"ravi" poems
So aged he is, but still so zealous for his job.
It feels like he has only known his rickshaw.
The ancient bard in him tells Punjabi poems.
He belies his wrinkles as he pedals his ride.
Just putting to shame his fellow rickshaw pullers.
None remembers or even cares to know his name.
He just pedals and remembers his deceased wife.
He told me a Punjabi tale of partition...
*"We were really happy when it happened,
I was 16 and married to my beautiful wife,
But then he pressed for a separate Pakistan,
Just so much wicked was this demand of his,
Punjab was alight due to some people's doing,
We were to cross river Ravi en route to Amritsar,
In Lahore my childhood home was burnt to ashes,
My beautiful wife was still so young at that time,
She was ***** on the banks of river Ravi & killed,
In no cloth was she draped as they burnt her body,
After pouring whiskey all over her lifeless body."*
His voice broke and a stream of tears escaped,
Down his eyes they flowed like the river Ravi,
*"In front of my two eyes the men had ***** her,
Her mistake? Looking at them once & smiling,
Sin as great to be punished by such brutal drab?
What God, Ishwar or Allah did they follow?
I have known all & none advocates ****
To which parents could they born?
Must be the devil & the witch."*
By now his nose was red and his sobs audible.
He said, *"She was not just ***** she was also killed,"*
The ancient rickshaw puller gasped for breath as he said,
"Would the high heavens thank them for killing my wife,
She was a Hindu and an idolater with my mangalsootra,
Why they spared my life I have no idea but just remorse,
Will their Allah or God spare them on Doomsday?"
==============
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
**On 2nd Dec 1984
Occurred
World’s worst industrial disaster,
“The Bhopal gas tragedy”
Leaving thousands dead,
Children orphaned and many people with disabilities for life.
Following day,
Cries of help were heard
Amongst the dead,
Lay few children alive
Shone bright, a ray of hope,
Miraculously the deadly effects
Of the gas they could cope.
Taken under the caring wings of an NGO,
With Medical aid administered
And the vital support to grow.
Amongst the children
There was a girl named Ganga
And a boy named Ravi,
together with other such children,
they grew up,
Finding solace in each other’s
Company.
When reached teenage,
the girls had to be moved in a women’s hostel.
Distanced made them closer to each other,
And, the love grew stronger.
Ganga always dreamt of riding pillion on a bike with Ravi .
Ravi, the crazy boy,
sold his house (compensation by govt.)
And fulfilled her desire,
Often they went for long rides.
In the following years,
The love bloomed,
And
With blessings and love,
their marriage was solemnised
By the NGO.
All the women from the hostel
Joined the wedding ceremony,
Bollywood songs were played loudly,
The Haldi, Sangeet and Mehendi
ceremony made it more lively
On the wedding day,
Ganga attired in traditional weaves
And bridal make up,
A beautiful bride she looked
The hostel warden and her spouse
did her “Kanyadan”.
Fortunate was I to bear
the testimony of the union,
As I stayed in the working women’s hostel then.
Ganga moved in to her house
with Ravi to welcome a life anew.**
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC
My brother, Jake,
He had what it takes;
Shaved when he was eight,
Strong as a boa snake.
He had hair
Like Ringo Starr,
But played guitar
Like Ravi on sitar.
My brother, Jake,
He grew to six foot eight;
He had arms like legs,
Muscles like beer kegs.
He was fast,
With a ball,
His speed could do it all.
And he could speak,
Like a priest,
He kept us all enthralled.
His wit,
It was quick,
And sharp as a paring knife:
He was funny,
He was cruel,
And well thought of at school.
My brother, Jake,
Had a running streak
Up his back,
At the sign
Of any trouble,
He left on the double,
That's my brother, Jake.
So you see,
As I see,
Size is allegory.
Jake's stature
May bring rapture,
But he's a little man to me.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
Black Key
My Body This
How could I Complain Against You
When I Have Loved You
And Ever Have
I Felt Your Flesh Upon My Waking
Offering In the Light
And I said Yes
Nothing More Be Set
The Appetites Came
Again, and Again
Fertility Invoking Rhythm
Pleasure Of the Speak
Glistening Initiation
Completion of this Beginning
Light, Your Touch
My Strings Played
Beloved
My Secret Ravi
No Mastery Greater
Have I ever Known
For this Beauty of Creation
That I Weep the Love of Singh
Your Hearts Pleasure
Seen Always as My Own
Soft Teardrop Now Risen
To the Certain Touch
Of Bespoken Marriage
Lights Caress Upon Your Forehead
Shatki
Beauty's Welcoming Horizon
Visions Mark
My Touch, Your Muse
Your Light, My Love
Our Understanding
Beauties Vision, One Life
I saw your Body Upon Mine
In the Privacy of the Light
A Single Photograph Given
Your Smile
My Eternal Life
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
Alice and I were fudged fruiting inside Falstaffian freakish fleur–de–lys:
She inside a quack–aztec–tattooed tank,
Me inside a pendulous magenta harness with polydactyl–perverted plumes bespattered into it.
In the ****** **** of that kaput flophouse
We creosoted our conks all the cockatrices of the gorge–de–pigeon,
Inside crotches, Jacuzzis and homocentric Action Men.
Alice, with the pornographic bend sinisters in the teeth of her poltergeistish fajita crocodile,
Smacked of the plug–ugly poofter of a south–south–west by south sackful sandbank.
I cemented the jaundiced dangler of an ostrich to my prick.
With that and my uncut fiddlestick of knobs
I was the idiosyncratic and wholehogging sadomasochistic slapper!
We banged the bush streaming proboscis in tentacle
Through smorgasbords of hermaphrodites and high muck–a–mucks
While Ravi Shankar’s idioglossias and cockchafers juddered our titbits.
Our Moonies were classically cracked flabelliform by the time we disinterred them.
Alice managed to fornicate incognito white elephant on behalf of myself
And we were passionately on the back of the dingdong, naked as our Moonies.
We kept one’s pecker up wrapped up in the shadowgraph
Athwart ever-strangling girdles of formaldehyde, ozone, fomenter and widow’s weeds,
Athwart polytetrafluoroethylene–pricked precipices and then down to the butts
Where we both came to a sticky end on our jockstraps and leered at the ballet dancers
That we then penetrated rhythmically by elongating tumescent our gang banging tentacles.
Through comfortable French knickers I burped, “Thank you for ****** me everywhere, Alice”.
In the soporific honeypotspunk, aped on the ooze,
I could smell that her **** had made her ******* type soap flakes break the sound barrier,
Splashing out a ***** whale seed skirting her jowls.
“You’re fragrant, flypaper”, she rapped.
The Government gabble that little green men who hammer out the sexagenarians weren’t on board.
Inside spleen of the spliffs, inside spleen of my gangrenous Pollyanna, I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
"FARE-WELL"
sometimes, is not sensed,
but, stirs like a silent wound
goes on vibrating like the string of "SITAR"*.
**********************
SUN is a naughty gardener
can chat with the dumb bough
can hum the hue of emotions
SUN is a musical dialogue of flowers .
*********************
FARE-WELL
it is always a PAIN
waves becoming static
flowers falling down
sitar hugging silence
it is always a PAIN
********************
pain transforms into a sweet history
yes, to me , a sweet memory
i too like an unknown shell
on the same shore of time
have been breathing his music.
*******************
HE is not HE, now on
an essence of "RAGA"**
silence is the space in sound
that took birth in his blood
is sinking in our blood
*****************
his sitar is the divine mystic piece
his music is the definition of purity of life
HE is a flowing memory
HE is the peacock feather
that i preserved in my c.d. folder !!
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
*The Clothed Maja, sister of The **** Maja (both painted by Goya, and both enjoyed by Raj Arumugam), speaks:*
Hey, you boys…yeah, you…
OK, all of you good boys, if you like…
come see me in my white dress and golden shoes;
see me reclined in my luxurious couch…
Look here…I’m in this room…
Oh, you adorable, silly boys;
I’ve been hearing you the last hour
as you searched one room after another
and all you grown men giggling like little boys…
while I’ve been waiting here all the while…
And you’re Frank? And you?
Sean? What a **** name you’ve got baby…
Oh, hmmmm…you should be…O Patrick,
you think I’m cool?
I was made by Goya, how can I not be?
And come on other boys at the door, don’t be shy…
Ravi, Kesav, Eliot, jp –
my, my, what a short name you got;
you can get it long too? ...jp…lovely name…
and Jack Chappell, and Sean Critchfield –
and why didn’t cheeky Raj come?
Oh, leave him, he’s probably just best left ogling
at ***** shunga pictures
from Hokusai…
So welcome boys all…
Yes, yes, you can come close
You can’t resist the scent can you?
O, my name? Just call me Maja -
Maja pretty and well-dressed
and I just love good company and wine
and pleasure and fun
…what?
You guys think I’m sweet, and seductive?
Oh, that’s nice of you…
**** too?
Oh, boys! Oh, you boys!
If you think I’m ****
Oh wait till you see my sister, my double –
Oh, yes she’s always reclining in a bed too
unlike that stodgy Mona Lisa
Well, my sis didn’t want to come
but really, I’ll tell you a secret -
my sis, she doesn’t wear clothes -
and she hasn’t been in clothes since 1800!
Oh, you guys got to go?
Reluctant, but you must go?
Yeah, you can always see me – just google Goya
and I’ll always be there
and my sister?
Oh, you naughty boys, that’s who really want to see,
don’t you?
and that’s the reason for your sudden hurry?
Well, she’s always placed beside me –
I’m always The Clothed Maja and she the Naked one…
See you soon, guys –
see you at Goya...
Hey, come back here boys –
the least you can do is to kiss me goodbye…
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 2:32 AM UTC
while you were sleeping,
stars stepped out to dance,
trees whistled a tune with the wind,
river shimmered a firefly glow,
sheet of grass blades spread cool,
street mongrels howled a love ballad,
cat clawed a tune on the guitar,
the late Ravi Shankar plucked
divine on his ghostly sitar...
while you were sleeping,
world made a blanket of clouds,
crown of a dozen sunflowers
ii
while you were sleeping
I delved out of this dream
and finally opened my eyes,
saw illusions on angel wings,
mermaids celestially sing of
beauty's imprisoning knots,
dazed world of impossibilities,
eternal bewitchment, disparities,
all afire in new unbiased light,
it is the puzzle that binds you,
not its swab drab culmination,
a loop threading in forever land,
iii
while you were sleeping
I fled the valley, the valley
of hatred, fear, the blind,
while you were sleeping
while you were sleeping
while you were sleeping
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 8:41 AM UTC
Act , with a a Pen in Your Hand
Claim Now Your Decree
He is Mine
Just as You Are
That's my Flame
A Heart for a Mind
A Body for the Flesh
Instant Messanger of the Soul
Ravi's Wife
For the Moment Calls Me
to Its Excitment
And It's Lust
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
Ravi gratefully settled down on the cottage bed. It seemed
like centuries since he had slept in an actual bed. Up to now
he’d slept outside and on the thinly carpeted floor of a
Buddhist temple.
In fact, Ravi was very thankful to be alive after suffering
a serious stroke and subsequent amnesia for almost 3 years.
He was discovered sleeping on the steps of a Hindu temple
by a kind priest, named Swami Krishna.
After several inquiries, Ravi was finally given refuge by
a compassionate monk at a local Buddhist temple in Melbourne.
When my hubby David and I first met Ravi there was
an instant connection.
His humble, soft spoken nature touched our
souls as he shared his heart wrenching story. During the
period of his stroke, he lost almost everything,
most of his possessions, his wife and his memory.
Wandering the streets of Melbourne desolate and
forsaken by man, he was never forsaken by God.
It was a beautiful night, stars shimmered above the
colossal golden Buddha statue. As Ravi related his story,
David offered to help him recover his life. We all prayed
fervently to Lord Ganesh to remove all obstacles on his path.
In the coming months, Ravi and David were able to piece
together the fragments of his shattered life.
Marvelously, Ravi was also able to connect with his
parents in India who had not heard from their only son
in three years! Imagine the relief, joy and
ecstasy when they heard his familiar voice.
The other day we invited Ravi to our house for lunch.
Entering the puja room, we made sure to offer
thankful prayers to Lord Ganesh. The huge photograph
of Sai Avatar illumining the puja room smiled benevolently
at our precious guest.
Ravi chuckled almost tearfully when he told me he had
finally gotten his own bed. He recalled in the past how
he had purchased a $4000 bed for his ex-wife and
now he was so blissfully grateful for this simple cot.
As I reflected on Ravi’s story I thought to myself how
unpredictable life is. Wealth, property, spouses,
everything in this world is subject to change and loss.
It is so important to wake up from this
long, arduous dream and embrace the beautiful,
golden, eternal kiss of God and realize who we are now.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 9:57 PM UTC
I've never liked my name,
so I tell you to call me Josie.
The O, an arc over the roses of my childhood
the garden in the front yard
where I fell asleep listening to Ravi Shankars' sitar.
Slipping, dead to the world, among the night blooming jasmine.
A beautiful thing.
Tonight,
future uncertain,
the stone weight of your head, adrift in dream on my hip,
feels a comfort to my blues.
A beautiful thing.
Napoleon for his Josephine,
can feel
the breath that you leave heavy on my thigh.
A beautiful thing.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 2:48 AM UTC
I
Big and Black and
filthy after
his bath in the sand.
The giant best
free from collar
rid of all command.
His mahout speaks
a foreign tongue
of broken antiques.
Shankar Ravi
my newest friend
one of nature’s freaks.
II
Healthy fodder, all
branches and leaves, won’t
eat at any cost.
Peanuts and
bananas,
devoted to those.
Deep ends of
winter lakes
until his ***** froze.
Crazy giant, son
of the wild, father
to a herd long lost.
III
How and when did
you and I grow
so close, so soon?
Splashing away
simmering days,
beneath the stars
studying the moon.
‘Here have all these
bananas and
peanuts that I
saved for this day!’
Wretched fate that
put you in chains,
plays its part to
take you away.
One final bath
in the sand to
bid us farewell
in our own ways.
I hope you find
a herd in the
wild to make up
for the lost days.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 11:23 AM UTC
Ange de lumière, je serais ravi de suivre
En vertu de la mèche et à travers la bougie
Dites-moi comment vous faites un ruisseau
De la pensée et de l'amour comme un rêve de fuite
La ruisseau par lequel je me guide les pas
Une lumière par laquelle je remplirai ma tasse
“C’est le sang des ténèbres” je chuchote, puis le bois, donc
Plus profonde est la lumière je ramasse
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
canadian geese honking overhead
ravi shankar in my head
pandora's box
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC
*Hugging me from abaft prodigally
Holding me in your arms so tight
Standing in front of a full sized mirror
Like an unimagined painting of Ravi varma
Creation of God with the beauty of love
Eyes contacting a rhadamanthine message
We are made for each other*
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
Ravi
Still Waters of
Desiring Ocean
Flame
Body Ecstasy's
Stalking Song
Ever Present Lion of Life
Primal
Harmony
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
Ravi
Still Waters of
Desiring Ocean
Flame
Body Ecstasy's
Stalking Song
Ever Present Lion of Life
Primal
Harmony
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 5:18 AM UTC
a smiling terrain
i hope you're happy
im taking myself back
begging my heart for a break has been far too incompleted
your grey walls and titanium windows have kept me down, haven't they?
your watermelon grin is fateless and faultless and i hope to God it never goes away
but when it does--remember to love?
thank you for hurting me and making me weaker
i definitely might've needed it
be joyful
i will be too!
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 2:32 AM UTC
The night is falling
Her eyes are gone from thee
Cry not O Ravi
There is no use of true words
When heart is burning in pain.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
Wisps of sound rise and melt in the air,
The high and low stresses, the articulatory stretches;
Linger, vanish, manifest, proliferate – digest.
A humming note strokes the whims of a heart,
Through tapestries of tingling blade of tongue,
It slides into existence and existence it wears till it obliterates.
Wisps of sound rise and melt in the air,
Like Chinese ring daggers they curl into
the abode of your consciousness again.
A mellifluous phrase carries the calm of Ravi
as it glides through the hollows of ears,
Now in your memory, now forgotten,
Now revived, now devised,
Now it journeys towards the ripples of your utterance,
And now it fiddles with your own conscience.
A wisp of sound falls over the skyline of a tongue
It transforms into a soulful voice,
And arbitrarily makes sense!
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
Shiva
Black Starlight
Come
Reign Elegant
Eternal
Beloved
Heartbeats
Longing
Life
Lifted
Lifted
LIFTED
Ravi
My Beloved
Blood
Gold Harp
Your Touch
Each Breath
Tongues Kiss
Our Dance
Pulsing Circulation
Harp Strings
Quivering Ecstacy
Dark Moon's
Lifted Veil
Unlimited
Starlight
Pulsing Circulation
Ever Demanding
Mystery
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
Donc c'est fait. Dût rugir de honte le canon,
Te voilà, nain immonde, accroupi sur ce nom !
Cette gloire est ton trou, ta bauge, ta demeure !
Toi qui n'as jamais pris la fortune qu'à l'heure,
Te voilà presque assis sur ce hautain sommet !
Sur le chapeau d'Essling tu plantes ton plumet ;
Tu mets, petit Poucet, ces bottes de sept lieues ;
Tu prends Napoléon dans les régions bleues ;
Tu fais travailler l'oncle, et, perroquet ravi,
Grimper à ton perchoir l'aigle de Mondovi !
Thersite est le neveu d'Achille Péliade !
C'est pour toi qu'on a fait toute cette Iliade !
C'est pour toi qu'on livra ces combats inouïs !
C'est pour toi que Murat, aux russes éblouis,
Terrible, apparaissait, cravachant leur armée !
C'est pour toi qu'à travers la flamme et la fumée
Les grenadiers pensifs s'avançaient à pas lents !
C'est pour toi que mon père et mes oncles vaillants
Ont répandu leur sang dans ces guerres épiques !
Pour toi qu'ont fourmillé les sabres et les piques,
Que tout le continent trembla sous Attila,
Et que Londres frémit, et que Moscou brûla !
C'est pour toi, pour tes Deutz et pour tes Mascarilles,
Pour que tu puisses boire avec de belles filles,
Et, la nuit, t'attabler dans le Louvre à l'écart,
C'est pour monsieur Fialin et pour monsieur Mocquart,
Que Lannes d'un boulet eut la cuisse coupée,
Que le front des soldats, entrouvert par l'épée,
Saigna sous le shako, le casque et le colback,
Que Lasalle à Wagram, Duroc à Reichenbach,
Expirèrent frappés au milieu de leur route,
Que Caulaincourt tomba dans la grande redoute,
Et que la vieille garde est morte à Waterloo !
C'est pour toi qu'agitant le pin et le bouleau,
Le vent fait aujourd'hui, sous ses âpres haleines,
Blanchir tant d'ossements, hélas ! dans tant de plaines !
Faquin ! - Tu t'es soudé, chargé d'un vil butin,
Toi, l'homme du hasard, à l'homme du destin !
Tu fourres, impudent, ton front dans ses couronnes !
Nous entendons claquer dans tes mains fanfaronnes
Ce fouet prodigieux qui conduisait les rois
Et tranquille, attelant à ton numéro trois
Austerlitz, Marengo, Rivoli, Saint-Jean-d'Acre,
Aux chevaux du soleil tu fais traîner ton fiacre !
Jersey, le 31 mai 1853.
503
Our dear, beloved Ravi returned home to his precious parents and
India. Jai Ma! Jai Ma! Jai Ma! It certainly was a victorious homecoming.
The festive faces of his parents lit up as they beheld the celestial vision of their only son alighting from the aircraft in Bengalaru, India.
For six months Ravi's Mom coddled, cherished and doted on her only son, taking him to temples and making rounds to relatives who hadn't heard from him since he disappeared without a trace over three years ago.
After his joyous reunion with family, Ravi returned to the states. We welcomed him into our home for one month, after which he had the option of seeking refuge in the comforting arms of the Buddha
with a room reserved for him at the temple.
However, the warmth and coziness of family, friends and a loving home, stirred a longing in him for normalcy, progress and hope for a brighter future.
Ravi knew well the horrible pangs of being homeless. For five months he endured the terrifying experience of living out on the streets. The halfway houses in this area were full to capacity, so, he slept across from a hotel, where a kind manager offered him breakfast every morning. He was alone, vulnerable and frightened,
meanwhile in India, his parents lit candles and prayed for his safe return.
I thought about all the homeless people living in tent cities throughout USA, one of the most wealthiest countries in the world,
their plight and suffering certainly a humanitarian crisis. Over 500,000 people currently homeless.
Home Sweet Home my heart breaks for them.
Ravi, myself and David sat for prayer early Monday morning. The quiet, suppressed euphoria of a new beginning, streaked intermittent blue lightning through the atmosphere.
Ravi's beautiful prayer rang out like cathedral bells as we gazed at the shimmering brass idol of Lord Ganesha, Remover of Obstacles:
"O Lord
Please resurrect me
Make me whole
so that I can serve You
and others"
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
Un jour, le temps jaloux, d'une haleine glacée,
Fanera tes couleurs comme une fleur passée
Sur ces lits de gazon ;
Et sa main flétrira sur tes charmantes lèvres
Ces rapides baisers, hélas ! dont tu me sèvres
Dans leur fraîche saison.
Mais quand tes yeux, voilés d'un nuage de larmes,
De ces jours écoulés qui t'ont ravi tes charmes
Pleureront la rigueur ;
Quand dans ton souvenir, dans l'onde du rivage
Tu chercheras en vain ta ravissante image,
Regarde dans mon coeur !
Là ta beauté fleurit pour des siècles sans nombre ;
Là ton doux souvenir veille à jamais à l'ombre
De ma fidélité,
Comme une lampe d'or dont une vierge sainte
Protège avec la main, en traversant l'enceinte,
La tremblante clarté.
Et quand la mort viendra, d'un autre amour suivie,
Éteindre en souriant de notre double vie
L'un et l'autre flambeau,
Qu'elle étende ma couche à côté de la tienne,
Et que ta main fidèle embrasse encor la mienne
Dans le lit du tombeau.
Ou plutôt puissions-nous passer sur cette terre,
Comme on voit en automne un couple solitaire
De cygnes amoureux
Partir, en s'embrassant, du nid qui les rassemble,
Et vers les doux climats qu'ils vont chercher ensemble
S'envoler deux à deux.
361