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PNasarudheen Jul 2013
Think!
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming "save India", alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it, against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously
forced us to riots-in Gujarat, Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune, Bangalore, Poovar or Marad, no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a ****, with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic, fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture  
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs , in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don't dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
……………………………………………………………………
Note:1.Gujarat , Assam, Bombai(Mumbai), Pune, Bangalore, Poovar or Marad, :  these are places where riots or blasts occurred in India
Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!:two sanyasins(monks) of India the Former proponent of Advaita Vedanta Philosopy and the latter preached it disciple of Sri Ramakrishna  and founder of Ramakrishna Mission in Kolkota, India.
four Mutts: the mutts(Seminaries) established by Adi Sankara in Badarinath in the North , Puri in the East. Dwaraka in the West and Sringeri in the South of India to propagate the Vedic philosophy. It also proves the Undivided Indian concept the ancients had .
MNCs:Multi-National Corporations.
Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi: A very venomous snake representing Power and torture.Lord Krishna danced on the hoods of it and killed it as per the mythology. Kalindi is River Yamuna in India that divides Delhi in to two.
PNasarudheen Sep 2012
Freedom to Think!
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming “save India”, alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it ,against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously          
forced us to riots-in Gujarat ,Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune,Bangalore ,Poovar or Marad ,no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a **** ,with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic ,fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs  ,in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don’t dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave ,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
……………………………………………………………………
PNasarudheen Nov 2012
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming “save India”, alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it ,against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously
forced us to riots-in Gujarat ,Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune,Bangalore ,Poovar or Marad ,no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a **** ,with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic ,fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture  
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs  ,in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don’t dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave ,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
…………………………………………………………………….
"You are Beer-sheva, the garden of the seven lights, and I desire to dwell in you forever." Your lips recite sparks of light clothed in mystical words, your body is an esoteric tent, and the wise meet to observe you. Your golden skin, a scroll where the angels write the desires and the care of the heavens.Your beautiful ******* are divine sphinxes that hide the honey of Wisdom.Who will be worthy of you to feed? On what lips will you distil the sweet and sublime honey that flow That I may be worthy to drink of your honey, and that my mouth have merit to prove the waters of your fountain, for you are the Shrine of the Divine, the dwelling place of the Holy Presence in this world.You are Beer-sheva, The garden of seven lights and I eternally desire to dwell in you. " Sipra Shefatai Tevuna (Lips of Sublime Understanding)*


Deepak Sankara Veda
Tara'a is a term of the Zoharic Aramaic and means Sentinel - angelic creature that has six wings and that guards the Gates to the Upper Palaces (Heichal'Ot) of the Tree of the Lives.
Yatma Faye Oct 2018
Ô Afrique
Je suis fière mais en même temps j’ai honte
Fière parce que chaque fois qu’il y’a un Blaise,
il y’a aussi un Sankara à côté, prêt pour se sacrifier sa vie pour ton bonheur.
J’ai honte parce que chaque fois qu’il y’a un Sankara, il y’a aussi un Blaise derrière et qui n’insiste jamais de lui prendre la vie.
Ô Afrique
L'assassinat de tes leaders au pouvoir c’est manque de conscience de tes propres fils.
Ce derniers deviennent même tes propre ennemis
À chaque fois que l’un de tes fils lève son arme c’est pour contre l’un de ses frères ou sœurs.
Mais quand ils ont un peu de diamants ou de l’ors, ils jettent leur pirogues dans l’Océan Atlantique vers l’Occident.
  Ô Afrique
Ils te tournent le dos en pleine nuit, avec des tonnerres de méchancetés sans même avoir
pitié du pluie de tes  larmes.
C’est à cause de ce genre d’universalistes que
tu es dans la merde mon Afrique
Parce que chaque fois qu’une puissance étrangère vient piller, ils se lèvent contre leurs propres frères et sœurs en disant
« Les blancs sont des bons sans eux on n’a rien et tuent leurs propres frères et sœurs parfois juste pour un visa et une photo sur les champs Elysée »
Follow me on Instagram: @ytmfye
"What could be more beautiful than your lips? Reciting the esoteric poetry of the Garden of Eden, the sacred prayers that the angels sing in heaven and noted the souls of the Scribes of the Heavenly Academy? I love the beauty of your mouth and the wiggle of your lips, the Gates of Paradise, reciting the Holy Qabalah of God. your mouth is the Tara'a of Gate of the Palace of Love".

Esotérika II - The Mystical Poetry Of The Awekening by Deepak Sankara Veda

Tara'a: Aramaic Zoharic "Sentinel" - Creature of Light that guard the entrances to the Castle of Heaven.
"Impregnate my thoughts with memories of your beauty. I find myself watching the contours your beautiful lips, for me, the Gates of Palece of Love. I take desirous of you to open your mouth and I will hear your whispers, light sparks flying through your lips revealing to me the Wisdom of Heavenly Academy. Angels are your kisses and my lips wish the angelic creatures that blow yours, the sacred fiery letters emerging from the splendor of your soul".

Esotérika II - The Wake Of Mystical Poetry Deepak Sankara Veda
Silence! The voices stopped. The only sound I hear is the wind howling over the stones, the ancient building ruins, heaps ravaged by time punishes them as an invisible whip. Even the demons are silent now ...

I hear the most croaking frogs and even the sound of crickets filled the night with their songs. Rooster was. His voice was quiet for forty-two years. The only sound now is the voice synthesis of old hardware, metal head that red-eye placed on top of the old marble counter.

- Sir Water? - She asks - The radiation level is low today - finished. The same song sung once a week. The voices? They were silent. Demons are silent now.

Ahh! I wanted to hear the voice of the old rabbi, that white-bearded long peyos when he said to pay attention to the little voices, the voices of the humble, enlightened wanderers, sparks of mystical alphabet, warning humanity that the day would come when voices calariam.

There inside, the demons remain silent. Their voices were silenced by the voice of evil that planted residence in the left chamber of the heart of man the temple.

The ghetto is cold today. People gather around the fire lit inside the old barrel of oil, black blood, called him. It no longer exists. The veins are dry and the blood no longer runs more ...

The white spots covering skin. It should be a good sign, but it is not. Leprosy went devouring the souls of men, women and children. Neither the animals escaped. Contaminated are exiled. They send them to the valley of oblivion where the voice never will rise. They used maliciously. They slandered her. His calumnies were launched in the wind like the leaves of the old oak tree that stood in chaiim forest. He also stopped. The wind no longer howls more through its leafy branches.

Ahh! Where is the voice of the rabbi? He was dead by religious dogmatists. His bright sparks no longer crackle through the air. Even the demons no longer speak. They shut up inside.
Where are the voices of poems and poets? It is also silent. They were causing itching ears of humanity. They accused: - the mighty were the leaders of nations, with their palaces decorated with blood. Blood of the innocent. They made them shut. They caused itches to power the ears.

The gleam in his eyes blinded. It was in 2029 detonated the old Russian gun exchanged for a piece of bread to feed the starving children. All of them died with nuclear heat.

Silence! The voices stopped. The only sound I hear is the wind howling over the stones, the ancient building ruins, heaps ravaged by time punishes them as an invisible whip. Even the demons are silent now ...

Ah! Where is the voice of the old rabbi? I wanted to hear it now. She stopped. Even there inside there is silence now, even the demons whisper more ...*

By Deepak Sankara Veda (Misha'Ël Ha'Levi) Mystik Poet
Is poetry came from humanity's twilight dictated to me by a soul of the apocalyptic future of the world in february 2011.
“Removes the veil. Reveal to me the beauty of your beautiful ******* and your excited ******* filled with the desire to be caressed my lips. They are your secrets, your jewelry and your mystical treasures. Lifts the veil. Reveal to me your tree of knowledge, the entrance of your garden and allow me spoon with my tongue drops of Tal, your divine dew that drips from the leaves of your fig tree. Let me penetrate your garden, the orchard of celestial secrets with the stick of my miracles and feed me of Edenic sources of your *******. Lift up your veil and show me the beauty of your naked body and let me read the esoteric inscriptions on your golden skin, they are manifestations of your tattoos recorded in your soul, the light of mystic hieroglyphics of your spirit. Lifts the veil. Reveal to me the mystery of your mysteries giving me the wine of your vine and distills that drips from your sphinx. Removes the veil and reveal to me the entrance to the ethereal worlds of your soul, the portal to the world of emanation of your wonderful kisses, the sea of ​​your ******* on which my ship sails. Remove my veil, a curtain on my conscience and catapult it into the world of creation, the high land of your ******* which trickle milk and honey. Removes the veil …" .*

Light Walker - Deepak Sankara Veda - Mystik Poet
Your mouth is the Tara'a (תרעא), the Sentinel of Hall of the Mysteries and your lips are the Gate of the Palace of Love Palace, the chamber where they live all poetry.

Your kisses are consent to allow me to come in and read all the poems that God has written in your skin.

Your body is the temple of the Divine and I love contemplate you naked without veils that hide your attributes, the mysteries of your sensuality.

When, to my eyes see you naked , God is revealed in your nakedness and the heavens unveil all the mysteries, singing through your mouth, the Seraphim mystical songs loaded secrets of the Garden of Eden “*

Esotérika - The Mystic ****** Poetry Deepak Sankara Veda

Note: Tara'a (התרע'א) is a Aramaic term meaning "Opening - The passage from this world to the world of Heavenly Palaces (היכלות)”.

2) - The Watchtower (luminous creature) that guards the entrance to the Celestial Palace.
“Blowing on you my poems, the fiery breezes my Awakening, enflame you to burn me later in your flames, with your fire and your elightnent”.*

Esotérika - The Mystic ****** Poetry by Deepak Sankara Veda
"Fires in my soul the burning breeze that blows your lips. Your mouth is the creator of fiery angels, heavenly creatures made with the fire of your kisses, Serafim of prophecy whispering in my mind the codices of your moans, the secrets that God has written in your body. Your golden skin and a living scroll, papyrus noted the Angel of face.

Fires in my soul the burning breeze that blows your lips. I love your kisses, luminescent flowers in my Awakening desert".*

Esotérika - The Mystic ****** Poetry by Deepak Sankara Veda
"“I hear the voices of endless angels, when my eyes behold the beauty and sensuality of your wonderful lips. Your mouth tells me the ancient esoteric wisdom of the heavenly Academy and the ascended masters speak to me”.

By Light Walker - Deepak Sankara Veda - Mystik Poet for Esoterika (Book) - The Mystic ****** Poetry
“And there were no Angels that someday the sparks were not your thoughts, nor Angelic coaches that have not been created by your whispers, and the Comets who now behold the heavens were one night, the wonderful your kisses”.

By Light Walker - Deepak Sankara Veda - Mystik Poet for Esoterika - The Mystic ****** Poetry
I wish the revelation of your sacred sensuality, the sacredness of your magnificently body, the codices written in your skin. I wish the poetry of your lips on mine and the songs of your ******* in my mouth. I wish the wine distilling your vine and sweet liquor that drips from your mystical fig. My mouth want the fruits of your esoteric garden and my Escalibur want to put down at the entrance of your cave on the rock of your altar. You are my Holly Grail…“*

Esotérika - The Mystic ****** Poetry by Deepak Sankara Veda
"Honey drips from your beautiful lips, words enshrined in pure sweetness. Your whispers are combs and your ******* distill nectar of the heavenly mysteries, the Divine puzzles are the songs that emerge from your mouth. I love your moans, sphinxes who prophesy to their language, the language of the secrets of your soul is the angelic song, the Codex that your kisses wrote in my spirit; your Sapphire stone".*

Esoterika - The Mystic ****** Poetry of Deepak Sankara Veda
“Put your finger in your orchard within your secret garden and dance for me your esoteric dance, the revelations of your wisdom while doing drain the sap from your tree of life, the elixir that expands my consciousness, prolongs my life. Distills it into my mouth while sitting on my lips and gives me to drink your water of life. I wish you drink, feed me with the light of your ******* creators of miracles”.*

Light Walker - Deepak Sankara Veda - Mystik & Esoteric Poet for Esoterika - The Mystic ****** Poetry
I do not create your poetry. I read the Angels that your mouth creates, the Seraphim that emerge from your beautiful lips and who ride in Merkavah of your whispers in the Divine Chariot of your moans, the delight of my Awakening. Your body is the Sacred Field, seeded with bright grains that bloom bright Lotus. A stellar river flows from your esoteric garden and watering the shine of my soul. I’m Awake, and it was the angelic poetry that prophesied your beautiful lips that aroused me. I am your Buddha now, the Bodsattva of your wisdom, the guardian of codices whispering your mouth.*

Esotérika - The Mystic ****** Poetry by Deepak Sankara Veda
The other day I realized something.
I noticed a change in me.
And it was not new.
It had been a few years that
this new part of me had grown into me.
Like I had grown a new *******
or an extra sense of smell.
A sense of smell
that maybe only I and few
strange under sea creatures had.
I was not afraid of trouble any more.
Yes trouble.
I was not afraid of it.
Maybe just like Malcom X
stopped being afraid of it.
The white man’s system is the boogey man.
Trust me
I know.
I am it’s cheap free stolen pillaged ***** oil.
Without me that machine ain’t moving.
I am not proud of that.
We fought them as hard as we could-
cow hide to a bullet
kicked them out of Haiti
with bare knuckles
faced them down esandlwana.
Gave them a taste of a true humanist-
Sankara.
And we are not done yet
cause their yoke is still on our necks.


I always used to stay clear of it.
Trouble I mean.
That fear or call it a way
defined who I was.
And how weak I was to become,
Until now of course
I know tango with
Trouble.
Once I thought of trouble
as I scare about the night and it’s ghastly possibilities.
Then
one day
realizing how my fear of trouble
had broken me.
How flight has tripped me.
I got hold of a thought
and held it close to me
as if it was always mine.
Close like sweaty black arms to rusted steel of an ak47.
I got hold of that thought.
That close.
That thought was
**** trouble
I love trouble
Like I love the night sky that would not be as beautiful if it were not for the night.
Only when darkness visits us
do we only see the beauty of our stars.
With darkness
you learn to love
the little faint light
that shines only at night.
I love my night time cause i have learnt to see its beauty amidst my ruins.
The threats against my sanity
keep me sharp
not awake at night

I am cunning cause of my wounds
Bound up into a tone of bitter flesh
Emitting an odour
Only I can smell - an adour keeping me alive in this mad game called life.

Who knows it
feels it

The threats against my sanity
keep me sharp
not awake at night

I lick no wounds
no more
I leave them
fester
A pungent reminder of this treacherous  path

Wounds have morphed into eyes
looking backwards - sideways - as I propel forward - gas leaking everywhere - radar broken

The threats against my sanity
keep me sharp
not awake at night

saddle up dear reader
You too are wounded
Ride like devil's calvary is up on your bumper
Strike like the power of the high veld  thunder
And disappear like a drop in the orange river
They are after your kind
fight old rider
fatigue is not your salvation
your dagger your only way to your true emancipation
fear them no more - they have laid their eyes on you
send your doppelgänger - and get lost in the crowd - after you have struck at the heart of the beast - western civilization

western civilization
the true enemy of humanity
fight like sankara
fight like lumumba
Fight like Dingani
**** the queen

The threats against my sanity
keep me sharp
not awake at night
I have seen your agenda
Your sport of drinking black blood
will end.

— The End —