like taxes and teacher's lesson plans
A soft brush adjusting to the sky's new hues kissed like ones we've missed or knew
A masterpiece in pieces of Vishnu's vision for when he returns to look for Lakshmi
Hopefully time will not be Shiva to end this for me

How does it feel to be adored by Indra, when showers descend and drench the deepest ditches to force creation of drawbridges for those dire to cross your path again?

- Ifeanyi N. Okoro II © 2021

there's a fairy with a harp
a white moon spirit
in my garden

at twilight when
purple iris tides flood
the western horizon
and the evening star
hovers brightly over
her ***** head
she tiptoes past the
Lakshmi lotus fountain
tossing golden coins at our feet
and if in the mood
she swings in the jhoola with me

when the atmosphere thins
and we see through the walls
our imaginations have built
if you listen with a
fine-tuned ear you can
surely hear her
Celtic swan~song rippling...
carrying us across
gossamer wavelengths
to distant luminous shores

When her grandeur legally mine
well she's not as Lakshmi:

     her dream ardently admire
     her white sands tenable with feng shui.

And she sing so locutionary
though orient exclaim larger than life
but she move ahead as her queen:

     she's in a slightly slinky silk dress
     she's more than her picture tonight

     it's fantasy in her life
     it's all about romance too
     it's practical again & again
     it's polite oft let bequeath
     it's crucible demand Eros

then belie someone in her quest
with ideas that suggest outcome made:

     her civilization grow
     her factory of preparedness wrought
     her plan of platitude forthright!

Hand write
                   ( Hands right
                                  Sinistral kid)
Me a love poem.
                   (A sonnet?
                             Whatever)
Make me feel like a queen,
                   (Like Joanna of Castile?
                              I know who she is, you ****)
Like I am worshipped and adored.
                   (Like Imelda Marcos then?
                              I have more shoes)
Make my heart flutter
                   (Arrhythmia
                              Whatever)
And swell until it bursts.
                   (Be careful what you wish for
                               ......................)
Treat me like a princess
                   (Shanti Rajya Lakshmi Devi
                               I've Googled her as well)
And make all my dreams come true.
                   (I dream of a loaded gun.
                              So you can **** me?)

"No, just myself.

All I want is for you to ******* feel something".

Wander Far Afield
Oh Holy Ghost

With A River for your Chalice
And A Lovers Hold, Your  Cup
God Given MarK of Indemnity

Wanderings of a Sacred Mystery
Now Certain Footprint
of all who Remain

Holy Offering  thru these  Lips Pass
Here is the Heart of Knowledge
Leo Strong
The Tongue  of Mind
Channels  Wisdom,
NEW WORDs LAW
Held BY Grace

Language Once Forgotten
Now Heard
It is the Lovers Stance

Holy Romantic Play
Held Hard
Within the Deck of Cards,
No Jack this Choice
But a Playing Cards Queen
A Holy Jester
Of the most
Elegant Desire
Wisdom of Understanding,


The Kind
A Prayer
Would Recognize

Made for a President
NowA Woman for a King
United Church Of Heaven
I give this Holy Ring

A love beyond all knowing
With Wisdom at its Heart
No Dream this Wish upon a Star
A Bodies Call for Us Is Made

With eyesight made of Laughter
And Eyes that now do  Shine
Heart Beating True
We call this forth
Together both we Live I Do

So many Loves
This One I take
No looking back
Not  One mistake

The Bodies Pyer
as God I Go
Give Now this Love
For this I Show
Rise Shiva, Krishnu, Erin, Amma
Lakshmi, Demeter, Buddha, Lama
Gilgal Artists All..Your Name is Wilderness
Magdelene Benedicte,
Aphrodite Lovers,
Christ Lives

AGAIN!
WithIN
Circle Vote, Your Scribe Is Peace
All is Now

For a Boy
I She would Be Queen
For a Man
She is now Wife
Once joined
By a Lovers Lute

Love Held apart
By a Thousand Years
of Missing You
I await
This hour
Of Uniting

Beauties Listening
Lakshmi

A Queen
for the Light
A  King,
for the Throne
Hearts Red
Both
Funeral of Darkness
Ended.

Your house was at the end of the alley,
The weak sun was  blessing late afternoon on your white four-story building,
It was the arrival of dark winter , full of cold blanket,
I saw my downfall in your black eyes.

Crows in the winter, or flocks of sparrows,
The street was full of tired and cold people.
Nature smiles at the sun's assurance,
In the breath of winter  the air was heavy,
That day was the last day of December.
I saw my downfall in your lovely eyes.

On that day the dead grass cursed the gray earth,
The moon gave a box full of moon to a sleeping Lakshmi owl,
The doors and windows of the mind were closed forever,
The bones of the grave and the blind rotten flesh gathered, and dance till late night.

Life has been nowhere since then,
All there was just the dead soul.
The wife of sun returns to the darkness,
to find her lost love.

Our love was lost in the blink of a gray winter,
In your magic eyes, in my foolish heart.

Perfect synonym of a pearl,
Yes m talking about a girl.
Daughter, sister and wife,
Plays all roles in one life.
Sacrifices for others ,
Adjusts in every circumstances,
Does all her duty perfectly,
Then why at the end she is lonely?
They pray goddess Lakshmi for wealth,
They pray Kaliiji for good health,
They pray Goddess Saraswati for knowledge,
Then why do they hesitate to have,
One such in their home?
Each day a girl is *****,
You tell girls to wear properly,
Why don't you tell boys to behave properly?
Girls are killed before and sometimes after birth,
She is considered as a pressure around,
Tell me one thing males if females are not there,
Who will give birth to your next generations?
Bulshit are those who think females should be confined to kitchens,
Tell me this if they are not educated,
Who will get your kids educated?
On rakshabandhan Who is gonna tie love on your wrist?
Whom are you going to tease when in stress?
A girl is not waste it's a worth,
Preserve them, respect them

We walk East towards the ocean
Abalone pearls spill from the heavens
Krishna's conch can be heard
welcoming the new day
Golden Lakshmi lashes flutter open
And the sky erupts into dazzling smiles

hi again darling,
this week I worked
so hard my hamstrings
are screeching from sitting,
and somehow I’ve learned to sleep
eyes wide open.

Honey I’m tired
but I don’t mind bringing home bacon.
after all, if you’re going to call me
lakshmi of the house,
I better find some gold
before you blow the conch.

this week I worked
through a sea of dead
names and
dead faces of friendly strangers
that kinda looked like you
and I toiled through another
pandemic-ridden seven days
even from home I’m wearing
a mask because
it’s too hard to see tragedy
and be working instead.

So on my break
I retweet
fleet,
press some of that goddess gold
into the digital donations,
because even a world away
even if you don’t see it,
there’s little wealth
in work.

When a girl is born,
A boy they would have preferred
But, it's okay,
A girl is a Lakshmi,
Good luck and wealth will come.
She is pampered,
Her parents princess,
Well dressed, nourished and educated,
She is groomed in household chores,
Taught sewing, cooking and embroidery.
They brag about her talents and
honourable character to friends and neighbours,
With one main aim on their minds,
To get  her married as soon as possible,
To the most eligible groom.
If she argues or refuses she is the most ungrateful girl after what they have done for her,
If she says she wants to finish her studies,
No big deal, you can continue at your in-laws,
And on and on till she agrees to get married,
An Indian girl is just a keepsafe at her parents,
To be handed over to the groom,
The earlier the better.
4/5/2020

Kamala means lotus
And the Hindu goddess Lakshmi

Yes, I do notice
If you want to, you can ax me

San Francisco is expensive
And beauty by the bay

Will she help the country?
Yes, I hope and pray

November 3rd
Not too far away