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Jomini Feb 2013
Big netted leaves falling from tall Saag trees,
Walking  with me  on a curvy road,
Slowly disappearing into the hills,
Cool breeze and the bluebird that sing along,
The bells in a cow's neck grazing by,
A black korku kid dancing on its tunes,
His mother washing clothes on the river,
As the water played with little white stones,
The lush green wheat fields spreading across horizons,
And the yellowish huts below the blue skies,
An old man calls me and offers some rotis,
No ,Thank you Sir, But I've got miles to cover,
Till I meet the chilly cold night !
Flame Oct 2018
We are stopped for special checks
At TSA and immigration

We are murdered
In our house of worship
Six innocent lives lost
Oak Creek Gurdwara, 2012

Racial slurs hit our hearts:
*******
ISIS
Towel head

Out of fear
We stop wearing our beautiful salwar kameezes, lenghas, saris, and kurta pajamas
In colors and embroidery your clothes could only ever dream of
We take off our crowns you call turbans
And replace them with baseball caps

We think twice about speaking Punjabi,
Our mother tongue,
Around those that don't recognize it

We stop packing our grandma's handmade saag and roti
To school for lunch
And start eating
Processed Lunchables

We separate into two people
Our American selves
And our Punjabi selves
Almost never does anyone meet both

All because
You don't know
The difference
Between a Sikh and a terrorist
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
disclaimer: i had to change the title, the original was... arsenal of "nukes" / morse code conceptualisation of sudoku - but i had a stunning revelation at the end of this verse.

-------------------------------------------

what?! me order indian take away?! what do you have me for, a ****** charlatan? americans have their arsenal of nukes, the russians have their arsenal of nukes: me? i have my arsenal of indian spices! beat that: yoo muvva faa'kers! (you know, said as that chinese guy says it, in the first hangover movie).

i.

finally! i found the holy grail of the indian cuisine,
not so much a website that has all the recipes,
rather: it's a dictionary of all the various
curry broths... cook4one.co.uk -
one you have the lingua coquus -
the lingo of what's what - mind you -
i'm like a "mujahideen", in that i know
only singled out words of "arabic"
and am convinced that i'll be bilingual
to fully embrace the jihad,
although i'm neither, hence the inverted
commas,
  let's just say: i overshot the mark,
and landed in india, and am not recreating
a chemical experiment:
thinking - **** me, a bit humid 'ere,
in goa?
  so the mujahideen's arabic is like my
sanskrit...
but then again: i abide by culinary,
rather than theocratic nouns -
  and i'm already bilingual -
i pity those english monolingual
cripples who went off to syria, i really do,
might as well chop off their tongues:
and sit them in a wheelchair,
and teach them arabic in sign-language...
these "warriors of allah" are nothing
but a ****** farce... if you going to fight
for a cause like that: at least speak
the ****** language...
  or, as the english say: go back home!
good point, born in poland, but living
in england for 23 years...
where's home?
           wait wait, let me get my copernican
compass out...
      well... you'd be glad to know:
my home is in the bermuda delta -
****** keeps spinning like a sufi dervish.

anyway, today of all days, two curries,
turmeric infused rice (yellow, always
nice to spot canary maggots),
and? JAH PAAAA TÍ!
**** the difference in flower...
  what was i using?
   chakki atta (pilsburg group) -
so soft, so tender, so mmm: yom...
  last week i messed the dough:
******! you pour in the warm water gradually...
thank god i saved my reputation
as the curry boss of the household...
and as i usually do with dough...
treat it like a punch bag, can't be bothered
kneading the dough, so i punch it.

the curries? ooh... beauties...
for one it was cayenne pepper rather than
chilli powder...

garam masala in both,
which i had to made from scratch...
do you really add turmeric and omit
adding cinnamon? i can't remember.

the first? (oi oi, 'ere comes my "mujahideen"
lingo in sanskrit)
  a passada chicken curry... almost a korma
but not quite...
     i just remember bashing
raisins in the pestle & mortar, adding almost,
not using any tomatoes,
   inviting chicken stock... etc. etc.

the second curry? a chicken saag -
the etymological derivative being?
   saag: a general term for tender green leaves
(such as spinach)...
    walking into an indian kitchen is probably
more intoxicating than walking
into a parisian perfumery,
                         or a jewish bakery;
said what i had to say, and that's that.

ii.

now, could it really have been a day when
i wouldn't have attempted, yet another,
reconceptualisation of a sudoku puzzle? no.
began as usual:

6 4 1 2 3 7 9 5 8
3 5 2 8 6 9 1 7 4
9 7 8 1 4 5 2 3 6
8 3 4 9 7 1 6 2 5
5 6 9 4 2 3 8 1 7
1 2 7 5 8 6 4 9 3
7 1 5 6 9 4 3 8 2
4 8 3 7 1 2 ι Δ ε
2 9 6 3 5 8 7 α 1  (ι = 5, Δ = 6, ε = 9
                           and α = 4 -
total? 24, the number of letters
in the greek alphabet,
as there are, hours in the day:
no wonder people back then
conjured up a "year 0" -
which actually makes the modern
day stoners, looks extremely
lazy when it comes to whacky
ideas);

but that gave me the idea of trying
another interpretation of this
japanese phone-book...

  how about morse code? to visualise
things... and how the numbers
lodge themselves in the 9 x 9 x 9 (729) box...
i see this 2D puzzle as 3D, oops...
so it came about - yielding the pen and
original zenith of concept, the hashtag (#)...
   (algebraic for end pin-point + insertion):

1a. | | − x
   1b. − − | y

     2a. − − y
   2b. | | x

     3a. − | x
   3b. |  − y

4a. □ − |
4b. □ | −
  4c. □ | |
4d. □ − −

  which begs the question...
    why would you need to invent braille...
if you already had the morse code?
  
at certain events people are competing
in spelling matches... so...
isn't the morse code a lot easier than
braille?! eh?!

i mean, god really is playing chess,
when he's reading braille...

−− −−− ·−· ··· · | ·· ··· | · ·− ··· ·· · ·−· |
− ···· ·− −· | −··· ·−· ·· ·−·· ·−·· ·


       don't you think?
and to think: a drunkard conjured this up;
ah... smoke 'em while ye got 'em.
Dara Brown Dec 2014
so they say
love
is better the second time around
&
its a lot like
going in for seconds
when you already know
how the first dish tasted
but
you just can’t get enough
so
you head back
for more

i wonder
if you’re as good
as my second plate
of saag paneer
i’ve been working on
for the last half hour
knowing i’m too full
to continue
but willing to stuff myself completely
for the sake of
feeling
complete
& utter fulfillment
of you
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
i could really, really, find a purpose
in life, by ******* off
a mystic, like Sadhguru,
which would be nothing short
of spectacular...
      and not for some personal
gratification,
                         but for equilibrium
of some sort...
           notably on the topic
of ailments...
          having studied chemistry
and, oddly enough, gained a degree,
i resorted to a drop-out mentality...
what can you do,
    when your brain becomes your
laboratory...
    and the times when you once
synthesised esters is reduced to
perfecting, a chicken saag recipe...
**** me their cuisine is
breathtaking...
     never mind the mistic...
  apparently the news from India
isn't good...
         Hindus doing Muslims in,
    a ****** is told to do 100 sit-ups
as punishment for ****** a 16 year old...
  hence the mystic simplicity...
     mind you...
    for years I was prescribed
an antidepressant, amitriptyline
(25mg)... but for some strange reason
I treated it like a sleeping pill,
or at least that's what I thouht it was...
blatantly there is an instruction "manual"
for the drug...
                   DO NOT MIX WITH
ALCOHOL... and what does this little chemist
do?
    he mixes it with alcohol...
      the odd naproxen...
     but the question is...
    do most people take antidepressants
before they go to sleep,
    or during the day, before breakfast, etc.?
I'm a ******* cheap-***, can't afford
a laboratory, might as use this
****** fatty-sponge as an alternative...
curiously still:
  Alzheimer is caused by killer protein,
and the pop consensus is:
to train the brain to work as a muscle...
straining it on puzzles...
   mental "exercise"...
      but the yogi is right...
as my res vanus reworking of
the res cogitans suggests:
    perpetual "thinking" is exhausting,
Nietzsche had a macabre take
on things: when the you look into
the abyss...
           seems that, fear,
rather than puzzles,
    can be a greater motivational
artifact, than some banal puzzle in
a newspaper...
                 as much "exercise"
   is achieved by not thinking, than is
achieved by "thinking"...
   example:
               emptiness is substituted
with a cognitive custard when necessitating
a complete brain coordination,
notably when changing lightbulbs
subconsciously thinking about:
  how many blondes it takes to...    
    remembering that you too had blondish
hair, once upon a time worn long...
   oh we can play the words game
with the cited yogi...
     bud-
            (dog kennel)
                      -da-: (will give)
   on da / ona da:
    he will give, she will give...
            which is half of what
Budapest was built on...
                   do most people prescribed
antidepressants, take the pills before
bedtime?
               unlike taking hormonal pills
having had your thyroid gland removed,
I. E. half an hour before breakfast...
   I can't see how,
    overcoming the "placebo effect"
   of almost all psychoactive pharmacological
drugs isn't compensated by
the taxable, and notoriously
evident effects of psychoactive...
      pleasures...
                            stigma schtigma...
      are people really reduced to
a sort of shame equivalent to being
a child, caught stealing cookies from
a cookie jar,  when talking about
the most subtle of ailments?
                            last time I heard
is that there is nothing worse than apathy...
apathy breeds no pathology after all...
        but to call these subtle, ether ailments
as self-generated...
                begs the question
of the "self", and the per se...
                              at once frivolous in
the guise of depression,
  but then authentic in the genuineness
of lethargy... and in the extreme example:
narcolepsy...
       sure, sure, I know:
hot **** and a bag of marbles...
                       thank god I do not
hold responsibility or have the authority
to prescribe drugs...
     sly rat Timothy Leary...
   trying to slither out of an interview
after populirising LSD
   and the girl who jumed out the window...
good to know that if I am hurting
anyone, it's only myself, and it's done
by no other, than yours truly...
    and, apparently...
while saving the Amazon and not wishing
to exhaust these words to be on
a printed page...
      sometimes, there's simply
a rhythm to writing...
    there is not actual concentration
on the content...
       there is only a rhythm to writing...
since I never managed to
play the piano...
      at least there's the rhythm in
writing, and not a chance for
a desperate, exasperated poet making
it to centre stage...
         and with that sort of
honesty:
       I'd love to have the chance to
pass off a Hindu yogi...
                             or repaint
every Christian icon...
              with a needle puncture in
each of the saints' halos...
                 early prototype of
astronouts or something?

— The End —